Starhold's Fate

by J. Alan Field

  “What about setting us up at Flower Bank Park?” he asked. “Beetle’s idea?”

  “Beetle’s orders,” said Lin. “I doubt it was his idea.”

  “If not, then whose?” snapped Carr. “Bettencourt’s? Look, Lin, we are running out of time. Sarissa is telling us that in just a few days, the greatest space battle in history is going to be fought, and if our side losses, it’s not going to go well for humanity—Sarissans, Gerrhans, none of us.” Reports being passed along by Dagger were disturbing on many levels. Not only did it appear that the impending battle in the Cor Caroli system would determine humankind’s fate, but his friend Chaz Pettigrew was almost certainly there in the middle of it all.

  Carr glanced out the window one more time, then turned back to the injured woman. “Help us, Lin. We need to shut down the Massang operation on this end before there is another Kolo Khiva. Who are the collaborators? Who is pulling the strings here on Pontus?”

  “I’m not in a position to tell you,” Lin said firmly. “But Admiral Bettencourt can and will. He wants to meet with both of you. I can set it up.” Lin started to rise, but suddenly shrieked in pain, clutched her side and collapsed back onto her bed.

  Carr had heard enough, leaving the bedroom without a word.

  Sanchez’s voice was audible as he walked down the hallway toward the kitchen. “Lin, get some rest. Drink your tea before it gets cold and I’ll check in on your later.”

  * * * *

  “You’ve had some time to mull it over. What do you think?” asked Sanchez as she poured herself another cup of coffee. Half an hour had passed since leaving Lin to rest.

  Carr sat at the kitchen table holding a half-eaten sandwich. “What do I think?” he repeated, tossing the rest of the sandwich back onto its plate. “I think I’d rather be back on Earth digging through the remains of an old museum. I think I miss worrying about whether we should hire another person for this project or that.” He stared at the plate in front of him for a moment. “I think I miss yelling at Voss,” he added with a small chuckle. “But most of all… I think I’ve decided that I don’t miss the life of an operative one bit.”

  Sanchez moved to his side, scooping up the half-sandwich in front of him.

  “Agreed,” she said before taking a bite.

  “But I’m sure you were asking what I thought about Lin,” he said wrapping one arm around her waist. “Having her arrange a meeting with Bettencourt might be another trap. On the other hand, we have been trying to locate the man, haven’t we?”

  “We have,” she said, hoisting her cup to wash down the sandwich bite. “Frank, why do you think she is so insistent that Bettencourt personally explain what’s going on? What’s up with that?”

  Carr shook his head. “Lin honestly might not know the answers to the big questions. Bettencourt might be keeping her in the dark. We’ll have to ask the good Admiral when we meet with him.”

  He pushed the empty plate away and stood. “We’ve been running around this city with precious little to show for it. Let’s have Lin set up a meeting with Bettencourt. We can put Dagger’s Marine Raiders on standby, just in case there might be trouble.”

  Sanchez shivered.

  “Have a premonition of doom?”

  “No, it’s not that,” she said, suddenly trembling. “It’s getting cold in here. Are you cold?”

  Carr stood and placed his arms around her. “Body heat is always good—”

  They both realized it at the same time. He gently tilted his forehead forward to touch hers and spoke softly under his breath.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  They bolted down the hallway, only to discover an empty bed and a cool breeze blowing through an open window.

  “OK,” said Carr patiently. “On to Plan B. You slipped the tracking chip into her clothing, right?”

  “Yes. And Beckman and his people were watching the house. They should be following her, right?”

  “Absolutely. Our OMI people should be on her trail right now,” said Carr in a less than confident tone. “But my guess is that Lin is a pretty good operative.”

  Sanchez raked her fingers through her hair. “She’s gone, isn’t she?”

  “Afraid so,” Carr sighed.

  16: Recon

  Cor Caroli system

  Above the seventh planet

  The momentary disturbance in the space above Cor Caroli VII was apparently unnoticed as the small vessel blinked into existence. The frozen world below was the namesake of no god or goddess. This particular ice giant bore no flamboyant name, human or otherwise, to distinguish it from the billions of others just like it which were floating about the galaxy. In terms of heavenly bodies, it was an everyman. Name of star plus Roman numeral. An anonymous world in the middle of the Black—and a perfect entry point for a stealth vessel on a secret mission.

  “Welcome to Cor Caroli.”

  Nyondo barely heard Mullenhoff’s words as she shook her head, trying to reclaim her wits from the Daze. Only a few years ago people marveled at her resiliency during the transition from hyperspace into realspace, but now she was a mere mortal like the rest of them. Actually, that wasn’t true. These days, she suffered worse than most.

  “You OK?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” lied Nyondo, shaking out the final cobwebs and trying hard to keep her last meal down. “How are you doing, Ship? Are you fine, too?”

  “All systems are nominal, Captain Nyondo,” the feminine AI voice responded. “No enemy vessels detected within three-hundred thousand kilometers, however, two Massang early warning buoys do fall within that radius. I have highlighted them on the tactical display.”

  “Have they chirped?”

  “Negative. Countermeasures are engaged and ongoing.”

  Feeling slightly better, Nyondo straightened her back and sat up in her seat. It was every pilot’s dream to be at the controls of a Kestrel class stealth vessel. The original ship had been lost at the First Battle of Earth some eight years ago, but Kite had been there too. Slightly larger than a shuttlecraft, the ship’s form and construction made its detection by sensors virtually impossible. Even if someone actually saw the vessel with the naked eye, unlikely in the vastness of space, the nanite covered hull was constantly adjusting to blend in with its surroundings.

  “Ship, how much time will it take to reach the Massang Threshold?” queried Mullenhoff.

  “Seven hours, thirteen minutes standard.”

  The two women looked at each other, their faces filled with both excitement and apprehension. The tactical display was filling up now, more and more icons dotting the screen as Kite’s AI pieced together the data arriving from across the star system. Hundreds of enemy symbols danced around the Coalition’s primary objective—the colossal Threshold.

  Nyondo took a deep breath and nodded to her shipmate and friend. “Here we go. Breaking from station-keeping and moving ahead one-third.”

  * * * *

  The AI reported in a calm and steady voice. “Shuttlecraft approaching from eight o’clock high. Distance: twenty kilometers.”

  “I see it, Ship,” Nyondo acknowledged, watching Kite’s scanners as well as her flight control console. To a single human being, twenty klicks was a huge distance, but in the context of outer space it was a hair’s breadth. Nyondo fired a light thruster burst to nudge Kite slightly downward toward the planet. The Massang had built their Threshold in synchronous orbit above Cor Caroli II, a heavily cratered, geologically inactive world located one-hundred million kilometers from the yellow-white binary sun. After giving the shuttle a wide berth, it slowly passed by without incident.

  They had been in the enemy contact zone for over two hours now, rooting around in the Massang’s lair without detection. Nyondo guided Kite up, down, and around the path of enemy vessels while Mullenhoff worked with the ship’s computer to survey the Threshold. The commander also took inventory of the many Massang warships and defensive installations which were guarding the facility. If their luck held,
Kite would labor for another hour before turning back for Cor Caroli VII, and from there jump to the safety of the Coalition fleet at Quinnesec.

  Maneuvering around the tail end of the Threshold, Nyondo kept Kite’s moves short and smooth. The mammoth hypergate was composed of two separate segments: twin half-cylindrical structures, each over six kilometers long. This device seemed to be a copy of the one built and subsequently destroyed by the New Earther’s eight years ago. If that was the case, the Coalition knew what to expect. When the Gate was activated, the space between the half-cylinders would be warped to bridge the gap between this universe and the Otherverse, allowing travel between the two dimensions.

  “When this thing is up and running, will ships have to transit one at a time, like with a regular hypergate?” asked Nyondo of her more science-inclined companion.

  “Not according to the New Earthers,” answered Mullenhoff. “I’ve read most of Professor Acree’s published notes—the stuff I could understand, that is. When this Gate is activated, the Massang ships will be able to pour through to the other side.”

  Nyondo nudged the scout ship back toward the mouth of the beast, a three-kilometer gap between the two sections of the main body.

  “Do we have a count yet on how many total hostiles there are?”

  “Lots,” Mullenhoff said. “If I went outside and threw a rock in any direction, I’d probably hit something that wants to kill us.”

  “Is that why you want the Admiral to let the Massang leave?” blurted out Nyondo. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t raise the issue, but it popped out of her mouth before she realized.

  “There’s already been too much death,” said Mullenhoff solemnly without looking up from her work. “If the last battle never needs to be fought, why should it be?”

  A minute passed as the two women focused on their assignments. Nyondo watched her screen as two Massang frigates closed on Kite, but their paths were consistent with an already established patrol pattern—they were just going about their business.

  “Uschi, I’ve never known you to back away from a fight,” Nyondo said, deciding to play a hunch. “Letting the Massang just waltz out of here isn’t like you. This is all about Ajax, isn’t it?”

  Mullenhoff’s shoulders slumped a bit, but she never looked away from her console. “You gotta be kidding. That skunk? Ajax is out of my life for good—his loss.”

  Nyondo didn’t respond as she watched the pair of enemy frigates glide by forty-five kilometers to starboard.

  “His new woman is a Tezrinan,” Mullenhoff continued, seemingly compelled to do so. “She’s the captain of a Marine supply ship. A lieutenant, Sunny—he threw me over for a freaking lieutenant! Do you believe that?”

  “And a Marine, no less.”

  “And a Marine! May the Many Gods curse the both of them!” snorted Mullenhoff, before belatedly adding, “apart from the war, of course. I wouldn’t want him—or her—to get killed or anything.”

  “Like you said, Ajax’s loss. But you still care for him, don’t you?”

  “Of course, I do!” she snapped. “So far, both he and I have managed to make it through this damned war without a scratch. Ajax may be a creep, but I don’t want to see anything happen to him now that we are so close to the end. Or you, or any of us, for that matter. Why chance one more battle when we don’t have to? I say let these pumpkin-headed bastards go. Our galaxy will be better off without them.”

  “I feel bad that Chaz got stuck making this decision. This communications disruption couldn’t have come at a worse time,” said Nyondo. “A field commander shouldn’t have to make this kind of a call, not even an admiral. It should be done at the very highest level.”

  Mullenhoff reached to grab her datapad, but instead knocked it off the corner of the console. The pad didn’t fall, since the ship’s artificial gravity had been disengaged in stealth mode. “Well, good luck talking with the folks back home if the Vanguard have compromised the Belisarius system,” she said reaching out to snag the floating pad. “That system is the hub for all of our communications with Sarissa.”

  “I believe in Pettigrew,” Nyondo declared firmly. “What we are all dealing with here is incredible, but if anyone can make the right call, Chaz can.”

  “I know that,” replied Mullenhoff. “Deep inside, I know that. I only—”

  The voice of Kite interrupted her. “Captain Nyondo, frigates Alpha Thirty-Two and Thirty-Nine have altered course.”

  “Are they moving to intercept us?” said Nyondo taking a look.

  “Forty-six percent probability,” Kite said confidently, then wavered. “Correction: twenty-nine percent probability and dropping.”

  Passive sensors showed the status of many Massang vessels suddenly altering. Ships that had previously held station-keeping positions were now getting underway. Defensive stations were coming on-line. The entire Massang battle force stirred around them, like some great giant that had been prodded from his slumber.

  “Who kicked the hornet’s nest?” wondered Mullenhoff while sliding into her co-pilot’s seat and strapping in. “Downing all scanners and moving to all-dark.”

  Nyondo noticed that Mullenhoff was holding her breath as two close enemy frigates passed by them at only six klicks distant. Kite’s AI silently projected a hologram between the two women showing that those enemy vessels were likely headed to a rendezvous with a Massang cruiser positioned nearby.

  Mullenhoff exhaled. “What the hell? We can’t be causing all of this activity.”

  “If it was us, we’d be dead by now,” Nyondo replied, looking through the latest sensor data. “There it is.”

  She shifted the focus of the tactical screen to display the space around Cor Caroli VII. Icon after icon materialized on screen, each one of them bearing a Coalition symbol.

  “Our fleet,” mumbled a puzzled Mullenhoff. “This wasn’t the plan. And we aren’t at full strength either—there are ships missing. Something has happened.”

  Nyondo didn’t respond—she was thinking.

  Mullenhoff continued in an anxious voice. “We are only just now seeing their light, so that means our people arrived about what—three hours ago?”

  “Three hours, eighteen minutes standard,” Ship corrected.

  “Time to go,” declared Nyondo. “We already have a ton of data to analyze and with this heightened state of alert, the chances of the Massang spotting us just went through the roof. Ship?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Plot us a nice, safe course back to the seventh planet in this system.”

  * * * *

  “Permission to come aboard?” Nyondo asked with a snappy salute and broad smile. She was tired and her head hurt—not doubt the product of an eighteen-hour stint in the pilot’s chair—but none of that mattered right now. The man standing in front of her was a long-lost brother.

  “Permission granted.”

  David Swoboda had put on a few pounds and gained a few gray hairs, but he was still one of Nyondo’s favorite people in the cosmos. After the formalities, both she and Mullenhoff closed in on Swoboda for a very non-regulation round of handshakes and hugs.

  “Easy, ladies,” said the captain of the battleship Typhoon as he nervously glanced around the shuttlebay. “What will my crew think? Ship discipline is going to go right out the airlock.”

  “And that’s not worth a round of hugs from your two best girls?” questioned Mullenhoff lightheartedly.

  “You have me there, Uschi. It’s good to see you both. The Old Man sent me to welcome you aboard.”

  “And?” prodded Nyondo, rubbing her temple in fatigue. Captains don’t usually greet pilots returning from missions in the shuttlebay, even if they were old friends. There was more to it.

  “And to tell you both to catch a couple hours sleep and report to his stateroom at oh seven hundred. He wants to hear what we’re up against.”

  “I just knew after Crossbow took so much damage that Chaz would set up shop here on Typhoon
,” said Mullenhoff patting him on the back. She had always treated Swoboda as a little brother, and his new position as the fleet flag captain didn’t seem like it was going to change anything.

  “Captain Nyondo!” came Lieutenant Aoki’s voice from the other end of the passageway.

  “It’s like zero-four-hundred hours. Doesn’t anyone sleep on this tub?” asked Mullenhoff as Nyondo’s aide rushed toward them.

  “Welcome back, ma’am,” said an obviously relieved Aoki. “With the Admiral’s compliment’s, ma’am. He wants you to…”

  “Seven hundred hours,” Nyondo cut her short. “We know, Aoki. Say, what’s going on, anyway?” she asked turning to Swoboda. “Why did the fleet make an early jump to Cor Caroli?”

  “Has he decided to attack?” asked Mullenhoff.

  Swoboda held his hands up with palms out, trying to stem the tide of questions. “He hasn’t decided anything, at least I don’t think he has. We are here because Quinnesec was hit by the Massang, two Vanguard squadrons. It was just a harassing force. They were trying to delay us, make us chase them around the system. The Old Man said he wasn’t going to allow Harradoss to dictate the pace of this thing.”

  “So, he did exactly what they didn’t want him to do,” said Nyondo. “He jumped here. But what about Quinnesec?”

  “And what about the mobile hypergate at Quinnesec?” pressed Mullenhoff. “After our business is done here, that Gate is the difference between a nice quick trip back home and a four-month slog.”

  “The Old Man ordered Winston and part of Ninth Fleet to stay there and protect the Gate,” assured Swoboda. He looked around quickly to see if anyone else was nearby. “Let me ask you all something. Are the rumors about a cease-fire true? Frankly, I’ve never quite seen the Admiral in this state before. He’s being very—I don’t know… indecisive.”