The Lost Command (Lost Starship Series Book 2)

by Heppner, Vaughn

  “If we’re going to try this, sir,” Garcia said, “we’re going to have to run at full acceleration right away. We have to build up velocity as soon as possible. Otherwise, the New Men might catch us before we can get deep enough into the void.”

  Fletcher stared at her. Oran Rva had outmaneuvered and outfought him. If he ran…it would mean the hated enemy couldn’t declare victory right away. And, he would keep Fifth Fleet alive a little longer. If he lost the fleet now to no good effect, the war was lost. This gave humanity a slim chance in the future, where now there was none.

  “Yes,” the admiral said. “We have to try. We can’t give up until we’re dead. Commodore, see to your people. I have some calls to make. Then, we’re going to try something different and see if we can make these New Men lose a little sleep at least.”

  An hour later, the surviving warships of Fifth Fleet increased velocity, turning toward the Tannish System less than a light-year away. The race for survival had begun.

  EARTH

  -1-

  On Earth, events moved normally. It was true people knew about the golden-skinned invaders of “C” Quadrant. That ruckus had been going on for months already. Military law had gone into effect throughout the Commonwealth, but that hadn’t really changed things all that much here on the homeworld.

  The common consensus was that it couldn’t be as bad as the newscasters claimed it to be. The Wahhabi Caliphate would come to its senses any day now, throwing their vessels into the conflict. The Windsor League readied its fleets, and the Spacers would have to do something. The people who said the Spacers would simply go elsewhere didn’t have a clue. Spacers might live in giant spaceships and move around like nomads, but they made their living off trade.

  So sure, the New Men were bad, but the Star Watch would take care of it, right?

  There had been shows about Admiral Fletcher taking heavy reinforcements to “C” Quadrant. He was a fighting admiral, a bloodthirsty SOB who would take care of business.

  Besides, the fighting was taking place out on the rim, far from most of the settled worlds. It would take the New Men endless jumps to reach Earth. The enemy didn’t have enough warships for that. If nothing else, attrition would wear the New Men down.

  Maybe a few commenters were over-worried about the situation. But come on, it took weeks for mail ships to bring news from “C” Quadrant. That was the fastest messages could travel, and so far, no one had heard anything upsetting about Admiral Fletcher.

  Therefore, despite martial law on Earth and throughout the rest of the Commonwealth, life pretty much went on as it always did. People worried about the pebble in their shoe, not about a war hundreds of light-years away.

  Well, most of the people didn’t care. Those of Star Watch Intelligence worked harder than ever so others could sleep the peace of the innocent.

  -2-

  In the darkness, the enemy agent gasped as he died, with blood leaking from his suit. He lay between two huge storage containers in New York City Spaceport. With a supreme effort, the dying man reached for his coat pocket.

  Reluctantly, Captain Maddox of Star Watch Intelligence aimed his long-barreled gun. He wore night-vision glasses, which looked remarkably like sunglasses. With a soft sound, he fired his suppressed gun for the second time tonight.

  The enemy agent jerked, shivered a final time and died, with his face thumping against pavement.

  Seconds passed, a half-minute. Finally, Maddox rose from his location behind stacked steel crates.

  Sergeant Riker did likewise, with his gun trained on the dead agent.

  The sergeant was an older man with leathery skin. He had a bionic eye and a fully bionic arm. The man had lost the eye and arm in a blast many years ago on a desperate mission on Altair III. In fact, the sergeant had received many wounds in his years in Star Watch. He was an old dog, handy with a gun, possessing a cunning tactical eye and fierce loyalty to the service. In a word, the man was a soldier.

  With Riker at his back, the captain approached the corpse. Maddox was tall and lean. He moved with the lethality of a large jungle cat. He wore his uniform, tucking the night-vision glasses in a side pocket. Around them, spaceport lights began to come on.

  Maddox wished he could have captured the man alive. The enemy agent had refused to surrender, though, drawing a gun against them. Whatever else one could say about the enemy, his people were brave.

  “Be careful,” Riker whispered. “You never know, sir.”

  Maddox hardly heard the words. The enemy agent was dead, but this was still a break, perhaps an important one. Despite Brigadier O’Hara’s worry, the tip had proven correct, and that was rare in this deadly game of espionage against a superior foe.

  Even as the New Men invaded “C” Quadrant, the enemy’s secret service continued to infiltrate Earth’s government and the military, finding traitors among humanity. In reality, the enemy had been here a long time, decades, in fact. This time, however, Star Watch Intelligence had gotten the jump on one of them.

  Maddox stared at the corpse, wondering if the New Men had tampered with the agent when alive and if so in what manner. Expectantly, he crouched beside the corpse.

  Interestingly, the New Men had begun their invasion a few weeks after Maddox had brought back the ancient, alien super-ship. In their secret service attempts to stop the ship, the New Men had revealed some of their hidden hand. Now, in the Oort cloud, while surrounded by a Star Watch taskforce, scientists studied the alien vessel. Humanity needed the ancient technologies to help defend themselves against the onslaught of the New Men.

  The captain continued to watch the corpse. What had the agent had been trying to reach before dying? It was time to find out.

  “Let me do that, sir,” Riker said from behind. “I’m expendable, you’re not.”

  “Keep back,” Maddox said. “Let me concentrate.”

  The captain’s long fingers brushed the pocket’s cloth as he felt within. There was something cool and thin here. With his heart hammering, Maddox pulled out a communicator. He twisted it around, looking at the glowing screen. It had a single phrase: Begin Operation Odysseus.

  Had the agent sent the message, or had he been trying to erase it? What did the message mean?

  I should search the files.

  Before Maddox could begin, the words began to flash and the communicator to vibrate.

  A premonition caused Maddox to hurl the device from him. It exploded in midair, the blast knocking him down.

  “Captain,” Riker said, crouching over him. “Are you hurt, sir?”

  Maddox blinked at the sergeant. He was more surprised than hurt. “I’m fine,” he whispered, his throat dry. Then his forehead furrowed.

  Begin Operation Odysseus. What are the New Men trying to do now?

  -3-

  Two days after Maddox shot the enemy agent, Meta sat in her apartment in New York City. She fingered the locket the captain had bought her several months ago.

  Meta sat before a mirror, wearing a tight party dress of shimmering Neptunian sequins. They glittered from hot pink to cherry red as she moved, and they clung to her voluptuous figure, revealing far too much cleavage and thigh.

  Meta hadn’t worn something like this since assassinating Baron Chabot, the owner of the Rouen Colony. She’d been born on the two G mining world, modified for strength like all the other indentured workers there. In her childhood, the leader of the Resistance had decided to use Meta’s already obvious beauty. Her secret training had begun then, and it had been thorough and difficult.

  As Meta stroked the locket pressed against her throat, conflicting emotions raced through her. Throughout her short life, she’d used her beauty to enter places others couldn’t. When she closed her eyes at night, she could still see the baron’s tongue protruding out of his slack mouth. In his bedroom, she’d choked the man to death, digging her strong fingers into his flesh.

  Even though the baron had deserved to die, assassinating him had turned her already har
d heart into unrelenting stone.

  Meta swallowed uneasily. Releasing the locket, she picked up a brush and drew her platinum blonde hair to one side so it draped over her left shoulder and down over a breast.

  Several months ago, she and Captain Maddox had had a terrible fight. Well, she had done all the shouting. He had grown quiet and watchful, with his lips pressed together. It had been the only sign of his emotions. The captain liked to believe he was cool and collected. Meta knew better. A fire raged in his heart, but he didn’t let anyone else know.

  Meta sighed wistfully.

  After endless months of tension and battle in the Beyond—bringing the alien super-ship to the Commonwealth—they had finally reached Earth, spending several glorious weeks together in New York City. Meta had tried to become someone she wasn’t, acting carefree, enjoying the company of the handsome captain.

  Meta set down the brush. She had a secret that only a few people knew. She was damaged goods, a killer who had used good people, and sex, to achieve her deadly ends. Yet what had she accomplished? The Rouen Colony still belonged to the consortium. Her family back home slaved in the mines while she frolicked on Earth.

  Biting her lower lip, Meta considered a truth about her. Men loved to stare at her body. She knew that and had often used it to her advantage.

  Meta stared into her eyes in the mirror. She had to leave the Commonwealth and return to the Rouen Colony. She had to finish what she’d started as an eighteen-year-old assassin.

  Standing, Meta ran her palms over her hips, brushing the Neptunian sequins. They were soft to the touch. Maddox had bought her the dress when they returned to Earth, but he’d never seen her in it except for the one glimpse in the store. They had fought afterward, and that had been the end of their relationship.

  The trouble was that Captain Maddox had called this afternoon. After all this time he was coming over, no doubt to try to patch things up between them. What had changed his mind?

  Could she go back to those carefree nights they’d enjoyed together? To help her decide, she’d put on the dress. She still felt an attraction to the captain. Yet in her heart, she knew one of them would eventually hurt the other. She didn’t want to be that person.

  I have to leave. I should have left months ago already. I don’t know why I lingered.

  She could board a space liner tonight, working her way to the distant Rouen Colony. It was far from “C” Quadrant and the mysterious New Men. Part of her wanted to stay and explain all this to Maddox. The other half wanted to be long gone before he arrived.

  Meta shook her head. I don’t deserve love. If Maddox really understood what I did in order to reach the baron, he would turn away from me in disgust.

  It hurt to realize the truth. She would leave the dress for him. It had cost him too many credits that he could ill afford. She’d wanted to see what she looked like in it one more time, but she couldn’t go through with this. That’s why they’d had the fight in the first place.

  Sitting down, Meta reached for a pad and stylus. She’d leave a note for him with the dress. If she didn’t go now, the captain might convince her to stay. That might turn into another week, a month, and then who knew what. No. She needed to run while she had the resolve to go.

  Picking up the stylus, Meta wrote quickly, almost completing the note before a soft noise alerted her. She paused and raised her head, listening.

  “Maddox?” she called, with a thrill of fear coursing through her. She couldn’t let him see her like this. It would be like the captain to try to surprise her.

  There was nothing, though, just silence. Then a new sensation settled onto Meta. It felt as if someone held his breath, waiting for her to relax.

  Meta frowned. In these situations, she trusted her instincts. Setting down the pad and stylus, she stood up slowly. Someone was in the apartment, which seemed incredible. Security was tight here, and behind them were Star Watch surveillance teams. Would Maddox continue to sneak around once she’d called his name?

  It was possible. He had an arrogant side that both attracted and repelled her.

  In the mirror, Meta glanced at the glittering gown, how it hiked far too high on her thighs, clinging with promise. She had to change. Otherwise, the captain would get ideas. He was already too aggressive. That was part of the problem.

  Purposefully, she moved to the bedroom door to shut and lock it. She had to get out of the dress. Damn Maddox, why had he shown up? Why couldn’t he have left things alone?

  Her hand closed around the knob. Before she could push the door closed, a man stepped into view. Meta had an instant of shock. The man wore a black leather jacket, had short, bristly hair and a silver stud in his tongue. He certainly wasn’t Maddox.

  With the creak of his leather coat, the thug shoved the door open. With a thump, the edge struck Meta against the face. Her nose exploded with agony, and her head snapped back. She stumbled backward as tears welled in her eyes. The back of her right foot tripped over a high-heeled shoe. She fell, sprawling onto the carpet, the back of her head hitting the side of the bed.

  The Neptunian sequins slipped up over her hips, revealing her nakedness beneath it.

  The man looked down at her, and his eyebrows rose. A second later, he grinned with appreciation. Then he chuckled in a growly way, a man who obviously smoked too many stimsticks.

  Like a volcano ready to explode, anger boiled in Meta.

  “You’re tempting me to take a dip, sister,” he said.

  A sharp retort weighed down Meta’s tongue: she was ready to tell him the extreme extent of his mistake. However, her ears picked up other sounds in the apartment. There were more home invaders, backup for Mr. Black Leather Jacket. That stilled her tongue as her mind shifted into overdrive.

  Why would thugs break into her apartment? This was a super-deluxe suite in one of the most expensive high rises in New York City. It was supposed to have fantastic security, as many rich people lived here. Were the invaders rapists? No. The leering pig had just said he was tempted. That meant it hadn’t been his original intention.

  Even though her nose throbbed, Meta managed to smile in a frightened way as she covered her nakedness. It was time to lure the man to his doom.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” she said, trying to sound scared.

  Chuckling, the man let a shock rod slide out of his sleeve into his waiting hand. “Nice try, sister, but I happen to know you’re a tough bitch. Maybe I’ll do you later, once they’re through questioning you. Would you like that?”

  The words galvanized Meta. As he approached, she scrambled to her feet. The hard eyes told her he liked to give pain. Meta had no more time for reflection. As he swung the shock rod, she stepped toward him.

  The man was fast, but Meta proved faster. Her muscles were dense from life on a two G planet, and her infighting technique was perfect from years of martial arts training. The sharp twist of her hips added power to the punch as her fist slammed against his jaw. The lower bone slid away from the blow, one end popping out of the jaw-joint. The man’s eyelids fluttered. Unfortunately for Meta, the shock rod caressed her forearm.

  Several actions occurred at once then. Despite his toughness, the man collapsed onto the floor, unconscious. Meta bit back a groan of agony. The energy jolt flared with intensity, reaching her shoulder. Her arm swung down, numbed and useless. Lastly, the shock rod slipped from the man’s nerveless fingers, rolling onto the carpet, making sizzling sounds as it zapped once more.

  “Jacques?” a man called from the hall.

  Gritting her teeth because she didn’t have time to let pain slow her down, Meta crouched, scooping up the shock rod with her left hand. The right wouldn’t work for a few minutes, at least.

  Heavy boots thudded on the hallway flooring. Another black-clad man appeared in the doorway.

  Meta lunged, striking with the tip of the rod as if she was a fencer. The end sizzled against his face. He cried out, jerking away, stumbling from the door. Meta followed, swatting the
side of his head, knowing such a blow could induce brain damage. The jolt rocked him. In his effort to escape, the man flew against a wall, catapulting off it. A third time, Meta stroked him with the rod. The device must have overheated, discharging a thin ribbon of smoke. The man thudded onto the floor, as unconscious as the first invader in her bedroom.

  At least one more man was in the house. Meta heard him. She knew that in these instances taking the fight to the enemy often made the best sense. That’s exactly what she did now.

  Fast and barefoot, in her shimmering sequined gown, with Captain Maddox’s locket against her throat, Meta burst into the living room.

  Two men waited. One held a stubby, shotgun-like weapon in his hands. She recognized it as a tangler. Neither of the men wore black jackets. The gunman was medium-sized with pale hair and paler features. The other was big.

  A retired wrestler, Meta thought.

  The man had gray hair, and it seemed as if a bleak sculptor had chiseled his body out of flat slabs of muscle. What’s more, his gray clothes were so conservative they might have been a uniform. The only flashy thing about him was a big black ring that glittered with a circle of diamonds.

  The tangler discharged. A small black capsule popped out of the weapon and struck Meta. It exploded, shooting clinging strands around her thighs, arms and torso. Immediately, the sticky strands contracted. Meta was strong, and she fought back, struggling, but she tripped for the second time tonight.

  Remorselessly, the tangle web tightened until she could barely breathe on the floor.

  The gunman glanced at the big man. “Should I check on the others, Mr. Kane?”

  With the seeming force of a glacier, the big man turned his head to stare at the speaker. The gunman nodded in acknowledgment of the silent order, hurrying into the hallway.