Outriders

by Ian Blackport

  BA: No. Our mutual benefactors insisted we keep one another updated. I’m only following instructions.

  LS: Good. I have a warship to command. From now on send non-critical mission updates in an encrypted data packet.

  [COMMUNICATION TERMINATED]

  [ADDENDUM: TRANSCRIPT FORWARDED TO FEDERAL RECONNAISSANCE AGENCY, LOW PRIORITY STATUS, TIER I RISK. NO CREDIBLE THREAT TO CONFEDERACY. CONVERSATION NOT PROVIDED TO ELATHAN AMBASSADOR. NO MUTUAL ASSISTANCE OR INTELLIGENCE SHARING TREATIES WITH ELATHAN GOVERNMENT WARRANTS COMMUNICATION]

  Alexis slumped backward in her chair and stared at the screen, her stomach a cauldron of writhing knots. Triaxus Corporation slaughtered Clara’s friends because someone flew too close to the wrong planet. Alexis even found it difficult hating the Triaxus pilots responsible, since someone else commanded them to undertake that assignment and placed them in harm without comprehending the danger.

  Fifteen pilots flying for Triaxus perished in the ambush too, and Alexis felt a measure of sympathy for their loss as well. They were little more than expendable pawns in the far-reaching schemes of other, higher positioned individuals. Alexis doubted Clara would devote any thought to sympathy, or the memory of those who died wiping out her squadron in a conflict they barely understood.

  Knowing what she needed to do, Alexis shut the computer down and disconnected its optical data storage. She opened her chamber door and stepped into the corridor beyond, which led to the bridge on one side and their lounge down the other. Alexis turned left and headed to the lounge, though met Evan as he sauntered up the hallway cleaning one hand with a cloth. Sweaty and peppered in fluids and grime, he was in desperate need of a shower.

  Evan stopped and crammed the tarnished rag into a pocket. “Hey, Lex. I was just on my way to find you.”

  “Is something happening?”

  “Nope. The spaceport techs are moving to the next stage of topside hull repair. Thought you might want to lend a hand. You seemed in need of distraction last time we spoke.”

  “I was, at least then. Not anymore.”

  “Everything okay?” Evan furrowed his dark forehead and studied her as though she was a machine requiring maintenance. “You look distant, almost worried.”

  “Rinko’s automated decryption finished and I found something buried in the files. I can’t share it with you yet. There’s someone else who needs to see first.”

  “One of our temporary guests?”

  “Know where I can find Clara?”

  Evan pointed a grubby finger over her shoulder and down the corridor. “Try the bridge. She’s been there for a while, ruminating on life I suppose.”

  Alexis glanced toward the stairs at hallway’s end, though could not see into the bridge from where she stood. “This will crush her, and I feel awful about it.”

  “You don’t have to show her.”

  “I wish that was true. But if Clara knew I withheld this from her, she’d never forgive me.”

  “Then good luck,” Evan said. “I’m heading back up top to make sure Connor doesn’t cause any problems. The man’s a savant at the controls of a starship, but borderline hopeless at maintaining one.”

  Alexis gave him a half-hearted smile and walked to the bridge, finding Clara perched in the pilot’s chair and staring absently through the windows.

  “Hi, Clara.”

  “I haven’t heard from Major al-Ajlani if you’re wondering.”

  “That’s not why I came to see you.” Alexis sat in the closest seat and plugged the ODS into one terminal. “I’m about to cause you pain, but you need to know.”

  Clara turned the chair and studied Alexis. “What are you talking about?”

  “The data we acquired from the Confederacy whistleblower came through for us. I hate the idea of forcing you to relive traumatic memories after all you’ve gone through, and I wouldn’t show you this if I didn’t believe it was the right thing to do.”

  “What did you find?”

  Alexis activated the console and transferred the transcription to a screen facing Clara. “I’m sorry.”

  Chapter 21

  A derelict warship drifted among stars and an orange-cyan nebula beyond the Constellation’s bridge, its hull scored by plasma burns and critical systems destroyed or stripped bare. Mangled wreckage sprouted twisting shards of metal from its bow, all that remained of the command bridge. Fifty-four crewmembers, each one a loyal, talented sailor and a beloved son or daughter, perished aboard this starship during the assault or succumbed to grievous wounds in the aftermath.

  Genevieve Letourneau stared at the former corvette Ardent and felt a hollow ache piercing her chest. These brave souls and their warship deserved better. The crew warranted long, happy, fulfilling lives among friends and family, while the ship merited a distinguished career spent policing spacelanes and helping to protect Confederacy civilians. Neither earned this ignoble end.

  “All extraction personnel and vessels are clear from the blast radius,” Lieutenant Yacoby reported. “And all salvageable equipment and supplies were transferred aboard the Constellation. The Ardent is ready for an honorable dismissal, ma’am.”

  “Honorable,” Genevieve muttered. “I wonder how officers in the age of sail on ancient Earth felt performing this duty. No warship deserves to have the guns of allied vessels turned against it.”

  “A necessary act, Captain.”

  “Necessary, yes. The watchword of every task we deem distasteful. I’m paying tribute to a long line of soldiers and sailors who swallowed our pride.”

  Genevieve watched the drifting warship and knew delaying orders would only serve to worsen the anguish and guilt in her mind. Every warship in the Ascendant Starfleet came equipped with a self-destruction capability should its ranking officer need to scuttle the vessel. Yet the Ardent’s self-destruct system protocols were connected to its communications suite, a design defect prevalent in the Lunar-class corvettes. Since the warship’s communications antenna was critically damaged during the ambush, no destruct could be triggered. Lunar corvettes serving in the navy were all scheduled to undergo retrofits to fix the flaw, yet the Ardent and Nightwatch were not due to receive theirs for another galactic standard year. Not that it mattered now.

  She imagined pressing a button or inputting computer code would be an easier task, though perhaps this outcome had a purpose. The bodies of those not lost to hull breaches remained onboard, each one wrapped in burial shrouds bearing the flag of their homeworld. Naval staff who died in the line of duty received interment among the stars, swallowed by the vast emptiness of space in the same manner as Earth’s oceans centuries ago, which meant Genevieve needed to give the personal order to confine their bodies to dust for eternity. The burden was a difficult one, and hers alone to bear.

  This duty should not be easy, but that did nothing to lessen her remorse.

  “Gunnery, target Ardent with forward batteries,” Genevieve directed.

  “Target acquired. Safety parameters disengaged and distance optimal. Ready to fire on your command.”

  “Commence firing.”

  Plasma lashed from the frigate’s cannons and bombarded the crippled corvette, chewing through unshielded hull and ripping bulkheads apart. Spiralling, white-hot slivers spewed from the warship as detonations erupted in compartments housing volatile equipment and materials.

  Genevieve forced herself to stand at rigid attention and watch the destruction until only a debris field of incinerated and shattered fragments remained.

  “Gunnery may cease firing,” she instructed. “All hands stand down and return to regular duties.”

  Brilliant streaks of plasma dissipated and blackness returned to the vista. Genevieve wandered closer to the viewport until her own reflection returned her stare and breath fogged the surface.

  Noam Yacoby approached at her side and halted, softening his voice enough to ensure no other crewmembers might hear. “These are the first men and women under your command to die.”

  �
��Yes.”

  “There was nothing you could have done to save them, ma’am.”

  “I could have conducted this assignment differently. I could have made decisions to protect crew rather than our mission.”

  “You followed your orders as any loyal officer does.”

  “Maybe I should’ve disobeyed them. I feared orbiting so close to Ollathair might prevent us from escaping in a crisis.”

  “Our duty was to observe and mediate if necessary, Captain. Escape was never part of those parameters.”

  “My first duty is the safety of this crew, which should always be taken into account. Our chance for success would have remained the same if I’d instructed this task force to take up a position beyond Ollathair. That mistake is on me.” Genevieve touched one window and stared toward a desolate emptiness where a warship once resided. “Fifty-four crewmembers on Ardent and seven on Constellation. I never even knew most of their names.”

  “You aren’t the captain of a gunboat. You cannot possibly know every person serving beneath you, ma’am. The fact that you want to is a testament to your character.”

  “I’ve seen your record, Lieutenant. You’ve served on warships that faced combat and lost crew.”

  “I have, ma’am. More than once.”

  “Does ordering loyal personnel to their death become easier? I shouldn’t doubt myself or question my duty – I knew what serving as an officer would entail – but that doesn’t make the trauma less raw.”

  “Every capable officer faces the same misgivings and distrust in their own abilities, ma’am. I know I did. Only the incompetent and arrogant believe themselves infallible. Those who are concerned with the welfare of their crew are more likely to keep them alive through the worst situations. You lost sixty-one soldiers, technicians, officers and engineers, but never forget you saved nearly a thousand others. Without quick thinking on your part, especially the desperate choice to slave Ardent to our bridge, many others would have died. Perhaps all of us.” Noam faced her and wore an expression of sympathy on his grizzled features. “Mourn those we lost, yes. Even vow to do better in the next engagement we face. But remember you have the skill and resolve to command a warship through adverse, painful circumstances.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. That…that was kind of you.”

  “I’m here to help in whatever manner is needed, ma’am.”

  “I’m sorry for venting on you like this. Captains aren’t supposed to admit doubts or look to their subordinates for reassurances.”

  “No captain should pretend they aren’t human. We’re all susceptible to sorrow and uncertainty, regardless of the rank worn on our sleeves.”

  Genevieve smiled and gave a friendly nod. “As you were, Lieutenant.”

  “Ma’am.”

  She withdrew from the viewport and headed toward her console, though stopped when the Communications Technician turned to face her.

  “Captain? Priority transmission for you relayed from the Tangaroa system. Verification: Arctic Thorn.”

  “Link the feed to my private quarters.”

  “At once, ma’am.”

  Genevieve departed the bridge and adjoining Combat Information Center before descending two levels and following the corridor to her chambers. Though neither expansive nor opulent in the manner of a fleet admiral’s quarters, her room was spacious enough on a frigate with minimal area for comfort. Besides affording Genevieve the respect her rank merited, the chamber also served as a private conference and communication room for mission critical and encrypted transmissions.

  She approached a terminal linked to the Ascendant Starfleet’s network and keyed in her authorization code. A blurred image interspersed with static distortion appeared on the screen and resolved into a sharpened image of Vice Admiral Amaira Baliarsingh, commander of the Confederacy Ninth Fleet. Serving on the Vigilant-class dreadnought Telesilla, her fleet was stationed in the otherwise uninhabited Amratian system, a transitory point between two vital spacelanes and the closest concentration of warships to Tuatha.

  Genevieve instinctively saluted, despite no protocol requiring such an action while conversing via long-range communication networks. “Admiral Baliarsingh.”

  Her returning salute was abrupt, though crisp. “At ease, Captain. I can’t imagine you have the stomach for formalities after the hell you’ve endured.”

  “I’m just happy to finally hear from Starfleet, ma’am. We were beginning to fear our distress hadn’t reached Command, and my orders didn’t contain any clauses for what to do in the event of an ambush.”

  “NDI believed the possibility was groundless and assured me a cold shoulder was the worst your task force faced.”

  The Naval Director of Intelligence had an enviable track record for predicting the likelihood of certain situations, which made his colossal failure to anticipate this an uncommon blunder. Genevieve wondered if a review of the entire department might be mandated following this mistake.

  “I’m sure my briefing contained the most up to date and relevant information, ma’am.”

  “How diplomatic of you, Captain. Frustration would be warranted after what took place. Of course my own ability to be tactful has decreased in relation to my rank, so perhaps I’m forgetting how politic a junior captain needs to be.” Amaira offered a warm smile and loosened her stance. “How are you feeling, Genevieve?”

  “I’m…managing, Admiral.”

  “I read the after-action report you submitted following the distress transmission. You did all that could be expected of any fleet officer.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Your message was greeted with varying degrees of outrage and consternation among Parliament. Following the recommendation submitted by the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Parliament voted to declare war on the Tuatha system.”

  “I can’t say I expected any other outcome, ma’am.”

  “No other response was appropriate in these circumstances. We cannot condone or tolerate non-aligned worlds opening fire on a Confederacy warship. The reason I’m the one delivering this news to you is because Task Force Echelon has officially been attached to the Ninth Fleet as it pertains to launching an invasion of Tuatha. Several squadrons and flotillas are conducting patrols in neighboring systems and along the Badarian Trade Route. I’ll need time to recall every vessel and muster the fleet for war.”

  “Understood, Admiral. What do you require from me?”

  “Your report detailed extensive damage to the corvette Ardent. Does the warship remain spaceworthy?”

  “No, ma’am. We finished scuttling her a short time before receiving your transmission. The Ardent was a total loss, no longer capable of performing at an acceptable limit.”

  “And your remaining ships?” Baliarsingh questioned.

  “The corvette Nightwatch sustained the least damage and is operating at approximately ninety-two percent efficiency with a full complement of two-hundred and forty-eight crew. My frigate Constellation suffered minor damage which has mostly been repaired, though lost seven crew as a result of hull breaches. Engineering reliably estimates her efficiency at seventy-six percent. Both warships are also currently carrying an additional one hundred and ninety-four crewmembers, those who survived from the Ardent. Quarters are tight, but no one onboard was accustomed to having privacy anyway.”

  “Your orders are to remain on station and await the Ninth Fleet’s arrival.”

  “You want us to continue serving in a combat role, Admiral?”

  “We have little choice. Tuatha has changed from a distant area of concern to an active warzone, and we need resources within the system. The Ninth Fleet won’t be able to marshal and deploy at full strength for several weeks. Reconnaissance you conduct during that time will be invaluable, providing us with crucial intelligence before we arrive. I’d like nothing better than to recall your frigate and reassign you to light escort duty, but I can’t lose an asset in Tuatha.”

  “Understood, ma’am.”

 
“How many Scimitar fighters remain operational?”

  “All four.”

  “Dispatch them on scouting sorties and continue maintaining contact with our intelligence operatives on Elatha and Delbaeth. Your priority is ascertaining an estimate of how many warships each government has within the system. I want to know if either planet recalls vessels currently stationed in outlying territory. Doing so risks losing those systems, but not consolidating their navies leaves Tuatha vulnerable to our invasion. My strategy will hinge on where their military forces are concentrated, and I need you to help provide that information.”

  “I’ll send daily reports to you in the Amratian system, Admiral.”

  “Thank you, Captain Letourneau. I’ll inform you of any changes to our mission. Good luck.”

  Admiral Baliarsingh’s image faded and the screen deactivated. Genevieve clenched her fists and withdrew from the terminal, wondering how to tell her crew they were expected to remain alone on frontline duty with no hope of reinforcements for perhaps a month.

  Chapter 22

  Taylor sipped water from a glass and stared out the grimy window nestled in one corner of their cheap, cramped hotel room. The vista overlooked an ugly, windowless building made from pastel gray materials, though if he strained his neck he could glimpse vehicles flitting past high above in a skylane that snaked between the two structures. Birds made a home beneath the window, constructing their nest from spindly branches, fabrics and errant detritus. Taylor leaned until his forehead almost made contact with the filthy glass and saw downy feathers from chicks huddled together.

  “Still gawking over the wee birdies?” questioned Reyes.

  Taylor turned and looked at the other man. Reyes and Kyla stood among four pairs of blue coveralls hanging from the ceiling, each one now emblazoned with the logo of GenuTech, a telecommunications giant based in the Heliades. A stylistic G written in yellow was crossed with a T, each letter sharing a portion of itself with the other, and encircled in red. Reyes was currently verifying the paint was dry and no longer susceptible to smudging.