The White Fleet (Blood on the Stars Book 7)

by Jay Allan

  She had the ale in her hand, and she took another drink. Then, she set it down and nodded. “Sounds good, Drake.” She paused. “Say, a week? I don’t think I’ll need any more time than that. I’ve got some good prospects to crew up Pegasus. Just a matter of picking the ones I want.”

  “A week it is then.” He slid out of the booth and stood up. “One week.” He smiled. “It’s good to have you back, Andi. Let’s make some money, eh?”

  “That’s why I’m here, Drake.”

  “Well, you’re already in the black. That drink’s on me…and as many more as you want.” He flashed a sign to the bartender, who nodded his acknowledgement.

  “That’s a change. Can’t say I remember you giving anything away before. Getting soft in your old age?”

  He took a step from the booth, and then he turned and looked down at her. “Let’s just say I’m a sentimental sort, and I’m glad to see an old friend. One week from now, right here.” He smiled again, and then he walked across the room and slipped through the door behind the bar.

  Chapter Nine

  Deep in the Zed-4 System

  24 Million Kilometers from CFS Dauntless

  Year 315 AC

  Stockton hit the fighter’s controls, decelerating as he approached the planet. He was near enough to have visual contact now, somewhat of a rarity with the vast distances involved in space travel and combat.

  The planet was a bright, vibrant orange and red, partially obscured by a gauzy lattice of white clouds that wound all around the massive sphere. It was beautiful, almost breathtaking, and he stared at it for a few seconds, appreciating something he rarely noticed. The universe was full of wonders, magnificent sights all around, but to him they had almost always been nothing save small lights on a screen. A planet might be a destination, or even potential cover from an approaching attacker, but he hardly ever took the time to appreciate one’s magnificence.

  He didn’t think the way he was now very often, his thoughts usually on facts and missions…and especially the dangers that had dogged his work for so long. But, being alone so far out, millions of kilometers from the fleet, made him more reflective.

  The gas giant was large, even by the standards of such things, and he suspected that in its formative days, it had come close to becoming a star in its own right. But instead, its mass had just failed to create the chain of fusion reactions needed, and it settled into a deep orbit around the Zed-4 primary. The glory of life as a star had eluded it, but it hosted its own vast and complex array of satellites.

  The planet had no less than forty-one moons that Stockton’s scanners had detected. Some were little more than scraps of barren rock, while others were almost the size of planets, with atmospheres of their own and varied array of makeups. Several were volcanic nightmares, their surfaces pockmarked with deep craters and geysers of molten rock, while others seemed almost habitable, save perhaps for the low temperatures so far from the primary.

  Stockton cranked up his scanners to full power. The signal had been vague and intermittent when he’d first picked it up, and now he could see why. Between the planet’s massive magnetic field and the volcanic activity of the moons, there was a tremendous amount of natural interference. He’d lost the reading a few times on his way in, but his AI had altered the frequencies, adapting to conditions and always managing to get it back fairly quickly.

  Now, however, this close to the planet, the background radiation and the magnetic fields were near to overwhelming his scanners. He wished his ship had a spread of probes to launch, but a Lightning fighter didn’t have room for things like that. He thought about pulling out, about heading back to Dauntless and suggesting Admiral Barron initiate an intensive scanning effort. That would delay the fleet’s journey and cause a lot of fuss. Still, it was the cautious move, and possibly the right call. Probably. But Stockton just wasn’t wired that way.

  He was going in.

  He angled his thrusters, accelerating softly, heading toward the nearest cluster of moons. The planet was frigidly cold, at least by the standards of human habitability, and if it had any kind of solid ground, it was thousands of kilometers into the dense gaseous outer layers. The gravity that far down would be a thousand times Megara-normal, enough to turn him into something resembling strawberry jam, and that made it very unlikely that anything manmade was on the planet itself.

  He kept looking back at his screen, watching as more data came in. The energy readings were stronger now, and as he pushed closer toward the planet’s orbital track, he began to get better positional readings. He worked through the data, eliminating potential targets one at a time as his fighter moved slowly forward.

  He was sure now he was picking up some kind of artificial construction. The rhythm was just too regular to be any kind of natural phenomenon. For an instant, he wondered if some frontier prospector had made it out this far, if he’d found the remains of some kind of salvage operation…or even an active one. That could be dangerous, not so much to the fleet, but to him, alone in a single fighter. The crews that worked the Badlands generally didn’t react well to interlopers poking their noses into a new find.

  He shook his head. No, that was very unlikely. They had run into signs of prospecting activity far closer in, but they’d passed through dozens of systems since the last traces of exploration activity. The fleet was just too far out, and no expedition less provisioned and substantial could possibly have come this distance from support.

  That realization sent a shiver down his spine. Whatever his scanners were picking up, it hadn’t been built by anyone from the Confederation. Or the Union or Alliance…or any of the known powers. That energy reading was from some machine constructed by the old empire, centuries before. And it was still functioning.

  No one would call Jake Stockton a coward, but the idea of an ancient device still operating centuries after those who built it had died, was chilling in its own way. He’d seen his share of old tech, even items of great power like the pulsar and stealth generator. But none of those artifacts had been found still functioning. Whatever this was, it was still operating now, on its own. That meant whatever fuel powered it had lasted hundreds of years. Its systems had functioned continually, with no repairs and no replacements. As far as he knew, nothing like that had ever been discovered in the Badlands.

  This was the kind of thing the fleet had come to find, of course, but Stockton hadn’t imagined stumbling on it himself, alone, far out from the fleet. He knew the potential value of functioning old tech, and the importance of the Confederation finding if before the Union or another malevolent force did. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the entire expedition was somehow looking for trouble wandering out this far into unknown space.

  He tapped the controls again, adjusting his course as the AI tightened the projected location of the contact. He flipped a series of switches, shutting down non-vital systems to free up power for the scanning beams. The dense magnetic activity was playing havoc on his sensors, and the data was crawling in. Even with the power boost, he’d have to get close—very close—to get anything conclusive.

  His eyes moved over the screen, watching as he approached a small group of three moons situated within a thousand kilometers of each other. The power source was definitely on, or in orbit around, one of them. His ship was coming in slowly. He’d barely tapped his thrust. He didn’t have a choice. He was getting very close to the limit of his fuel supply. If he burned his thrusters too hard, he wouldn’t have enough power to get back. Especially since he’d have to match any acceleration away from the fleet with corresponding deceleration to head back.

  Coming at Dauntless without enough fuel to decelerate and land was unlikely to be the disaster it could be in a battle situation, but it would be damned humiliating for the strike force commander to zip by his mother ship and wait for a rescue boat to catch up and dock with him, all in full sight of the fleet.

  There you are…

  His eyes focused on a small dot, the
closest of the moons. He’d finally managed to pick out the one he was looking for, and as he got closer, the scanner reports became cleaner, more complete. He crept forward, the cockpit silent save for his breath and the occasional beep from one of the instruments. His AI was active, recording everything. He would have sent the data back to his comrades for transmission to Dauntless right away, but the magnetic interference had cut off his comm completely. That was annoying, but it didn’t seem like a big deal. He could just blast his thrusters and clear the affected area in a minute or two once he’d finished his scanning run. Still, it made him feel even more alone.

  All right, just a little closer. Then, it’s time to pull out and turn this over to the admir…

  His thought was cut off by an energy spike, and then his fighter rocked hard. The alarm began blaring, and he could hear the AI speaking, warning him of system failures. For an instant, he thought was dead, but then he realized that, whatever had happened, his ship had survived. His first thought was that he’d been attacked, and he braced for another shot…but then he realized it had been some kind of scanning beam that had hit him, one vastly more powerful than any he’d been putting out.

  His instincts took over. Attack or no, whatever that thing was, it was dangerous. It was time to get out, to report this to the fleet and get some backup. He angled his throttle and pulled it back.

  Nothing.

  He reached down and flipped a series of switches, rerouting power flow. But the ship still didn’t respond.

  “Run a diagnostic,” he snapped to the AI.

  “Incoming scanner beam has burned out a large number of electrical systems. Restoration of thrust control impossible without full repairs in dock.”

  Damn.

  Stockton’s hands moved over the panel, checking for himself what the AI had just told him. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the computer, not exactly. But he didn’t much like the idea of being stranded so far from the fleet, without comm and without engine control.

  Most of all, he didn’t like the fact that he had no idea what had just disabled his ship with nothing more than a scan. The fleet had come looking for old tech…and they had damned sure just found some. But Stockton was more concerned now about getting back to Dauntless than he was about the potential uses of whatever artifact he’d stumbled upon.

  He stared at his screens, waiting, his stomach clenched tightly by the sudden and unexpected danger. He was helpless, and if the artifact he’d found was truly hostile, if had weapons of a power commensurate with that scanner beam and programming that directed it to attack, he was as good as dead.

  He forced himself to take a breath, and then another, and with each passing second, he felt his tension ratchet down, just a bit. After a minute, perhaps two, he decided whatever was out there, it wasn’t going to destroy him. At least not right away.

  He looked at the screen. His scanners were still operating, at least partially, and information was trickling in. Whatever he’d found, it was in geosynchronous orbit around the moon in front of him. The moon was very planet-like, someplace he imagined might even be pleasant, if its temperature had been a little warmer than a chilly 198 absolute. It appeared to have seas, though Stockton recalled enough from his Academy classes to realize they were likely filled with methane. Any water, at least on the surface, would be frozen solid.

  He took another breath, deeper this time, and he exhaled hard. The fact that he was still alive suggested the artifact’s primary purpose was scanning and not combat, though it was just possible he’d only been spared because the sensors were still operative, and the weapons were not. Or they need longer to charge before they fire…

  The thing wasn’t large, no more than a thousand tons, but he couldn’t get any more specific data. None of his beams could read anything beneath the device’s hull, save for the detection of ongoing energy production that had brought him out here in the first place.

  His fighter had limited scanning ability, and even that was damaged now and operating at reduced effectiveness. Nevertheless, there were no signs of hostile activity and, after another few minutes, his unsettled gut finally agreed with his brain. He leaned back and put his hand to his head, rubbing his throbbing temples. He was beginning to truly believe he wasn’t about to get blown to atoms.

  But it looked like he wasn’t going to escape the humiliation of needing to be rescued, after all. Now, he just hoped his green comrades waiting four million kilometers away got nervous quickly and called to the fleet for help to arrive.

  Before his life support ran out.

  Chapter Ten

  The Promenade

  Spacer’s District

  Port Royal City, Planet Dannith, Ventica III

  315 AC

  “I reestablished some old contacts, good ones, at least in terms of getting some credible leads.” Andi felt strange talking to the head of Confederation Intelligence in the back room of a seedy Spacer’s District tavern…one she’d been in a dozen times, without the slightest clue that it had been owned and operated by a front company for Holsten’s agency for more than a decade. “I’d say Drake Trencher is the best, probably by a considerable margin. He’s given me good leads in the past. We’ve made good money together.”

  “Do you trust him?” Holsten seemed nervous. Andi wasn’t sure how much of that had to do with being out of his element on the rough and tumble frontier…and how much was regret and concern over enticing her into an operation that would almost certainly prove to be dangerous.

  “Hell no. He’s a Badlands border snake who’d sell his own mother if he could get a good price for her. We’ve worked together, usually successfully, but I’ve also come close to blowing his brains out a couple times.”

  “Do you really think he’s the right contact? I don’t want you taking any unnecessary chances.”

  “Gary…normal business on Dannith is dangerous enough. You can’t get a decent drink around here without taking some chances. If you want to root out Sector Nine, expose their operations on the border…well, that’s not going to be safe, no matter what you do.” She paused. “Don’t worry. I can take care of myself.” She looked over at Holsten. He sent men and women into dangerous situations every day…but now, she realized he was having second guesses about luring her into Confederation Intelligence.

  “Oh, I know you can, Andi. I’d never have come to you if I didn’t believe that. But Sector Nine is…” His words trailed off. They both knew enough about the Union’s infamous spy agency to finish the sentence.

  “What about my crew? If I’m going to use my return to Badlands prospecting as a cover, I need to look like I’m ready to head out at some point.”

  “They’re ready, Andi. You can meet them all tonight. Let’s say…10pm, at Pegasus. Inside your ship is about the one place we can be sure no one else is listening.”

  “Are they good? Reliable?”

  “They’re the best I’ve got. Experienced operatives with military combat training. And they’re all from my Black Team, which means they basically don’t exist—not officially, at least. Even if someone gets a DNA sample, they won’t be able to track any of them down.”

  Andi just nodded. She knew anyone Holsten sent with her would be reliable. But she was still nervous. Coming back, working leads and looking for some old tech…that was one thing. It just wasn’t the thing she’d come to do. She was here to root out Sector Nine’s influence, and that was more difficult and dangerous by orders of magnitude. She had to push, to poke around places it wasn’t safe to poke. If there was a code on the border, it was one of silence. People didn’t ask about things that didn’t concern them, and when they did, it usually led to trouble.

  She’d jumped at the chance to escape from her gilded prison, to flee from the boredom she’d begun to feel was killing her, but now she realized she felt a little out of her depth. She was scared.

  She looked up at Holsten, trying to keep the concern from her face. “Okay, 10pm it is. I’ll see you there.
”

  * * *

  “Are you certain?”

  “Of course, I’m certain. Don’t you think I know Andi Lafarge?” Trencher was annoyed, but he didn’t let it affect his demeanor. It was an hour past closing time, and the bar was mostly dark, just a single light a few meters away throwing dim illumination across the table.

  “We’d heard that she is retired, that she’s no longer prospecting for old tech.” His contact was unemotional, cold. Trencher disliked dealing with the man. He’d almost told the new arrival to get lost when he’d first walked into the bar a few weeks back, but then the stranger recited a list of Trencher’s debts, the legitimate ones, and also those he’d owed to…rougher…parties. It didn’t take long for him to realize that whoever the new arrival was, he now held most of the ruinous debt into which Trencher had fallen so deeply. It was unnerving, but certainly an attention-grabber, especially when the mysterious man suggested a way Trencher could rid himself of his obligations.

  “Yeah, I heard that too, but now she’s back. She says her last score was good, but not enough to last. She’s back looking to pad her stake.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “As much as I believe anything. She’d lie to me if it suited her needs, of course, but why else would she be back here? She damned sure didn’t miss the food…or the company.”

  “What did she want from you?”

  “What do you think she wanted?” Trencher could see the man was not amused. He’d been dealing with the contact for weeks now, and the stranger had kept all his promises, at least so far. But there was something disturbing about him too, almost foreboding. “She wanted leads on old tech, of course. It certainly looks like she’s planning another expedition.”