Keeper of the Sun (Starhold Series Book 3)

by J. Alan Field

  “On their way?” asked Nyondo.

  Pettigrew grinned. “There’s the rub, Commander. Obviously, there’s been a snafu in the timing of it all. The Fleet isn’t here yet, and until they arrive, we have to occupy the opposition. Ideally, I’d like to keep them in the Forryan field. That way, when Tenth Fleet does arrive, the enemy won’t be able to bug out by jumping into hyperspace and we could have a major victory on our hands.” He paused to let that sink in. The war was not going well, and no amount of propaganda spinning by the Ministry of Culture could hide that fact from the military rank and file—the people who fought the war daily. Imperial forces were sorely in need of a win, and taking down an enemy battleship and her escorts would fit the bill nicely.

  “Of course, I want us all to survive for the victory celebration,” added Pettigrew with a forced smile. Nervous laughter rippled through the bridge. “We’re going after that cruiser and her escorts. Ensign Hayes, adjust course to intercept.”

  As he sat down and keyed orders into his command console, Nyondo moved closer to Pettigrew and Swoboda. She needed the answer to one more question.

  “Why did Central Command feel the need to keep all of this from the officers and crews? Why all the secrecy?”

  Swoboda crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. “Secrecy is the order of the day, or haven’t you noticed, XO?”

  Pettigrew continued to issue instructions to the fleet on his touch screen as he answered Nyondo’s question. “Fear of Jangsuvian spies, I suppose—they do seem to play that game rather well.” He then hesitated, but continued in a low tone. “Besides, the capital is a bit paranoid these days. A reflection of the leadership, I suppose.”

  “You mean the Empress?” Nyondo asked quietly.

  Pettigrew halted his work and looked squarely at her. “No… not the Empress.”

  “Mr. Hayes,” the Commodore spoke up as the XO moved back to her station. “We’re going right through the enemy blocking force. Tempest and Octavia will take the lead and focus our fire on that cruiser. I’ve assigned other targets for the destroyers and frigates. And Mr. Hayes…”

  “Sir?”

  “We don’t stop,” emphasized Pettigrew. “We slow to make our attack run at ten-percent pulse, keep going right through the enemy formation, and then accelerate so we can clear the Forryan field—understood?”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  Clearing the Forryan field was important, but not letting the enemy battleship catch up to them was imperative. If Tenth Fleet didn’t arrive soon, they would have to jump out of the system to keep from being destroyed. The main Jangsuvian force was now only twenty-five minutes distant and closing as Strike Force Tempest moved to engage the enemy cruiser and her consorts. As this particular warship had never been encountered by Sarissan forces, there was no Central Command codename for the vessel. Pettigrew took the liberty of labeling his opponent ‘Achilles’ in hopes that she had a soft spot somewhere on her.

  Both forces closed on each other before the Jangsuvians fired first.

  “Enemy missiles!” cried Kuypers. “Our shields will be hot in forty seconds.”

  Commander Nyondo chimed in. “Enemy Formation Beta is beginning to slow, dropping to one-third pulse.”

  “And Formation Alpha?” asked Swoboda, concerned about the battleship.

  “Dead astern and coming strong. They’ll be within missile range in twenty-two minutes.”

  “Plenty of time if we do this right,” said Pettigrew. “Ensign Hayes, begin your braking and drop to ten percent pulse drive.”

  At the pilot’s command, retro-thrusters began to fire, slowing the heavy cruiser. The other ships of the task force were following suit as the enemy missile wave reached the shields of the two cruisers. None got through to the hull of the flagship, but four birds struck home on the Octavia, causing some damage. The larger ships were able to screen the destroyers and frigates save for one missile, which struck a blow against the destroyer Garvin, knocking out one of its particle beam cannons.

  Pettigrew couldn’t believe his luck. “Tactical, what is the range on Achilles?”

  “Four hundred klicks and closing, sir”

  “All right, Lieutenant Kuypers, our turn now. Fire control at your station for Tempest and Octavia. Time on target, Tactical.”

  “Time on target, aye, sir.”

  Seconds went by as Pettigrew waited for the two groups to further close on each other.

  “Eighty klicks!” proclaimed Kuypers.

  “Steady, Lieutenant,” Pettigrew said in a low, almost soothing voice.

  “Forty klicks.”

  “Hold… hold…”

  Pettigrew watched as the battle data flowed before him, holographic numbers and icons hanging in midair. The Jangsuvian commander had erred with his first missile salvo, firing too early. Now, he or she was compounding the mistake by holding back on their second salvo, overcompensating for the missed timing of the first. With superiority in numbers and firepower, Pettigrew was happy to let the battle turn into a game of chicken. The two groups of combatants had now closed to within only twenty-five kilometers of each other—a hair’s breadth in the vastness of space.

  “Fire!”

  Almost simultaneously, missiles leapt from all seven of the Imperial vessels and from the four Jangsuvian ships as well. At least a half-dozen Sarissan birds broke through the enemy shields and slammed into the Achilles. One in particular dealt a shattering blow to the rival cruiser’s starboard shield projectors, leaving that part of the ship exposed. Kuypers instantly recognized the weakness. On her own authority as Tactical Officer, she fired a round of plasma torpedoes into the vulnerable area with devastating effect.

  The Sarissans also took their blows. At least three, maybe four enemy missiles broke through Tempest’s shields to inflict damage. A gunnery bay amidships was destroyed and a berthing area on deck three had been hit hard. There was no word yet on casualties.

  As Nyondo consulted with the Damage Control Officer, Captain Swoboda hovered over Ensign Hayes at the helm. Tempest was about to pass by the Achilles on the enemy’s port side—the side with the functioning shields. Still, at this distance, it wasn’t going to matter much. Shields were good at stopping projectiles but not so good at stopping energy weapons, and both sides were about to get a bellyful of beams.

  “Helm, steady as she goes,” Swoboda guided Hayes as he quickly switched his attention to Tactical. “Ready on particle beams!”

  As the Sarissan destroyers and frigates occupied the three enemy destroyers, the Imperial cruisers were making their attack run on Achilles. Tempest passed the Jangsuvian ship on her port side and Octavia maneuvered on the enemy’s starboard. With Achilles sandwiched between them, Pettigrew’s cruisers unleashed a furious particle beam attack.

  Point defense arrays depended on shooting things down, but there wasn’t anything to hit on an energy beam, so PDAs were useless in this phase of combat. Armor was the only defense, and Achilles didn’t have nearly enough.

  Even as the Jangsuvian warship withered under the beam attack, they got in some licks of their own. Octavia was hit multiple times aft by enemy particle beam batteries, while Tempest endured a pounding by energy rays and the Achilles’ Gauss cannons. As they pulled away, a final round of enemy Gauss shards struck Tempest near the engineering section.

  Pettigrew and Swoboda exchanged a wary glance.

  “Swoboda to engineering. Engineering, this is the captain—please respond.”

  A man’s face appeared on the comm screen. “Engineering—Huang here.”

  There was a horrible ache in the pit of Pettigrew’s stomach as a flashback whipped through his mind—déjà vu of the day over a year ago when his former XO, Taylin Adams, was killed in an engineering section explosion. It was Swoboda’s ship now, but Pettigrew couldn’t help himself as he broke into the conversation.

  “Huang, this is the Commodore. What’s your status down there? Where is Commander Mullenhoff?”

  Huang
looked confused. Maybe he had been injured, because he didn’t respond immediately. Looking at something off camera, he started to speak, but then stepped back as an irritated-looking face came on-screen.

  “Are you two gentlemen done rocking this ship around?” asked Mullenhoff in a sarcastic tone. “Everything is OK down here, but I’d love to use these hyperdrive engines, ASAP.”

  The seven Sarissan ships were pulling away from what was left of enemy Formation Beta. They had gotten through the battle with varying degrees of damage, but nothing too severe. The same could not be said for the Jangsuvians. The crew of one of their destroyers was abandoning ship, and the cruiser designated by Chaz Pettigrew as Achilles was foundering.

  “Commander Nyondo,” said Pettigrew. “Status on the enemy battleship.”

  “Still closing on us, sir. They will be within missile range in thirteen minutes.”

  “I think it’s time to heed Commander Mullenhoff’s advice and use our jump engines. We can’t wait for Wallenstein any longer,” Pettigrew said, keying in the fleetwide comm. “Tempest to all ships. Increase velocity to best speed on heading two-five-zero mark eight. Let’s get out of the Forryan field.”

  Eight minutes later, as the final Sarissan destroyer passed out of the Forryan radiation area, Pettigrew knew he had to make an unpleasant decision.

  “Commander Nyondo, report.”

  “Enemy fleet will have us in their missile envelop in four minutes, sir.”

  Pettigrew leaned back in his chair and pressed his head onto the headrest, staring up to the ceiling. “It’s a shame this was all for naught, but we can’t wait any longer. Mr. Hayes, prepare to—”

  “Excuse me, Commodore Pettigrew.” It was the voice interface of Tempest’s shipboard computer.

  “Ship? What is it?” Pettigrew answered, hoping against hope.

  “Commodore, you have an incoming coded message from Tenth Fleet Command. It is a Red Channel priority, sir.”

  Pettigrew exchanged glances with Swoboda and Nyondo.

  “Wallenstein?” asked Swoboda in a low tone.

  “It would seem so,” Pettigrew said. “Ship, decode the message and display it at my station.” After a quick scan of the text, Pettigrew pounded his fist against the chair arm. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are in business. Commander Nyondo, is the enemy battleship still within the Forryan field?”

  “Aye, sir. They will break the field in approximately six minutes.”

  “No, they won’t,” said Pettigrew ominously. “Captain Swoboda, advise all strike force ships that we are turning to fight.”

  “Multiple friendly signatures translating in system!” shouted Nyondo gleefully. On the tactical display, a dozen new green icons popped into existence, led by the Imperial battleship Vindicator. “But, wait—that’s not the entire fleet,” Nyondo added.

  Pettigrew swiveled in his chair to face her. “As I said before, Commander, you don’t set a trap without closing the back door. The rest of the Tenth is on the far side of Arazmus, in case the Jangsuvians try to run. Now, Captain Swoboda, let’s get this—”

  “Commodore, excuse me,” interrupted the communications officer. “Sir, you have a message coming in from Admiral Tovar.”

  Pettigrew turned to the young man. “You mean Admiral Wallenstein, don’t you Ensign?”

  “No, sir—it’s Admiral Tovar. She’s calling from Sarissa.”

  Pettigrew cocked an eyebrow, a baffled look on his face. “To my station, Ensign.”

  Within seconds, a hologram of Nathari Tovar’s face floated in front of Pettigrew. “Commodore, we’ve been getting your FTL updates here at Central Command—good work, Chaz.”

  “I appreciate that, ma’am. Now we just have to finish the job.”

  “Admiral Wallenstein will attend to that. Tempest is hereby detached from Tenth Fleet. You are ordered to disengage from the battle and head back to Sarissa—immediately.”

  “But… with all due respect, ma’am, we are about to close the deal. The fleet will—”

  “The fleet will carry on without you,” said the admiral sternly. “That wasn’t a request, Commodore—it was a direct order. I want Tempest in hyperspace within five minutes. Tovar out.”

  Pettigrew stared forward for a moment and then looked around the Tempest bridge, as if to find someone who might be able to explain what just happened. Finally, his eyes rested on Swoboda.

  “Unbelievable,” muttered the captain shaking his head. “I’ve never heard of anything quite like this. What could be so important back at Sarissa?”

  Pettigrew wasn’t sure whether he felt more angry or shocked. Trying to tamp down his emotions, he found his mind searching for an answer to Swoboda’s question. Possibly Central Command needed Tempest for a mission, or perhaps there was an impending attack on the homeworld. Or maybe it wasn’t Tempest they wanted at all—maybe it was him…

  He suddenly realized that the eyes of the bridge were looking his way. “Captain Swoboda, I’ll be passing the command pennant to Captain Jankowski aboard Octavia,” he said. “As for Tempest…”

  “Sir?”

  “Prepare for hyperspace.”

  3: Departure

  Boutwell Spaceport

  Planet Sarissa

  Exiting the taxi behind him, his wife continued to press about his destination.

  “I’ve checked the updated starliner schedules,” said Etta Sanchez. “There are only four ships departing in the next three hours: two for Arethusa, one for Basara, and another to Galba.”

  Frank Carr picked up his travel case with one hand and threw the other arm around his wife as they walked inside the terminal.

  “You’re not going to tell me where you’re going, are you?” she said with resignation.

  “Do I ever? Besides, you know I can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “You-know-I-can’t,” he repeated slowly for emphasis.

  Sanchez scrunched up her face in disapproval. “I don’t see why not. It’s your last mission. What are they going to do—fire you?”

  A year ago, they would have been taking this trip together. Carr and Sanchez—top operatives of the Sarissan Office of Military Intelligence, leaving on another assignment to protect the starhold. They would probably be going off to some miserable planet to be shot at, physically assaulted, double-crossed by friends, and come within a hair’s breadth of death. Good times… Now he was facing all of the intrigue alone, like when he worked solo before meeting his wife-to-be just over three years ago.

  They had been a great team with an unmatched record of success. They had also fallen in love, and that complicated things. Where the bad guys couldn’t stop them, regulations did—particularly the rule against agents being romantically involved. Carr had stubbornly believed that the OMI would make an exception in their case, but Director Tolbert was steadfast. And so after they were married on Earth just over a year ago, Etta Sanchez left both the OMI and the Space Force, resigning her commission. Now Carr was about to do the same. He had worked as a spy for over a decade, but after this job, it was time to walk away—while he still could.

  “The Director didn’t talk you into staying, did he?” Sanchez asked with suspicion as they sat down in the concourse cafe. It had become their ritual—her coming to the terminal to see him off, having a cup of coffee together just before he boarded a passenger shuttle up to the Arisugawa Starport, where he would catch a starliner to… somewhere.

  Carr smiled. “No, he didn’t talk me into staying on, but he tried to.” Sipping on his espresso, he wished it were cut with Old Oakfield instead of warm milk. “Look, we have a plan—let’s stick to it. Just one more mission.”

  “That’s what you said the mission before this one,” she quickly pointed out. “THAT was supposed to be your last assignment.”

  “Special circumstances,” he said, knowing he couldn’t explain. Part of him wished she were going along—he could use the help. Mostly though, he was glad she wasn’t involved. Last missi
on or not, this one could get messy.

  Sanchez had never warmed to being on the sidelines, and she was especially on edge today. “Wherever you’re off to do, it’s something special, isn’t it?” pausing to wait for an answer she had to know wasn’t coming. “You’re not going into Jangsuvian space, are you? Tell me you’re not going into enemy territory.” As he opened his mouth to respond, she abruptly let him off the hook. “I know… I know—you can’t talk about the mission. As an ex-agent, I get it, but as the one who loves you the most, I…”

  Carr reached across the table and took her hand into his.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “It really was much easier for both of us when we shared the burden, wasn’t it? All I can tell you is that if everything goes smoothly, I’ll be back in a few weeks.”

  She scoffed. “Ha! Since when does anything in this business go smoothly?”

  As Carr finished his coffee, he tried to change the subject. “So, you’re headed back to Earth next week?”

  “Uh-huh. I’ve got an appointment in Bakkoa with our bank, then Voss and I are going to look at that piece of land south of town. I think we can get it for a good price, and it suits our needs perfectly.” After the terraforming and resettlement of Earth by humans from another universe, surprisingly little had been done in uncovering the planet’s past. For his next career, Carr wanted to open the ultimate antique business—salvaging relics from the pre-Diasporan history of humanity’s homeworld. He had already done a preliminary survey of his first work-site: the ruins of an ancient city situated not too far north of Bakkoa. It was a place once known as Paris.

  For her part, Sanchez had discovered a talent for business during the last year, so while he was off doing some final snooping for Jason Tolbert and the OMI, she would be finalizing preparations for their new lives. She had even swung a deal with their friend, Earth leader Goran Jones, to become a flight instructor at the fledgling EarthFed military academy after they emigrated to the Blue Planet. It was perfect—her first love wasn’t business or spying anyway, it was flying. Now the best pilot he’d ever known could finally get back into the skies.