SF Books by Vaughn Heppner
THE A.I. SERIES:
A.I. Destroyer
The A.I. Gene
A.I. Assault
A.I. Battle Station
A.I. Battle Fleet
A.I. Void Ship
A.I. Rescue
A.I. Armada
THE SOLDIER SERIES:
The X-Ship
Escape Vector
LOST STARSHIP SERIES:
The Lost Starship
The Lost Command
The Lost Destroyer
The Lost Colony
The Lost Patrol
The Lost Planet
The Lost Earth
The Lost Artifact
The Lost Star Gate
The Lost Supernova
The Lost Swarm
The Lost Intelligence
The Lost Tech
Visit VaughnHeppner.com for more information
The Lost Tech
(Lost Starship Series 13)
by Vaughn Heppner
Illustration © Tom Edwards
TomEdwardsDesign.com
Copyright © 2021 by the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.
From the Office of Lord High Admiral Cook: Memo #274
With the sad passing of James K. Fletcher, I have once again stepped into the harness as the Lord High Admiral of Star Watch. As such, it is my solemn duty to make the transition as painless as possible and to guarantee a smooth running of the fleet, its stations and people. During the transition period, we must continue to serve and protect the Commonwealth of Planets with all our heart, skill and strength, and attempt to heal the divisions caused by Humanity Manifesto Doctrines.
Certainly, many of the HM Doctrines were correct in theory. A few, clearly, were heinous and destructive. Particularly, it was the organizational implementation of the doctrines into daily Star Watch activities that produced such heartache, confusion and, at times, treason to the state.
This will stop, I assure you, as we correct the worst offenses to common sense and decency in our glorious organization.
One of the key disruptions was the creation of the Political Intelligence Division with its “loyalty purging” headhunting field agents and political commissars assigned to fleet vessels and star bases. Effective immediately, all PI commissars are relieved of duty and must report as soon as possible to Star Watch Headquarters on Earth for evaluation of their actions. Failure to comply will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of military law.
Furthermore, any fleet or station officer who refuses to adhere to the new standards but continues to follow outdated interpretations of HM Doctrine will be relieved of duty.
To ensure the full compliance with these changes, I have assigned Brigadier Stokes as head of the Transition Teams of my selection. The Teams will include a mix of Military Intelligence officers, Space Marines and key personnel serving on various battleships. These teams will physically deploy throughout the Commonwealth and check each Star Watch ship and installation to ensure all personnel are fully complying with the new regulations. They will also pick up any recalcitrant political commissars, rogue PI personnel and unyielding HM extremists unable to cope with the new administration. Those who are picked up will be brought to Earth to face court martial hearings.
It is my heartfelt desire that these changes will take place with a minimum of disruption and violence. But be it noted, anyone acting treasonously against Star Watch will face a final reckoning, whether from the Judge Advocate’s Office or from Transition Team members performing their duty as specified by me, Lord High Admiral Cook.
-1-
From where she sat on her military prison cot, former Star Watch Commander Kris Guderian looked up at her tiny cell window. It faced a brick wall—she’d jumped up before, grabbed the bars and hoisted herself to look. The sky was the only observable piece of nature from the window. On Alpha Sigma 9, that meant a pink sky with two stars: a giant cool blue one and a tiny hot white one.
Kris shuddered as a volley of shots rang out, the sounds echoing from the walls. After the echoes died away, her throat convulsed. They’d been executing prisoners all morning. She didn’t know why. Well, she assumed it was prisoners. Who else could it be?
I won’t whimper when they come for me. It can’t be long now.
Kris was almost thirty-eight, of medium height with long red hair and freckles across her stub nose. She’d had a dashing service record, having served under Admiral Fletcher when he’d run the Fifth Fleet against the New Men invasion of “C” Quadrant so many years ago. She had also been the first to see a Destroyer of the Nameless Ones as it demolished the capital planet of New Arabia of the now extinct Wahhabi Caliphate.
As she sat trembling on the prison cot, Kris stiffened, hearing the sound of clashing boots on concrete getting closer. Were the prison guards finally coming for her?
Through an act of will, Kris squared her shoulders and forced herself to stand. It was so damn muggy in here without the air conditioning running anymore. When had it stopped? Three days before the executions began, she believed. Had the officials decided on that so they could save on the electric bill? Or just make the prisoner suffer?
Kris wore a shapeless gray military-prison uniform with the number 8 stenciled on it and with damp stains under her armpits. She’d been in here four months already, having failed a Political Intelligence loyalty test. She’d failed because she’d refused to malign Captain Maddox at the order of the commodore of Alpha Sigma 9. She’d worked with Maddox before and admired the officer. Having worked with him had been her first black mark. Failing to denounce him had been the second. She had offered to condemn the New Men instead of Maddox.
“That’s not good enough,” the commodore had told her. “I’ll give you one more chance, Commander.”
Kris hadn’t taken it back then.
Will they ask me about Maddox today? What will I say? She nodded. I’ll damn him and live. Anything else would be criminally stupid, right?
She began trembling as a lock snicked. Her heavy cell door swung open. They really are coming for me. I can’t believe it. Two thickset guards in black uniforms stared at her. They had beefy features and had sneered at her four months ago. Funny, neither of them sneered now. In fact, both seemed harried, possibly worried. They had lines around their eyes and hard frown lines around their mouths.
“Prisoner Number Eight, step outside,” the shorter of the two said, a man missing one of his upper front teeth. A dirty nametag on his chest said: Corporal Johan.
“W-Why?” Kris stammered.
Corporal Johan snapped his thick fingers and motioned for her to hurry.
“I—I demand to know why you’re—”
“Stupid bitch,” Johan growled, interrupting. “Do I have to drag you out by the hair?”
Kris found it difficult to swallow as she made odd gasping noises. This was so unfair, so wrong and vile. She managed to raise her chin as she walked toward them. She was thankful her legs didn’t tremble or her knees unlock so she sprawled onto the floor before them.
Corporal Johan reached out, grabbing an arm and hauling her faster. The second guard grabbed the other arm, doing so with a cruel grip. They began marching her down the corridor.
Her stomach twisted with fear as bile rose in the back of her throat. This couldn’t be happening. She blinked rapidly and moistened her dry lips, whispering, “Where are you tak
ing me?”
Neither guard answered. Nor did either guard look at her. It was almost as if they found her existence offensive. Or maybe they were ashamed of what they were going to do to her.
Kris closed her eyes as they marched her through a corridor. This was a nightmare. She couldn’t just walk silently to death. She had to do something, anything. But what, what could she do?
She opened her eyes wide even as she found it difficult to breathe. “I-I hardly knew Captain Maddox,” she said.
“What?” Johan said.
Just get this over with, she decided. It’s better than dying. Tell them you hated Maddox, that he was a traitor. She inhaled, still finding this difficult, and blurted, “I said that I hardly knew Captain Maddox.”
The two guards leaned forward and frowned at each other across her. Corporal Johan looked at her next.
“What are you babbling about?” he asked sharply.
Kris was confused. What was she doing wrong? Spit it out. Talk or you’ll die before a firing squad. “This is about Captain Maddox, isn’t it? I-I failed…failed a loyalty test four months ago, remember?”
Johan muttered a curse, releasing her arm, snatching a communicator from a back pocket. He activated it, waited, “Hello, sir,” he said, sounding respectful. “I have a question for you.”
Kris couldn’t hear what the person on the other end said to the guard.
“Yes, sir,” Johan said. “I was escorting Prisoner Eight to the courtyard for…for removal. She was in Ward Three— What’s that, sir? Yes, I said Prisoner Eight.”
Kris cocked her head, as she heard tinny sounds coming from the communicator as if the person on the other end was shouting.
Johan lowered his comm unit as he faced her. “What’s your name, Eight?”
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“Your name, your name, your legal name, what is it?” he said testily.
“Oh. Kris Guderian.”
A worried-looking Johan repeated that into the communicator. A moment later, he paled. “Is that Commander Kris Guderian?” he asked her.
Kris nodded.
“Yes, sir, she’s a commander,” Johan said into the communicator. He listened, finally saying, “But I thought—”
More tinny shouting commenced from the communicator.
“Yes, sir,” Johan said, as he went from pale to ashen. “I understand, sir. Yes, at once. You can count on me. I’m glad I checked, sir.” And the corporal added slyly, “I imagine you’ll be glad later that I did, sir.” Johan listened again, and some of the fear in his eyes dissipated until he managed a sickly smile to his partner.
Finally, Johan pocketed his communicator. “Let her go,” he said.
The other guard released Kris’s arm as if she was on fire.
“I’m sorry for the confusion, Commander,” Johan told her, with a glimmer of respect in his voice. “The warden told me to ready you for flitter flight. He said the commodore has been asking for you. He forgot—I mean, I must not have heard him tell us to free you and pass on his orders...Commander.”
“What?” stammered Kris.
“The Commodore of Alpha Sigma Nine would like a word with you,” Johan said with exaggerated patience.
“Why would the Commodore want a word with me?” she asked.
“I don’t know. But I’m to take you to his office on the double. Oh, yes, I almost forgot. I’m supposed to ask if you’d like to shower and eat first.”
Kris blinked at the guard. What was going on? She shook her head, saying timidly, “Yes. And I’d like a change of clothes for after the shower, if that’s possible. A fresh uniform.”
“Of course, Commander,” Johan said, now sounding fully respectful, maybe having thought through future implications. “I do hope…we were just following orders a few minutes ago. We thought you were still under arrest. I’m glad I took the initiative to make a call to the warden. I would think—I hope you remember that I was the one to make the call.”
Kris nodded. She wanted to get the hell out of the prison and away from the executions in the courtyard. What did the star-base commodore want with her, and what had caused the sudden switch in her status?
“Are you ready, Commander?” Corporal Johan asked.
“Yes,” Kris said. Not only had she escaped a firing squad, but she was also going to shower after four months of filth and fear. Maybe her luck had finally changed. Maybe the days of having bad luck dog her in everything she did were finally over.
-2-
Alpha Sigma 9 was a small, dense water moon with nearly Earth gravity. The gas giant it orbited showed a multitude of bright, banded colors, taking up the majority of the pink sky this hour of the day.
Kris felt one hundred percent better as she rode in a flitter, with Corporal Johan piloting the two-seater. She had showered and combed her hair, which shone redder than before. Her skin hurt, she’d scrubbed so hard with a soapy brush in a needle-hot shower. Afterward, she’d put on the clean Star Watch uniform she’d been given. She’d eaten a ham sandwich with a rich, fresh glass of milk. Her stomach felt bloated after her near-starvation prison diet of the last four months.
Her mind clicked more smoothly, too, with the imminent threat of death removed and with freedom and cleanliness.
She eyed the piloting corporal sidelong. The thickset man wore a brown flight jacket and fidgeted with the controls. He was definitely nervous about something. She debated asking him questions and decided she didn’t want to hear his grating voice again.
They landed on a flat rooftop a half hour later. The four-story building was on a hill overlooking a nearby spaceport. She spied military craft on the spaceport tarmac along with several starliner shuttles.
The corporal remained in the flitter, while a marine in Star Watch colors approached the craft. The marine didn’t carry a rifle, but had a holstered sidearm. The marine gave her a hand out. When they were halfway across the roof, the flitter lifted off, heading back for the prison, no doubt.
Kris wanted to ask the marine what this was about, but decided to wait. He escorted her to an elevator. It took them down two floors. The marine escorted her through a carpeted hall and into the outer office of Commodore Smits of Star Base Alpha Sigma 9.
The administration specialist—a thin man with odd eyes—scribbled madly as they entered. He looked up from his desk with a sheen of moisture on his broad forehead.
“Commander Guderian?” the man asked briskly.
“That’s me,” she said.
“The Commodore is waiting for you. Please, go in.”
Kris glanced at the marine. He was already turning around, getting ready to leave.
The administration specialist must have pressed a hidden switch on his desk. The door opened, and Commodore Smits stepped out.
He was a large man with big hands, a sagging stomach and a ring of curly hair around a bald dome. He also possessed outrageously oversized sideburns and keen dark eyes.
“I’m glad you made it so promptly, Commander,” Smits said. “Please, won’t you come in?”
Kris wanted to ask what choice she’d had, but hadn’t regained that sort of courage yet. Her uniform helped her feel normal and—she nodded, aware she’d lost awareness for a moment, still disoriented from the abrupt transition from prisoner to officer once again. She followed the commodore into his office.
It felt disarranged and disorganized. Several portraits were missing from the walls, a few of them stacked upside down on the floor. There were plastic bins to the side full of little things.
“Sit, please,” the commodore said, as he headed around the desk.
Kris sat in a chair with wooden armrests, struck by the unreality of the situation. It was as if her four months in military prison had never happened. Was the commodore going to laugh and re-arrest her to break any semblance of willpower? She half-expected him to do it, and maybe that showed on her face.
The commodore sat behind his desk, picked up a reader, staring at
something on the screen. He set the reader down, folded his thick fingers together and leaned slightly forward, giving her a false smile.
“I imagine you’re feeling a bit disoriented,” he said.
Kris shifted in her chair, a knot forming in her chest. Here it comes. Don’t cry. Take it like an officer.
“Please, Commander,” Smits said. “I want you to be at ease.”
“How can I?” she blurted. “The guards were taking me to the courtyard for execution. Suddenly, the one guard makes a call and—”
“Commander,” Smits said with a hearty-good-fellow chuckle. “That was a mistake, a stupid one, I agree. Heads will roll because of it, I assure you.”
Kris frowned. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“Er, yes, well—”
“Why did you arrest me four months ago? What did I do wrong?”
“Me?” Smits asked, seeming to feign astonishment. “No, no, you’re mistaken. Colonel Borneo of Political Intelligence forced me to arrest you. He was a veritable devil of a man, a monster, really. Thank goodness he’s gone. He’s never going to denounce or distress anyone ever again. Of that, I can guarantee you.”
“But—”
“Commander,” Smits said. He stopped speaking, seeming to choose his words carefully before starting again. “Those evil days are behind us. The monsters of Political Intelligence won’t twist anyone’s arms again. We all survived the nightmare of their dominance. Frankly, I believe it’s time to put those dreadful days behind us. That’s all in the past. It’s over.”
“Wait,” Kris said, holding up a hand, surprised it did not tremble. He’s afraid, Commodore Smits is afraid—of me. The thought was so outrageous, so dreamlike given the past four months— “What happened?” she asked.
“Eh?”
Her confidence began dribbling back into her heart. The fear in Smit’s eyes—he’s trying hard to mask it. She sat straighter, glancing around the office. She could feel Smits watching her as she studied her surroundings.
The Lost Tech Page 1