Outriders

by Ian Blackport

  WHAT ARE YOUR ORDERS, FLIGHT LIEUTENANT AYLETT?

  “Send a transmission to the Sentinel. They might be more receptive now that this information is widespread.”

  YOUR COMMUNICATION HAS BEEN PLACED ON A QUEUE FOR RECEPTION.

  “They’re acknowledging me. I suppose that’s progress.” She wiggled in the uncomfortable chair and tried loosening her exhausted muscles. “I can be patient so long as this ceasefire isn’t broken. It’s actually almost nice floating here in the shadow of a gas giant. I miss my earlier days as a pilot, when I had opportunities to enjoy drifting among the stars, without endless worries and fears. Just…peace.”

  WHAT WILL YOU DO ONCE THIS WAR HAS ENDED?

  “I don’t know. I haven’t given much thought to the idea, as it happens. Rejoin Starfighter Command and go wherever they tell me, I suppose. If they even have a place for me. Being the sole survivor of an engagement attracts harsh questions. There’ll be officers and staff who believe I should’ve died with my squadron. That I’m now toxic and will jeopardize anyone else I come in contact with. It would’ve been neater if everyone involved perished. Instead I insisted on surviving.”

  A flat voice sputtered to life through her comm. “Sentinel Flight Control contacting Confederacy Starfleet ARJ-77 Stiletto Stinger Three.”

  “I read you, Flight Control,” Clara answered.

  “You’re clear for approach on the vector we’re providing. Power down all systems and enter Starfighter Launching Bay 03.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t comply with that directive. I’ll approach but remain in position alongside the cruiser.”

  “Negative, Stinger Three. The issued command is not voluntary.”

  “This is a Confederacy starfighter partially operated by a virtual intelligence who’s programed to trigger a self-destruct sequence if the vessel is seized by a non-aligned world. I’ve poked around in the systems and this feature can’t be overridden, not by someone who doesn’t have an Authority command key. If I’m forced to bring this Stiletto aboard the Sentinel, you’ll be responsible for the destruction of one hangar and the death of however many people are presently inside.”

  The controller’s voice quieted and Clara could hear the distrust in her voice. “Do Confederacy starfighters really have that feature?”

  “Believe me, I wish they didn’t. I’d like nothing more than to get out and stretch my legs. But the virtual intelligence has reminded me several times, and I’m not interested in giving it a final test.”

  “One moment.” The controller left the conversation for almost a full minute before returning in her original monotone voice. “Affirmative, Stinger Three. Your request has been granted. You’re permitted to remain in a stationary position one kilometer on Sentinel’s starboard side.”

  “Acknowledged, Flight Control. Stinger Three out.”

  Clara accessed the vector transmitted to her computer and piloted toward the Sentinel. Its stern bank of five primary thrust chambers, each one boasting a radius larger than her entire starfighter, emitted only a sallow orange-red that almost appeared sickly on the behemoth war machine. Scorched hull plates where shots penetrated the kinetic buffers decorated the exterior like grisly pockmarks, mirroring the cratered surface of Creidhne beneath.

  “Would you really detonate if I forcefully brought you onto an Elathan warship, Tonk?”

  YES.

  “Even if I stayed inside and promised not to let our techs and engineers take you apart?”

  I AM NOT PROGRAMED TO BE CAPABLE OF MAKING THAT DISTINCTION. I HAVE NO WISH TO CEASE FUNCTIONING, BUT THE CHOICE DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. I AM SIMPLY COMPELLED TO OBEY.

  “Better that I don’t chance it then.”

  A mangled debris field orbited close to Clara’s Stiletto, the tumbling shards frozen in glistening ice crystals that obscured battle scars. Emergency Recovery Vessels painted white and red floated amid wreckage between warships, their dedicated and selfless crews tracking the short-range signals of surviving pilots who had gone extravehicular and waited for rescue. Many perished from asphyxiation or exposure before salvation arrived, trapped in a situation where even the tiniest suit tear resulted in death. Others lost power in critical navigational systems and floated too close to a planetary atmosphere, ending their lives in a horrific blaze of fiery agony.

  Clara ejected from her starfighter only once before, after the vehicle suffered a catastrophic engine rupture during a training exercise. An ERV found her location and brought her onboard almost two hours later, a considerably fleeting period for extravehicular exposure, yet she required intensive care to prevent the loss of her extremities due to frigid temperatures. Pilot flight suits were designed to be flexible, lightweight and compact in order to squeeze into a cockpit and not hamper performance. Long-term spacewalks were not meant to be survivable.

  She brought her stolen Stiletto alongside the Sentinel and deactivated several flight systems until she drifted on minimal power, barely a blip among the behemoths of each fleet.

  Clara sighed and dimmed the screens in her cockpit. “Now we wait.”

  Chapter 31

  “I can hardly believe what I’m seeing, Captain,” declared the nearest analyst.

  “Authenticate the broadcast,” Genevieve instructed. “Trace the route back to its origin and pinpoint every deviation or connection. If the transmission required one hundredth of a second longer than normal to complete a basic subroutine, I want to know why. Uncover every fragment of data you can find about this message. We need to be absolutely confident of its legitimacy before acting on this information.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Can anyone confirm whether these files have been doctored or undergone changes of any kind?”

  “Not without an unacceptable margin for error, Captain. We’d need more time for analysis.”

  “I need something to act on, an instinct based on years of experience in the field.”

  “Preliminary interpretation leads me to believe these are genuine and haven’t been tampered with,” responded the analyst. “But I can’t recommend making command decisions on my intuition alone, ma’am.”

  “Neither can I, though for now we have little else. Dig deeper and tell me if any file gives you reason for concern.”

  Genevieve withdrew from the Combat Information Center while her people scrambled among terminals and displays. Noam Yacoby stepped alongside her with his hands clasped and an outward appearance of calm.

  “This changes everything,” he remarked.

  “We don’t know whether the information is true.”

  “What happens when we can no longer use uncertainty as a justification?”

  “We act in the best interests of the Confederacy and its people as allowed by the law. I’ll let you know what that entails once I figure it out myself.”

  Noam offered a reassuring and sympathetic expression. “Understood, ma’am.”

  “What’s the latest status update from engineering?”

  “They’ve completed all the repairs possible without a dry dock. To increase the Constellation’s readiness level, we’d need to be relieved from active duty.”

  “At least we aren’t still vulnerable.”

  One technician hunched over a console shared words with a colleague and then faced Genevieve. “Captain?”

  “Report,” she commanded.

  “We’ve concluded our analysis of this data. The source is Research Installation Icicle Flare on Kanaloa in the Tangaroa system, distributed through the communication relay to us and the Ninth Fleet. It also appears this data was sent to Elathan and Delbaethi fleets and government agencies on an unencrypted channel.”

  “Tangaroa was the source system? The transmission didn’t just connect to its comm relay to reach our location?”

  “It originated on Kanaloa, ma’am.”

  “Why would a broadcast of highly sensitive and classified files come from Kanaloa?” Genevieve questioned. “Messages of this nature should be sen
t by Fleet Command Headquarters on Morrigan.”

  “I don’t have an answer for you, Captain. But the priority codes and network clearance were verified. Whatever the reason for an unusual route, this transmission was distributed on a secure Confederacy server.”

  Lieutenant Yacoby waited at her side within the CIC. “Your orders, Captain Letourneau?”

  “I don’t have the command authorization to act unilaterally on an issue this critical. I’ll need to consult with Admiral Baliarsingh for new commands.” Genevieve paused on a walkway connecting to the corridor beyond and glanced back. “Recall our starfighters from reconnaissance patrols and tell Communications to establish a secure connection with the Admiral in my cabin.”

  “At once, ma’am.”

  “You have command of the bridge until I return.”

  She departed and returned to her private quarters, trying not to fixate on what all this might mean for the war. The files called all events and decisions into question, including the legality and necessity of war against the Tuatha system. If these reports were genuine, the entire confrontation was orchestrated by criminal and corrupt elements within Triaxus Corporation and the Confederacy. She felt ill thinking about all the lives lost without justification, from innocent civilians on Elatha and Delbaeth to military personnel under her own command.

  Feeling too apprehensive and restless to claim a chair, Genevieve paced across the conference room portion of her chambers and waited for a communication from Admiral Baliarsingh. Almost an entire hour passed before she received a message from the bridge indicating the admiral was finally available. Genevieve adjusted her askew peak cap and signaled for the broadcast to commence. The commanding officer for the Confederacy’s Ninth Fleet appeared on one wall, resplendent in a pristine white uniform accented with gold and red epaulets.

  “Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Admiral.”

  “My apologies for making you wait, Captain. The Ninth Fleet has experienced delays and required my full attention. Am I correct in assuming your urgent request for a conversation is related to this mysterious broadcast originating on Kanaloa?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “The transmission caught us unawares and places our entire mission in doubt.”

  “My analysts tell me the frequency and underlying codes are all Confederacy military,” Genevieve affirmed.

  “As do mine. Whatever its origin or purpose, the data was distributed on the proper channel and transmitted through the Tangaroa naval relay, which is entirely inaccessible to civilian vessels. Its authenticity is beyond reproach.”

  “Have you been in contact with Authority Command, ma’am?”

  “We haven’t. Our current location lacks a viable communications relay that would allow us to connect with the Heliades. The nearest long-range one was operated by the Elathan government and, from what we can discern, the relay was destroyed by Delbaethi agents to inhibit communication between two Elathan star systems. The unintended fallout is that this strike also prevents us from reporting to Starfleet without a sizeable delay. We sent a transmission regardless, but might not receive a response for days or longer.”

  “Do you have orders in the meantime, ma’am?”

  “I’m calling off our invasion of Tuatha and directing all warships to stand down.”

  “Can you make that decision without Parliamentary approval, Admiral?”

  “I have jurisdiction to conduct the war however I see fit,” Baliarsingh said, “which includes not fighting at all should the situation warrant such a course of action. Until the Kanaloan message can be proven false, I will not allow any vessels under Confederacy command to fire a shot in anger against Elatha or Delbaeth.”

  “Understood, ma’am. As the only warships stationed in an active theater of war, what do you require from the Constellation and Nightwatch?”

  “I’m authorizing you to commence interdiction operations at your discretion against any and all threats to the Tuatha system and its inhabitants and military forces. Your command extends throughout the entire Cessair Sector. Do not allow any Authority warships or operatives to continue hostilities. Your rank supersedes all other officers and personnel, regardless of their orders. You have full command authority over all Confederacy naval and intelligence assets in this theater until I arrive.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Genevieve replied. “I’ll maintain the ceasefire in your absence.”

  “The appointment won’t remain in effect for long, Captain. The Ninth Fleet departed the Amratian system for your location several days ago. We’ll be arriving in force soon.”

  “Do you have specific orders for me until that time, Admiral?”

  “I’m forwarding you a list of operations scheduled to commence in the coming days. Our infiltration teams on Elatha and Delbaeth were instructed to conduct pre-emptive cyberwarfare strikes before the Ninth Fleet’s arrival, designed to cripple adversarial infrastructure and defense systems. That cannot be allowed to happen. I’ve given you my command key so you can rescind those orders. The teams are to remain on standby in the unlikely and unfortunate event that hostilities begin again.”

  “You believe that’s a possibility even with this evidence, Admiral?”

  “Hatred between all parties involved runs deep. If the Tuathans learn we have deep cover agents poised to destroy their water supplies, plunge their cities into darkness and drop satellites from orbit, no amount of evidence will stem their desire for vengeance. Knowing those agents have been positioned in the Tuatha system for more than a decade, all the while waiting for an order to unleash chaos and take lives, will only create more animosity. For the sake of lasting peace, if such a concept is even possible, no Tuathan can die by Confederacy hands.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll send transmissions within the hour.”

  “Thank you, Captain. Barring unforeseen events, the Ninth Fleet will reach Tuatha soon. We’ll rendezvous near the dwarf planet Breogan and attempt negotiations, presuming our mandate doesn’t change before then. Baliarsingh out.”

  The image faded to black and Genevieve withdrew from her quarters, ascending several levels to the frigate’s bridge. Noam Yacoby noticed her arrival and ended a discussion with their Communications Technician.

  “Any changes to our situation, Lieutenant?” asked Genevieve.

  “No, ma’am. Analysts continue to review the broadcast and establish its legitimacy.”

  “The Ninth Fleet CICs have conducted their own investigation and authenticated the data. It’s genuine.”

  “What orders did Admiral Baliarsingh give us?”

  “To remain here and prevent hostilities between our forces and the Tuathans. If any Confederacy warship or operative has instructions to launch an attack, we countermand those orders and direct them to stand down.”

  “Alone, ma’am?” inquired Noam. “What if they refuse our authority?”

  “They won’t. I have the necessary command key to revoke all other actions. Our first priority is to contact agents stationed throughout Tuatha and prevent them from fulfilling their orders to commit acts of sabotage.” Genevieve turned and crossed the bridge. “Communications, establish a connection to naval and intelligence operatives in this system. Encryption: Oberon-Desdemona-Three, highest priority.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Once we’ve contacted each agent our next concern will—”

  “Captain, I’m receiving a different priority communication,” interrupted the Communications Technician.

  Genevieve arched an eyebrow beneath her cap. “Origin?”

  “The gas giant Aenach Tailteann, ma’am.”

  “We have no personnel stationed there.”

  “No, ma’am. The transmission is coming from the Elathan and Delbaethi fleets.”

  “Our analysts did surmise their warships also received the message from Kanaloa,” noted Lieutenant Yacoby.

  “Though whether their intentions are amicable or hostile remains to be seen,” Gene
vieve muttered. “Communications, what else can you tell me about this transmission?”

  “The Elathan Quasar-class heavy cruiser Sentinel is utilizing a tightbeam transceiver to contact us directly, but their communication systems are linked with the equivalent Delbaethi warship. A Wyvern-class battlecruiser listed as the Dragonfire. They’re requesting a conference with you, ma’am.”

  “How did they locate our coordinates for a tightbeam?”

  “The broadcast from the Tangaroa comm relay was unencrypted and distributed on all military frequencies. Without stringent security protocols, analysts are able to backtrack the transmission and reconstruct each individual end point in order to determine our position.”

  “This might be the ideal method for avoiding further bloodshed,” Genevieve admitted. She surveyed her uniform and straightened her peak cap before facing the main transmission screen. “Accept the communication on full video.”

  The screen brightened and resolved into a split image featuring two men bearing a rigid, authoritative composure that signaled decades of military service. One wore a navy blue uniform trimmed in gold, while the other was dressed in black bordered with crimson.

  “Do I have the privilege of addressing the Constellation’s commanding officer?” inquired the man in blue and gold.

  “You do. My name is Captain Genevieve Letourneau.”

  “A pleasure, Captain. I’m Rear Admiral Lehua Kalawai’a of the Elathan Combined Starfleet Commission, commanding the Maelstrom Fleet aboard the flagship Sentinel.”

  The other officer gave a respectful bow. “Admiral Mikheil Gelashvili of the Dragonfire, lead vessel of the Delbaethi Navy’s Fourth Patrol Flotilla.”

  “I’m honored to make both your acquaintances, Admirals,” Genevieve affirmed.

  “Your presence in our system was noted soon after your arrival, but until now we had no reason to desire contact,” said Kalawai’a.

  “Offering to mediate in our internal conflict was viewed as profoundly unwarranted and condescending,” Gelashvili remarked. “Rather typical behavior from the Confederacy.”