Traitor Winds - Kestrel Saga: Vol. 0 (Kestrel Saga - Origins)

by Stephen A. Fender

  Angelika nodded her head thoughtfully. “Sometimes I forget that you were in the service.”

  Carlisle chuckled, not taking his eyes from his reading material. “Well, it was a long time ago.”

  Angelika‘s eyes slipped back to the cruiser just in time for the large ship’s drive engines to light up the side of the shuttle. So bright was the intensity that the shuttle’s automatic dimming controls took over and reduced the visible spectrum through the view port to a tolerable level. “Well, I think they are magnificent.”

  “Spoken like a true romantic who never had the joy of serving on one,” Carlisle snorted.

  His tone left little doubt that there was no joy to be had in it at all. Still, Angelika agreed with his assessment: she was a romantic at heart. It was something she tried desperately to not lose sight of, even with all she’d seen and done in her tenure with the OSI.

  As the last vestiges of the graceful Antarax slipped from view, Angelika turned her gaze forward in time to see that their shuttle was about to enter one of the numerous smaller hangars adjacent to the main docks. The bay, just large enough for two such shuttles, had the only open door for nearly a hundred yards in all directions. It was a beacon of light on this stretch of otherwise tarnished, silvery skin of Canis-Seven.

  “We’ll be docking in five minutes,” the pilot’s voice called out over the shuttle’s intercom.

  “Good,” Carlisle said to himself in frustration. “I hope they’re catering this briefing. I woke up entirely too early, and I could use some breakfast.”

  Even after all these years, Angelika was still enthralled each time she visited the orbiting station, and was at a total loss as to how anyone could not be. “Harold, you could take the joy out of Christmas.”

  He shut off his tablet and looked at her with what could only be described as mild boredom. “What do you mean?”

  Angelika untied her hair, letting the blonde locks flow over her shoulders with a light shake of her head. She waved her hands grandly toward the station beyond the view port. Carlisle’s expression remained blank, and she dismissed him with a fluttering wave. “Never mind. I’ll explain it later.”

  Chapter 4

  It had only been weeks since Angelika had seen the inside of the station, yet the sheer internal volume of Canis-Seven still left her utterly amazed. Unlike her first visit years ago, when a simple wrong turn inside the endless corridors had led to hours of frustrated searching, this time she knew the exact compartment to get to and how best to go about doing it. In fact, she knew several ways of getting there, and seeing as she had some time to kill before the briefing officially began, she decided on taking an indirect route through the station’s arboretum and observation deck along the way.

  Even out in space, the technology that fueled the arboretum allowed the compartment to be all seasons at once. Everything seemed to be in a constant state of bloom, with flowers of nearly every shape imaginable and in a broad spectrum of colors there to greet Angelika as she strolled along the earthen path that bisected the enormous space. The scents from hundreds of flowers from as many worlds comingled into a sweet odor that permeated every pore of her body and brought instant relaxation after the hurried morning. As she reached the end of the compartment, she looked at her wrist computer and noticed she’d been there far longer than she’d imagined, and left in a flurry to get to the briefing on time.

  Ten decks below, the bustle of activity on the upper administrative deck was an unwelcome sight as the lift doors opened. Angelika had barely managed to exit the lift elevator before two Areelians, with each of their four arms and three legs flailing in a near-constant motion, tromped into the still-parted doors of the magnetic lift with no acknowledgement of the human female they had nearly bowled over. Angelika turned to regard the aliens, each dressed in the typical gray- and black-trimmed uniforms of Sector Command. She had no impression that either of the aliens realized she was scowling at them, as their faces were obscured by the life-giving carbon monoxide masks that kept them functioning in the prevalent Terran atmosphere of the level. The doors closed, and with a huff of exasperation Angelika continued on her course.

  The remainder of the deck was no less crowded with Sector Command personnel, and most were just as discourteous as the two Areelians. Of the few who did recognize Angelika’s presence, only one had anything cordial to say. It was a human male, a young lieutenant who’d stepped out from a side door and nearly collided head-on with the hurried young woman.

  “I’m sorry,” he’d offered with a wide grin as he flattened himself unnecessarily against the closest bulkhead. “I was just in a hurry to get back to the carrier. Don’t want them shipping off without me.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Lieutenant.”

  The young man’s blue eyes were catching. Had it been another life and another time, she might have inquired what ship he was on and where they were heading. As it was, Angelika simply smiled, nodded politely, and continued on down the corridor. What was the name embroidered on his uniform? Hawk? Eagle? Sparrow? She dismissed the thought with a wave as quickly as it had manifested itself. Not long after that, she came to her final destination.

  Slipping through the transparent doors, she was caught off guard by the darkness of the room. The usually gleaming tabletops were covered in dull cloth, and the lights were set far below their normal brilliance. It was also uncomfortably cold. Even through the gloom of the compartment, as she tried not to show any visible signs of discomfort, she could make out the distinct shapes of four people sitting at the far end of a long table.

  One of the men was Deputy Director Troy Martell, his already-dark skin lacking any discernible details in the compartment’s ambiance. Flanking him were two humanoid males, each perhaps forty to fifty years old, that she’d never seen before. The final figure, seated at the head of the table, had a face she knew all too well, thought she’d never met the man personally. It was the OSI Director himself, and his presence underscored the magnitude of the information she was sure to receive.

  “Agent Jordan,” Martell said without rising from his seat. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

  As if I had a choice. “Of course, sir.”

  She discerned a slight nod of his head in the darkness before he gestured in the direction of the unknown human on his right. “This is Special Agent Daniel Travis, the contact officer for this assignment.”

  With her eyes now adjusted to the low light levels, Angelika could see a deep scar running down Travis’s right cheek. It’d been a long time since she’d seen such a feature, and wondered why Travis hadn’t requested it be removed. While his eye color was still impossible to discern, she could definitely tell they were looking almost menacingly into her. She nodded her head as another wave of cold air brushed passed her face. “Agent Travis.”

  “Agent Jones,” Travis replied, his voice unusually raspy.

  Martell then motioned to the uniformed, olive-skinned man on his left. “This is Sector Command Third Fleet Commanding Officer, Rear Admiral Th-ma Remus.”

  The admiral’s uniform looked impeccable, adorned with several rows of colorful campaign awards affixed to the left breast of his gray jacket. Other than the greenish tone of his skin, the Cauterian male could have easily passed for a human. His black hair was combed back and revealed a high forehead. His piercing eyes twinkled, and his sharply defined nose twitched as he brought a cigarette to his lips.

  “Admiral,” Angelika acknowledged.

  After a moment, the admiral exhaled a steady stream of smoke that billowed up toward the air recirculation vents. His impassive eyes seemed to scan over her, as if he were giving her a uniform inspection. “Agent Jordan,” he said.

  It was then that Martell introduced the fourth presence in the room. “I believe you know the Director.”

  With his eyes obscured behind the dark lenses of his glasses, it was impossible to tell if he was looking at her, though the inclination of his head told Angelika he undoubtedl
y was. “We’ve never had the pleasure, sir,” she offered with all the charm she could muster.

  “Indeed,” the Director replied with measured composure. “We have not.”

  By his tone, she knew that nothing more would be disclosed on the matter, and when the Director made a slight tilt of his head in Martell’s direction, she knew that all pleasantries were about to be concluded.

  “If you’ll take a seat, Agent Jordan.” Martell stretched his hand toward the chair before her. She would be seated directly opposite the Director’s unemotional visage.

  As soon as her bottom had touched the cushion, the light in the space grew even dimmer until she was bathed in near-darkness. In a brilliant green flash, a holographic emitter in the center of the table sprang to life as a rotating image of the OSI eagle hovered a foot above the tabletop.

  “This briefing is classified level seven, Agent Jordan,” the disembodied, monotone voice of the Director called out. “As you are fully aware, there is no higher classification of information. You will not speak of this outside this room under penalty of termination. Do you understand?”

  Why couldn’t he just say ‘death’? “Yes, sir. I understand.”

  A brief silence filled the room, which was quickly eradicated by the spinning logo dematerializing and reforming into a Sector Command service record. At her distance from the image, the text in the file was mostly illegible. What drew her attention, and what was probably the intention of the Director, was the image of the man the file described and the name below it: Maros Krador. He looked far younger than his fifty-one years of age. His peppered hair was worn in a similar style to that of Admiral Remus, but combed neatly over to one side. His face held a boyish charm, but his eyes were as cold as ice.

  “I believe you are already familiar with the exploits of Admiral Krador,” the Director began evenly, “but I feel a review is necessary in order to get you up to speed with current events.”

  Angelika watched as the service record was resized, then moved to the side as a scrolling list appeared next to it.

  “Twenty-five years ago, upon graduating from the Sector Command academy on here on Third Earth, Ensign Maros Krador was stationed as the communications officer on board the destroyer Northampton. A highly intelligent and resourceful officer, Krador quickly moved up the ranks to end his tour as a full lieutenant, having been awarded the post of Chief Engineer in only eighteen months. From there, at the behest of his commanding officer, Lieutenant Krador applied to Sector Command Special Forces. After passing the somewhat rigorous course, Lieutenant Krador was posted as third in command, SCSF Tactical Team Delta, which was then stationed on Space Station Omicron near the Epsilon Tiranan nebula.”

  The scrolling list of accolades Krador had amassed on board the Northampton were replaced by his exploits while attached to the Special Forces team.

  “As you can see,” the Director continued, “Krador was instrumental in a number of operations throughout his tenure.”

  Indeed he had been. In the five years he had been attached to the Special Forces unit, Krador and his team had performed scores of personnel and information extraction missions, demilitarization operations, rescue operations, and several high-profile termination missions, some of which Angelika was only vaguely aware.

  “Krador’s posting to Delta team was put to an end rather abruptly. While attempting to retake a hijacked star liner, half of his team of ten officers were killed when pirates detonated an explosive device in a compartment adjacent to one he and his team were investigating. Krador himself was seriously injured, losing his right arm from just below the shoulder. When the liner was finally retaken several hours later, Krador was medevaced to the hospital ship Charity. Despite the massive loss of blood, doctors were able to save his life. His right arm was replaced with a bionic prosthesis.”

  The holographic imaged changed to show a video of a young Krador, surrounded by doctors, with his gleaming bionic arm reflecting the hospital surroundings. The video quickly changed to show Krador using his new arm to decimate a series of heavy stuffed punching bags, again under the watchful gaze of Sector Command doctors.

  “As you can see, he was more than fit for active duty. Krador wished to return to Delta team, but Sector Command rules stipulated that, in lieu of the relatively new field of bionics, no one wearing such devices could operate in a Special Forces team. Those rules have since been waived. But by the time that amendment came out, Krador had since found a new posting inside Sector Command.”

  The video dissolved and reformed into a Sector Command cruiser, not unlike the graceful one Angelika had witnessed leaving the station earlier that day.

  “Upon reentering the fleet, the now Lieutenant Commander Krador was assigned as second officer on board a cruiser. Ten months later, while subverting a cult uprising on the planet Polys, the cruiser’s first officer was killed. This moved Krador up on the chain of command. His excellence in service continued for another two years, when he was then offered his first command of a heavy cruiser.

  “During his five years aboard that ship, Krador made initial contact with six new cultures, and was singularly successful in guiding four of them into the Unified Collaboration of Systems. His charisma, it seemed, extended beyond the confines of his role as a commanding officer. The Secretary of Sector Command took notice, and preparations were underway to transition Krador into an ambassadorial role within the UCS. Seeing that this would take him away from command, Krador declined the position, instead accepting a promotion to admiral. He was then assigned to the Sector Command fleet construction yards at Ruwan.”

  The holographic projector emitted a Sector Command orbital station, striking similar to Canis-Seven. The three-dimensional image also included a dozen smaller construction docks, each filled with its own ship.

  “When border systems near the edge of the Outer Rim began going silent, Krador was tasked with increasing fleet strength in anticipation for a coming conflict. Due to Ruwan’s proximity to what we now know as Kafaran space, it was felt that his new fleet would provide the best protection for the surrounding quadrants.”

  The image of the orbital station panned out, and top-down views of nearly a dozen friendly systems were highlighted and summarized, with a deep red line on the left side of the map denoting the border to Kafaran space only four light-years distant from the closest UCS member.

  “Krador began a massive buildup of Sector Command forces in the area. Scores of new starships were commissioned, and the admiral personally oversaw the design and construction of three fleet battleships that are currently engaged on the frontlines. One of them, the Heliotrope, is the Sector Command flagship for the Third Fleet, flying the flag of Vice Admiral Remus.”

  Angelika’s eyes darted from the holographic representation of an enormous, wedge-shaped vessel to the admiral. Remus was just as poker-faced as when the briefing had begun.

  “As hostilities with the Kafarans became unavoidable, Krador began pushing the upper echelons of Sector Command to wage open war with them. He concocted several assault strategies, all which called for massive incursions into Kafaran space. At that time, the President of the Unified Collaboration was still deep in negotiations with numerous member worlds, attempting to solidify a formal peace treaty that could be presented to the enemy. Krador argued that this was a futile endeavor and, of his own initiative, began an even more massive buildup of forces along the edge of the Outer Rim.”

  The emitter began displaying an image of a group of Unified ambassadors filing into a waiting shuttle, which lifted off a few moments later.

  “When the envoy of peace delegates crossed into Kafaran space and were quickly killed, it was decided that this overtly hostile buildup of Sector Command vessels had caused the Kafarans to panic, thus terminating the deliberations before they had even begun. Krador argued the opposite: that the Kafarans were using his fleet as an excuse to start a war that the Unified Collaborations should have precipitated in the first place. Convince
d that Sector Command leadership had abandoned him, and knowing that his divergence from the Unified Council would cause his career to quickly come to an end, Krador put into motion his decision to retire from Sector Command.”

  “However, before his retirement became official, it was discovered—through a minor paperwork accident—that Krador had been actively staging raids into Kafaran space before open war had been declared by the Unified Council. In the ensuing investigation, it was proven that Krador himself had seen to the destruction of scores of Kafaran vessels, not to mention what could loosely be called civilians on some of their worlds. Formal charges were brought against him, but before they could be delivered, the admiral escaped. For some time, his whereabouts were unknown.”

  The video playback changed to show a large, toroid space station hanging high above a mostly tropical world. Several dry docks were present as well, with dozens of shuttles buzzing between them.

  “Approximately six months later, the President of the Unified Government was making a tour of inspection of the fleet construction efforts at Ruwan. During a tour of the upper docking area, while the President and his aides—along with two thousand Sector Command officers and civilian contractors—were watching the christening of a new frigate, an explosive device was detonated inside the vessel.”

  The image was then filled with the bow of a small warship, which immediately buckled and shattered in large fireball.

  “The entire bow of the ship exploded while still inside the dock, sending roughly one hundred and ten thousand tons of debris into anything in its path. The president, all his aides, the shipyard commanding officer, and five hundred others were killed instantly. Many hundreds more were severely injured. Within forty-eight hours, Krador contacted Sector Command Fleet Headquarters on Third Earth and acknowledged responsibility for the attack.”

  “In his lengthy speech, the unedited version of which Agent Travis will make available to you, Krador cited the Unified Government’s inability to act in the face of aggression as the contributing factor in its eventual downfall. Specifically, he sees Sector Command as a paltry image of its once-glorious former self, and vows to humiliate and destroy it at all costs. Due to his extensive background in communications while serving on board various starships, Sector Command—working in conjunction with the OSI—had been unable to determine the origins of the transmission until recently.”