Keeper of the Sun (Starhold Series Book 3)

by J. Alan Field

  As she sat down, she closed her eyes and tried to listen to Dorham’s voice. “Someone is trying to frame your husband. He’s missing, isn’t he? That was the personal business you needed to attend to back on Sarissa, the reason you didn’t want to stay any longer here on Quijano.”

  “How do you know that?” she asked, trying to regain her wits.

  “I understand that at first glance I don’t impress, but I am a fair detective. The worry on your face is a really easy clue. How long has he been off the radar?”

  “Five months.”

  “That’s rough,” said Dorham rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, you can go off to look for him on your own if you want, but the best way to find him is to help me solve this case. I guarantee somewhere along the way we stumble across him.”

  Sanchez sat motionless, trying to absorb it all and determine her best move. As she did, Chessie the cat entered the kitchen and jumped into her master’s lap.

  “You said a moment ago that someone was trying to frame my husband. How do you know Frank’s not involved?”

  Dorham stroked Chessie with one hand, rubbing her under her chin.

  “Well, first off, there’s just too much DNA. I understand your husband’s a good agent.”

  “He’s not good—he’s the best.”

  “Uh-huh,” grunted Dorham. “So the best operative in the OMI is going to drop his DNA left and right all over a crime scene? He might as well have pissed on the floor to mark his territory—excuse my language.”

  Even in the present dire circumstances, that mental image brought a small giggle from Sanchez as Dorham continued. “It just doesn’t add up. The whole thing feels screwy. Tell you something else—those Section Four techs that flew out with us to your uncle’s ranch today…”

  “What about them?”

  “Never saw them before in my life. They aren’t local.”

  Sanchez cocked her head, thinking. “Well, the Home Ministry probably sent them in from Esterkeep to assist the Villanueva people. No offense to the locals, but considering the political implications of my uncle’s death, I’m sure that the government wants their best people on the case.”

  “Really,” chuckled Dorham. “Like me?”

  Sanchez raised one eyebrow and gave him a slow nod. “Point taken. So you think the forensic people planted the DNA?”

  Dorham rubbed his own chin now as Chessie jumped off his lap and onto the tabletop. “Not all of them. One of them—maybe. That’s one of the things we have to find out.”

  Dorham might be a little off-center, but he wasn’t entirely wrong about any of this. Things didn’t add up. Whoever planted Carr’s DNA at the Sanchez ranch might know where Carr was. If she found them, she might find her husband. Right now, it was her best and only lead.

  “Mind if I borrow that sofa for a few more nights?”

  “Not at all,” smiled Dorham. “The wife and I are glad to have the company.”

  Sitting atop the kitchen table, Chessie looked over at Sanchez and hissed.

  15: Skirmish

  Heavy cruiser Tempest

  Summit system

  Chaz Pettigrew sat on the bridge of Tempest reflecting on the events of the past several weeks. Nothing great or small ever seemed to work out exactly the way you thought it might.

  Of course, he hadn’t known exactly what to expect during First Contact with an alien species. They were now more than a week into their encounter and things seemed to be going well. Shartok Harradoss had proven to be a gracious and thoughtful host, although Pettigrew still wasn’t certain that he understood exactly what a ‘Shartok’ was. The alien commander had arranged for Pettigrew to visit his spaceship, the Yaxa, and personally conducted a tour of the vessel. He didn’t fully comprehend everything he saw over there, but it was clear that Yaxa was a formidable warship.

  For his part, Harradoss had visited Tempest no less than three times now. Before becoming what the Sarissans would call a line officer, the Massang leader had studied engineering, so Commander Mullenhoff quickly became his favorite human. Harradoss was keen to learn everything he could about human propulsion science, and the Chief Engineer and her staff had long discussions with him as they all talked shop—within the boundaries of security protocols, of course.

  Dr. Richmond and his xenolinguistics team got their turn with the Massang, interviewing all three of the Shartoks. Richmond had come to the conclusion that the word ‘shartok’ was more than just a military title, but he was sure something was being lost in translation. Also, when the linguists asked to attempt communication with a Massang who did not speak Idolingua, they were flatly refused.

  Below on Stobi, environmental teams had given the desert moon their approval after analyzing the air, soil, and radiation levels. The Massang had allowed their new Sarissan friends to take over a few buildings on the edge of their compound so that the humans could have shore leave—of a sort. Crews from Tempest and Vasant rotated down to Stobi in order to escape their six-month long confinement aboard ship. On the surface, they could breathe real air and stretch their legs. Unfortunately, Stobi’s sweltering heat and low gravity had many crewmembers ready to return to their ship not long after they landed on the wasteland moon. The spacers had christened the R&R site ‘Camp Paradise.’

  As only three of the Massang could speak Idolingua, the common language of humanity, all communication went through Harradoss and his subordinates—Phersu and Minz. Varying degrees of information were exchanged regarding Massang and Sarissan culture, science, art, and government. Pettigrew’s people were under instructions to give out data judiciously, carefully filtering what they revealed for security reasons. He was sure the aliens were doing the same.

  According to their hosts, the seven world Massang Unity, as they called their starhold, was a confederation of planets located some 230 light-years on the spinward side of the Sarissan Empire, heading toward the center of the Milky Way.

  The Massang homeworld was a heavy gee planet, which helped to explain their large and powerful bodies. The world, which they called Adrynar, was hot and arid. Because of this, their ancestors had developed a nocturnal culture, one that was reflected in their evolution. The Massang had developed large eyes for night vision and raised ridges of skin over their bodies to increase surface area and thus facilitate cooling. For Pettigrew, it also helped to explain the low level of lighting inside their spaceships and ground facilities.

  Still, it seemed that the alien society was at least somewhat similar to human civilization. Harradoss talked of things such as social unrest, class inequality, and environmental concerns. There was one huge difference between the two cultures however, and that was the vast number of contacts the Massang had made with other spacefaring races.

  In six-hundred years of searching the stars, the Massang were the first alien contact for humankind. On the other hand, Harradoss told of at least a dozen other sentient species his people had encountered during the past century alone. There was a spacefaring molluscoid race of merchants called the Vahtara. There were the Zych, beings that were an animal-plant hybrid. Another species with a name impossible for humans to pronounce actually dwelled in the oceans of vaporous atmosphere that surrounded certain gaseous worlds.

  There were many more, and the Massang were willing to make introductions. They would act as go-betweens, introducing humankind to the greater galactic community. Unfortunately, Pettigrew was sure he knew their price.

  For all their talk of the other beings out there among the stars, the three alien emissaries kept coming back to stories about the android race with which they were at war. It was obvious that, at least in part, this meeting between Sarissan and Massang envoys had been arranged in hopes that humanity’s new friends might gain an ally in their struggle against the Lytori. It could be that the Sarissan Empire would have no choice. Harradoss repeatedly warned the Tempest’s officers that eventually the Lytori would move against humankind.

  Pettigrew’s thoughts were interrupted
by a passing crewmember who handed him a cup of coffee. As he sipped the lukewarm liquid, his eyes strayed toward the tactical station and another troubling concern—Olivia Kuypers.

  He tried not to stare at her, but that was difficult. Their romantic liaison of several weeks ago had not satisfied his desires for her, it had only increased them. Unfortunately, in the rush of duties and events since that night, the two had not discussed the evening at all. Maybe she didn’t want to talk about it, or maybe she was waiting for him to say something. He glanced at a timepiece. There would be a shift change not too long from now, and perhaps he could have a word with her then.

  “Captain on the bridge,” announced the ship’s AI as Sunny Nyondo emerged from the turbolift. Sitting down in the command chair to his right, Nyondo glanced his way, doing a double take. “You look beat. Why don’t you go to your quarters, put on some music, and put your feet up for a few minutes?”

  “I AM beat,” Pettigrew acknowledged. “Just got off the comm with Shartok Harradoss aboard Yaxa. I think I may have upset him a bit.”

  “This wouldn’t have anything to do with your inquiry regarding the three missing people from the Zevkov expedition, would it?”

  “I’m afraid it does. Harradoss very politely but firmly suggested that we Sarissans were in error about the missing civilians. He maintains that his people turned every single person they rescued at Beta Corvi back over to us. However, he also promised to check with his superiors on the matter, so at least that’s something.” Pettigrew took another mouthful of coffee, making a nasty face as he gulped it down. “I was hoping we would hear from Warlock today. If Captain Ross is on schedule, they should be within direct FTL range anytime now.” For his money, Ross couldn’t get to Summit fast enough. When Warlock and Maroth arrived in system to complete the communications link to home, Pettigrew would be able to receive much needed direction from the powers that be back at Central Command.

  “Have you mentioned anything to Harradoss about the arrival of two more Sarissan ships into his territory yet?” asked Nyondo.

  “No, not yet. It seems to me that the Massang are understandably jumpy about foreign military vessels in their territory. Being at war, I suppose I can’t blame them. Harradoss keeps asking why we didn’t send a smaller diplomatic vessel.” Pettigrew rubbed his eyes in fatigue. “I’m going to take a short break. I’ll be in my stateroom if you need me.”

  Just as he stood and turned toward the turbo lift, Kuypers yelled out. “Multiple hard contacts translating in at eighteen thousand klicks! Three confirmed bogeys with silhouettes unknown.”

  “Captain,” XO Paruzzi spoke up from his station. “Those silhouettes are NOT unknown. These ships match descriptions the Massang gave us. They’re Lytori, ma’am.”

  The newly arrived ships were even more unorthodox in appearance than the Yaxa. Their asymmetrical arrangement featured a curved horizontal body on the starboard side of the craft which flowed into a portside vertical tower. There were no visible weapons ports or other protrusions on what seemed to be perfectly smooth silver-toned hulls.

  As Pettigrew returned to his seat, Nyondo was issuing orders. “Mr. Paruzzi, sound General Quarters. Ms. Kuypers, activate all shields,” she said while jabbing at a control on her command console. “Vasant, this is Tempest. You are to initiate immediate execution of escape sequence Able—acknowledge.” On a secondary viewscreen, the gas miner’s pulse engines could be seen firing up as the lumbering ship began to make its way across the system toward the outer planets. If Vasant fell into any direct danger, Captain Washam had orders to make a jump outside the system and await Tempest.

  “Ma’am, the three new vessels roughly correspond in size to one heavy cruiser and two destroyers,” reported Kuypers.

  Nyondo turned to Pettigrew. “What are my orders, sir? Do we stick with Vasant?”

  “How many people do we have on the surface right now?”

  Nyondo wavered, looking toward Paruzzi. “None, thankfully,” said the XO. “The last shuttle of the day returned about an hour ago.”

  “Commodore,” the Comm Officer spoke up. “Incoming from the Yaxa.”

  “On my viewer, Mr. Segui.” From the time he had discovered that this star system was in a state of war, Pettigrew had considered how he would respond to this scenario. At this point, he still hadn’t come up with a satisfactory plan. It would seem that real life would find an answer for him today.

  An image of Harradoss appeared before him. “Pettigrew, my friend, you must protect your mining vessel. Yaxa is breaking orbit so that we might… we would move better. We will lure them away from you.”

  “Three ships to one are not good odds, Shartok Harradoss,” said Pettigrew, his eyes fixed on the ridged, reddish-orange face. Try as he might to read the emotions of the Massang leader, he simply hadn’t been around these people long enough to understand the nuances of their facial expressions.

  “We have fought the Lytori for many years now, and we know what to do. I must protect our base on Stobi. Um, what are the words? Much good work goes on there. We need this station. I must go—Harradoss out.”

  “Craft launching from the largest Lytori ship,” said Kuypers as the image of Harradoss disappeared. The tactical display showed a torrent of smaller vessels streaming from launch bays which had appeared on the belly of the warship.

  “There must be hundreds,” said Nyondo.

  “Thousands, ma’am,” corrected Kuypers. “According to our scout drones, two thousand thirty-six to be specific.”

  “What are those?” asked the captain.

  Paruzzi pressed one hand against an earpiece and responded. He seemed to be repeating verbatim what CIC was telling him. “Most likely some type of unmanned battledrones. They’re all launching from just the one ship, the one we’re identifying as cruiser-class.”

  “It’s like an aircraft carrier,” said Pettigrew, drawing blank looks from the other bridge officers. “Come on people, recall your military history. Back in the days of wet navies, they developed a ship specifically designed to launch atmospheric aircraft. It was a way of projecting power beyond the range of ship-based weapons.”

  Kuypers right hand flew up, tossing a virtual display over her shoulder and into the air in front of Pettigrew and Nyondo. “They’re projecting power all right,” the Tac Officer said in a grave voice. “Every one of those battledrones is heading straight for the Massang ship.”

  Pettigrew and Nyondo watched keenly as the clusters of icons moved toward Yaxa and at a surprisingly fast pace. “Mr. Paruzzi, are any hostile assets making any move whatsoever toward either this ship or Vasant?”

  “Negative, sir, but I feel compelled to point out that there may be more enemy ships waiting to jump in system. One could jump in next to Vasant at any time.”

  “Commodore,” began Nyondo in a tentative voice. “For the record, I am compelled to remind you that as of yet the Lytori have not attacked any Sarissan ship and are not technically classified as hostiles—at least not to us. I would also stress that we have no treaty of alliance with the Massang and are in no way obligated to assist them. Our first priority should be to protect Vasant. If we lose that miner…” She didn’t have to finish her thought. The gas miners accompanying Tempest and the belated Warlock were indispensable if the humans ever hoped to see home again.

  “Understood, Captain—you are on the record.” Pettigrew watched the battle take shape before him. “Commander Paruzzi, keep tabs on Vasant and the window between the time any Lytori asset could reach her and the time it would take us to intercept that potential attacker. Give me a ten-minute warning before Vasant leaves that window of protection.”

  Nyondo slowly blew out a long breath, probably a combination of situational tension and frustration with Pettigrew. She leaned over and asked in a small voice, “Sir, what exactly are you planning on doing?”

  “I’m planning on watching,” he said leaning forward in his chair and steepling his fingers. “And learning.”
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br />   “Hold our position, Mr. Hayes,” Nyondo said to the helmsman as she settled into her seat.

  In the cold vacuum of the Summit system, the Lytori battledrones hurtled toward the single Massang cruiser. When they came to within forty kilometers, smaller warheads sprang from about half of the drones and accelerated at incredible speeds.

  As the Lytori warheads and battledrones closed on the Massang ship, Pettigrew wondered about the tactics of Harradoss. The Yaxa continued to retreat, and the enemy weapons were about to overtake her. Suddenly, aft batteries aboard the Massang warship erupted.

  In one of their earlier meetings, Harradoss had tried to explain to Pettigrew what a surgewave cannon was, but the current combat demonstration was much more enlightening. Yaxa’s weapon ports spewed out waves of energy in the form of a spatial distortion field. The very fabric of space-time was being ever so slightly disrupted—with destructive consequences. Hundreds of Lytori warheads and battledrones exploded, destroyed as they crashed head on into the incompatible surgewave which was sweeping forward. Some were shattered into small pieces while others were vaporized. Some simply seemed to vanish into nothingness, as if they had been transported out of this reality. Perhaps they were—Harradoss confessed that Massang scientists weren’t quite sure how the weapon worked, but they knew it worked well. Pettigrew found himself hoping that the drones were unmanned. He hated the idea of anything meeting their end in the horror of a surgewave, even an android.

  Some of the surviving Lytori warheads continued onward to slam into Yaxa’s shields. A few made it through to smash into the ship itself, releasing their fury against Massang armor. The surviving battledrones quickly closed to energy weapons range, unleashing dozens of particle beams against their foe. As the Massang defended themselves against the robots, they simultaneously launched nearly forty missiles in the direction of the enemy drone carrier.

  Nyondo pointed at the main tactical display. “Yaxa’s shields are pretty good. Mr. Paruzzi, what is CIC’s projection on the outcome of this battle?”