Starfighter (Strike Commander Book 1)

by Richard Tongue

   She looked around the bridge, watching the crew work. Morgan at the sensors, feeding new data to Conway at the helm, Finch nervously looking up from his tactical console as he ran course plots. Sullivan stepped over to her, a smile on his face.

   “Good to see you again, Kat,” he said, quietly.

   “You to,” she replied. “I wanted my own ship, Mo. Never thought it would be this one.”

   “The road of life has some strange turns sometimes,” he replied.

   “Here we go,” Conway said. “Five thousand meters, descending.”

   “Fire one, Finch,” Mallory ordered, and the ship rocked as a missile tumbled free, turning back towards the pursuing fighters. It was out of combat range for the moment, but when the enemy force launched their deadly payload, it should be well positioned for a strike. She glanced at the sensor display, then turned her attention to the viewscreen, the landscape racing past as they skimmed over the surface, lower and lower as they dived towards their goal.

   Ducking into a long, low canyon, Conway eased the ship from left to right, his hands dancing across the controls to a music only in his head, while Mallory could only watch, the enemy fighters closing still further, easing towards them. Those pilots were either brave or foolish, but either way, they'd be in attack range in seconds.

   “Whew,” Conway said, as the ship fluttered into the shadow of a mountain for a brief second, rising slightly to clear some foothills before coasting down over a long plain, jagged teeth-like rocks ripping up from the surface, a malevolent creature preparing to feast on them.

   “Threat warning!” Finch said. “Nine missiles, salvo fire, bearing directly.”

   “I'm on it!” McGuire said, languidly tapping his controls as data streamed down his console. She looked at the display, watching the incoming warheads dance from side to side, recklessly burning their fuel to keep pace with the fleeing freighter. The ship weaved around, taking advantage of cover as it built up speed, the engines maintaining their constant roar, warning alerts flashing on as the ship pushed beyond safe limits.

   Two trails winked out, Finch's missile taking out an enemy warhead in an explosion that sent a rock slide tumbling down a mountain, clouds of dust gushing forth from the dry, desolate wasteland below. At the helm, Conway's face was a mask of concentration, his eyes fixed on the sensor readings. The computer would have given up long ago, surged them up into orbit, but he was keeping his course as tight as he dared, using the terrain to shield them from the approaching missiles.

   “Halfway,” he said, sweat running down his forehead. Mallory looked at him, then back at Sullivan, who smiled. This was the man she'd known during the war, the man who'd been missing for decades. The years seemed to melt away as she looked at the displays, Morgan reading out a stream of figures as they curved towards the far side of the moon.

   “Second launch,” Finch said, shaking his head. “We've got to do something about the guidance system. I'd be better off throwing them out of the airlock.”

   “Use what you've got, not what you want,” Sullivan said, shaking his head. “First rule of warfare, son.”

   “Aye, sir,” he replied.

   “Got one!” McGuire yelled. “Make that two!” A missile self-destructed, vanishing from the screen, the blast radius catching a second one. The explosion carved a new pair of craters into the landscape, the most activity it had seen for eons. Perhaps since the last time there was a battle waged in these skies.

   “Six left,” Dixon said. “Come on, Max, knock those bastards down.”

   “Working on it,” he replied.

   “Pull out!” Morgan yelled, and Mallory turned back to the screen, a huge cliff rising before them as Churchill dived into a crater, the missiles sliding towards them. Conway glanced back at her, a smile on his face, and she nodded as he turned back to his station, urging the ship to greater speed. Behind them, the fighters turned away, running for home, close to the limit of their fuel, trusting the missiles to finish the job.

   He waited to the last possible second, slowing by a trace to let the missiles draw closer, before slamming the acceleration back to full, the lateral thrusters firing to hurl them up, hopping over the ridge. The missiles responded, trying to rise, but they were just too slow, crashing into the wall of the crater, sending rocks flying into the air behind them, a landslide cascading away.

   “Gaining altitude,” Conway said, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. “Coming up now. Moving to escape trajectory, on course for the hendecaspace point.” Glancing at his monitor, he said, “Which we'll reach in five days, one hour and nine minutes. Give or take a few seconds.” Rising to his feet, he said, “Take it, Mel. You can ease us back to normal cruising acceleration.”

   “Aye,” she replied, taking his place.

   “Theseus is following,” Morgan reported. “Falling back, though. We've got too much of a lead on them now. I don't think their fighters can reach us again.”

   “They had their chance,” Mallory said, “and they threw it away. Secure from battle stations.”

   Conway looked at her, shaking his head, and stepped through the hatch. She followed him out into the corridor, chasing to catch him up.

   “Where are you going?” she asked.

   “To get a drink and a shower,” he replied. “I don't know about you, but I've had quite a day.”

   “Quite a day?” she said. “Half my crew are killed, my base is destroyed, and you just shot up all the artifacts we spent four months collecting. I lost a lot of good people down there, and I'd like to know why.”

   “Signal, sir,” Finch said, looking through the door.

   “Who for?” Conway asked.

   “Both of you,” he replied.

   They looked at each other, then stepped back into the bridge, Admiral Knight's face flickering on the viewscreen. Conway beamed a smile at her, crossing his arms, while Mallory just glared at her, shaking her head.

   “Congratulations,” Knight said. “Now, I'm going to call on you to surrender.”

   “Not a chance in hell,” Mallory replied. “As soon as I get back home, I'm going to tell everyone what you've done. The blood of hundreds of people is on your hands, Admiral. It doesn't wash off.”

   “And how many of those were killed by you and your erstwhile husband?” she replied. “The crews on Gorgon, Hermes, Beowulf? That's quite a roster right there.”

   “Traitors all,” Morgan said. “I was there, Admiral. I watched as Blake massacred the crew of my station, and I saw what his people did down on the base. Are you trying to tell me...”

   “Blake acted on my direct orders,” she said, “and perhaps you might want to consider that I had a good reason for doing what I did. There are dark things out here, terrors that would destroy us all, and someone has to protect the people back home from them.”

   “Don't try and justify this, Admiral,” Conway said. “There are other solutions than mass murder.”

   “You don't even know what you are looking for,” Knight replied, shaking her head. “Pray that I find you all first. It'll be a quicker fate than you'll get if you follow the trail. Theseus out.”

   “What does that mean?” Finch asked, looking at her. “What happens now?”

   “When I find that out, Sub-Lieutenant,” she replied, “You'll be the first to know.”

  Chapter 17

   Churchill's bridge was more cluttered than Conway had ever seen it. By some sort of mutual agreement, Finch had replaced Sullivan at Tactical, and Mallory was covering alternate watches. It had been a long, anticlimactic ten days, five of them flying out of the system and the rest transiting hendecaspace. Aside from some desultory attempts at hacking, there had been no further messages from Theseus, no real attempt to chase them from the system. Knight had lost them, at least for the present, and seemed willing to admit that.

   Mallory stepped onto the deck, and said, �
��One minute to emergence.”

   “Talking at last?” he asked.

   “I've been a little busy,” she said. “Fifteen injured crewmen, for a start.” She paused, then said, “Strickland asked me to tell you that Doyle did well. You've got a pretty well equipped Sickbay.”

   “Given some of the missions we've taken,” Xylander said, “having a good medic on hand is damn near essential.”

   “I've heard about Belzoni, of course,” Mallory said. “The Fleet's been trying to find it for years.”

   “Don't get any ideas,” Conway replied, turning to her. “All of our sensors are on lockdown. Only Dirk and I know the location, and I'm going to make sure it stays that way. The place is too damn useful to outlaws like me to give it up without a fight.”

   “I don't think I'm the one you need to worry about,” she replied.

   “Ten seconds, Jack,” Sullivan said, and he turned back to his station, working the controls. The familiar blue flash accompanied their return to normal space, but instead of the serene view of the rogue world he was expecting, sirens began to sound, a Triplanetary warship hovering head of them.

   “Battle stations!” he yelled, Finch rattling his hands across the controls, trying to get the missiles online. “Mel, get me a reading. What are we up against? And someone try and contact Tabby, see if...”

   “It's the Monitor, skipper,” Dixon replied. “Old armored cruiser.”

   “I thought they scrapped her years ago,” Mallory said.

   “We're being hailed,” Finch said, frowning. “Someone called Vlad wants to talk to you, Captain.”

   Dropping his hands from the controls, Conway sighed, and said, “I should have known.”

   The screen flickered on, and Vlad appeared, now wearing the uniform of a Triplanetary Fleet Captain, sitting at the heart of a bridge filled with crewmen. He smiled as he saw them, then reached down for a control.

   “I'm glad you made it home, Jack,” he said.

   “A more crowded home than I was expecting,” Conway replied.

   “I said I had other resources, remember. I'm just sorry I couldn't get her here soon enough to help, though you've obviously done well enough by yourselves.”

   “This is your friend?” Mallory asked, shaking her head.

   “Senior Lieutenant Kathryn Mallory,” he said, gesturing at the screen. “Meet Fleet Captain Vlad Koslov. Assuming that is your real name.”

   “Let's just say that it will suffice for the present. If you, Bennett, Mallory and Morgan will come over, I think we've got some important things to discuss.”

   “Churchill can host you, I think.”

   “No,” he replied. “I need to make sure that no one's listening, and we need to move on this. We've wasted enough time already. I'll see you in a few moments. Monitor out.”

   Rising from his seat, Conway said, “I guess he's already set the table for dinner.”

   “The transfer shuttle's all set,” Dixon replied. “I had it ready to take us over to the station. Orders?”

   “Maintain position, maintain combat status,” he said. “Mo, get down to the hangar deck and be ready for launch, just in case this is a trap.”

   “Damned little we can do about it if it is,” Dixon said, shaking her head. “There's nowhere to run, and they could get a salvo off before we could move. We're stuck here, Jack.”

   Stepping through the door, Mallory hurried to catch up, Morgan following after a second with a datapad in her hand. He led the way to the hangar deck, passing a pair of Triplanetary technicians dismantling the overhead lighting.

   “Never a good idea to give people nothing to do,” she said. “I figured we might as well work our passage. This ship's a wreck.”

   “I'm not going to turn down free help,” he replied. “Nicky, have you finished your analysis?”

   “Half an hour ago,” she said, frowning. “It's not good news.”

   “Of course it isn't,” he said. “Save it for the meeting. We might as well get all of it out of the way in one go.” Bennett moved towards them, a smile on her face, and he asked, “Did you know?”

   “I'm a Lieutenant-Major,” she replied. “On detached duty to Triplanetary Intelligence. Captain Koslov will give you all the details.” She paused, then said, “I'm sorry I couldn't tell you. It's been a pleasure to fly with you.”

   “Hell, you can fly on my wing anytime,” Conway said. “Come on.”

   They stepped into the hangar deck, the stubby transfer shuttle ready for takeoff, Angel standing next to the hatch. She looked at the three of them as they walked forward, shaking her head.

   “I hope you brought an extra ticket, because I'm coming with you,” she said. “And this isn't a discussion.”

   “Come on,” Conway said, climbing into the cockpit. “Don't blame me if we all get shot.”

   “I'll never let you hear the end of it,” Angel replied, following them in. He settled down in his couch as they dropped through the decks, the engines firing as they emerged into space, gliding towards the ship ahead. He tried the controls, then shook his head. No response. Vlad had sold them this shuttle in the first place, and it wasn't much of a surprise that he'd left some loopholes in the security systems. Something for McGuire to take a look at when they got home. Assuming they did.

   With no flying to do, he looked at the old cruiser hanging before him, another veteran from the Interplanetary War, one of the first purpose-built warships ever constructed. Thirty years old, battered and scarred, she still looked majestic, almost elegant, her history displayed on her hull in every dent and hull patch. He'd have been a lot happier if her missile tubes weren't pointed at Churchill, though.

   The shuttle drifted through space, heading towards a docking hatch, close to the command deck. He'd briefly served on this ship during his training cruise, and it felt like paying a visit to an old friend, almost forgotten, as the shuttle smoothly settled into position, the clamps locking into position as the two airlocks mated.

   Stepping back out of the cabin, he made it to the rear section in time to see the main hatch open, an impeccably-uniformed officer waiting for them, pistol ostentatiously displayed in his holster. He looked at Angel, raised an eyebrow, then gestured down the corridor.

   “Captain's complements, and he will receive you in the Briefing Room.”

   “Thank you, Sub-Lieutenant,” Mallory said, leading the way. Conway followed, looking around the gleaming ship. Someone had gone to a lot of work to bring her back into service, new equipment installed everywhere, officers and men saluting as they walked past. All of them seemed to know who they were, even if only one of them was wearing the uniform at the moment.

   It felt strange to be on a military ship again. He'd visited a couple of bases over the years on freight runs, but this was different. The throb of the engines, the constant whirr of the atmospheric regulators, the million tiny noises that provided the background music of spaceflight. Somehow, it felt right. Almost as though he was going home.

   Their guide stopped at a door, taking a guard position outside, and they stepped into the room, Koslov waiting at the far end, sitting at a latest-model holodesk, a view of local space hovering in the air.

   “Welcome,” he said.

   “One question,” Conway said, his hand dropping down to his concealed pistol. “Did you know, Vlad? Did you know any of this?”

   “No,” he said, rising to his feet, walking towards them. “I wouldn't have involved you if I knew how far the rot went.” Looking around, he said, “About three months ago, I found out that the late Senior Lieutenant Hubbard was planning on selling some of the artifacts his team had uncovered. I knew he had a buyer, but I didn't know who.”

   “So you outbid this mysterious rival, figuring that you might be able to find out who was helping Hubbard back home, and potentially even find out the identity of the original buyer,” Conway said. “Leavi
ng my crew and I...”

   “Only theoretically,” he said, raising a hand. “I'd no intention of allowing you to face any charges. According to my records, I reactivated you for the mission, and placed you on detached duty with Triplanetary Intelligence, just like Major Bennett.”

   “I didn't agree to that,” Conway said. “Are you trying to tell me...”

   “That you've been back on active duty for the last two months, yes.” He smiled, and added, “If it's any consolation, that makes the Fleet responsible for repairs and maintenance, and that means that you're set for a big payday. Enough to wipe out your debts here on the station, catch up on those back mortgage payments.”

   “Seventy people died,” Angel replied. “I don't see the funny side of this.”

   “No,” Vlad said, turning back to the table. “Had I known...”

   “What happens next?” Mallory asked.

   “That depends on the young Ensign here,” Vlad said. “I presume you've found another piece of the puzzle.”

   Nodding, she said, “The Abydos team found a similar artifact three weeks ago.” She connected her datapad to the table, tapped a control, and the two pieces of the starfield flashed up into the air, replacing the previous display. “As you can see, there's enough overlap to confirm that the two pieces match, representing the same piece of sky.”

   “My next question...”

   “I don't know,” she said, looking around the room. “We're got about sixty percent of the full display, but we'd need at least ninety to get it down to anything useful. What I can do is reduce the area to search to a couple of cubic light-years, but that's still a hell of a lot of space.”

   “Monitor's sensor suite is state-of-the-art,” Vlad replied, “but I agree with you. If the equipment back at Sol hasn't picked it up, we're not going to. Not yet.”

   “What does that mean?” Conway asked.

   “It means that this mission isn't over, Jack.” He looked at the two pieces, tumbling past each other, and continued, “You've done more than anyone has any right to ask of you already, I know, but...”