Border Worlds (United Star Systems Book 1)

by J Malcolm Patrick

  “I’m lost as to how Rigel could be a focal point for any USSF interest at the moment, Platus.”

  “Ah, brother, leave the intelligence analysis to me. Rest assured this advisor has been with Shepherd for years. We’ve worked just as long to put someone in place near to her. If she’s going to Rigel, it’s for a very good reason.” Quintus didn’t seem convinced and Platus continued. “The Supreme Commander of the USSF is sending an agent to Rigel on his behalf, it’s worth our effort. You know I cannot launch any operation without my commanding officer’s approval.”

  “My brother the nobleman,” Quintus said. “Above all else, I too wish the Empire to flourish. I can promise you I will attempt to engage with the Emperor. Not for a moment do I believe the USS is responsible for the anomalous attacks along the Border Worlds. We need to know exactly who is, and find proof, to bring to the Emperor. You have thirty days until this fleet arrives at Atlas Prime. That’s all the time I can give you. Follow your lead on Rigel if you believe it will get us what we need. Before you leave, I want you to use your . . . talents to set up discreet surveillance on the Lord Praetor while he’s aboard Phalanx.”

  Platus laughed. “Now who is being treasonous, brother?”

  “Just cautious, Platus.”

  Platus nodded. “It will be done,” he said, turning to look directly at Quintus, “but what if the Emperor doesn’t care about the plotting of the Lord Praetor? What will you do?”

  Quintus stared in silence for a moment, glimpsing the uninhabited temperate world orbiting the single star.

  “Honor above loyalty, Platus. I will not let you or father down.”

  Chapter 7 - Santiago

  Passenger ship—Santiago

  20 years earlier (2455)

  Patrick and Anna Rayne joined the other families and crew of the Columbus-class passenger freighter six years ago.

  Santiago was nearing the end of a two-week deceleration burn prior to entering Atlas Prime’s orbit. The time aboard the passenger ship was thrilling but Patrick longed to set foot planet side and leave behind the cold hard decks of Santiago. Aaron on the other hand loved space travel and frequently spoke of joining the United Star Systems Fleet. Patrick wasn’t sure he was happy with the idea.

  Patrick left the bridge headed for the habitation deck. The ship’s junior flight crew could handle the rest from here. He and the captain deserved a long rest.

  Just before he could step up to the hatch to his quarters, Aaron emerged.

  “Dad! Nice to see you after so many weeks. Me and mom were beginning to think you enjoyed sleeping on the bridge.” The hug was tight. Not a little boy anymore, he’s a young man and Patrick winced at the strength.

  He couldn’t breathe. “Okay okay—enough. You missed me I get it. I missed you too, kiddo,” he tussled the little man’s scruffy head of hair.

  It was definitely true your children never grew old in your eyes. You always had that image of them as the young innocent helpless thing which you had to keep safe from a harsh world.

  “I’m off to start my shift.”

  He was a junior technician now. Studying under the engineering chief.

  “Well get going!” Patrick said. “I don’t have much to do for the next few days, I’ll be here waiting.”

  “Great. I prepared something for you to eat, might be cold now. Mom’s shift is soon finishing. Buzz her and let her know you’re back.”

  Patrick grinned, rubbing his hands together. “Oh no, my boy, I think I’ll surprise her.”

  Aaron rolled his eyes at that.

  Anna Rayne was the ship’s chief medical officer and a qualified neurosurgeon.

  “Well, have it your way. Cya later.” He clapped his father on the back and dashed off out of sight.

  Time for that long deserved, deep, uninterrupted eight hours of sleep. He flopped towards the bed in the second room. The pillow felt soft. This would be the best sleep in weeks.

  ****

  Braaaaang! Braaaaang!

  Patrick’s eyes shot open. What the hell? For a few seconds he didn’t remember where he was, and then his groggy mind caught up with the present. There’s no doubt, it’s an alarm. Sounds like the more serious kind. The emergency disaster kind. Damn.

  He leaped from the bed wiping drool away from the corner of his mouth. Still fully clothed and boots on he sprinted for the hatch. A flurry of bodies ran past in front of him and disappeared around the corridor. Comms! He ran back inside and thrashed around the bed. He found the comm unit which had likely fallen from his tunic pocket as he slept. He fumbled with it as he ran back into the corridor headed for the bridge.

  He hadn’t even taken off his hardened duty boots.

  “Bridge, this is the XO what in blazes is going on!” He had to shout into the device to hear himself above the alarm.

  “Patrick! Thank the stars. Get to engineering now. There’s been an explosion in the fusion containment cells. It’s been partially contained but we’ve got hundreds seriously injured in the affected areas. We’ve got to contain it or we’ll lose the entire ship.”

  Lose the entire ship. Those words hung in the air. My son. My wife. Fifty thousand other sons and wives and husbands. What about Aaron, was he near the blast? Is he even alive? Please let him be alive.

  He almost forced the lift doors to open. Then he almost broke the control punching it for engineering.

  The ride through the ship from the habitat ring to the engineering section dragged on and on. The anxiety only served to cloud his perception of time. It was taking forever.

  Beep, the doors chimed before parting to reveal the forward section leading to the engineering section. The smoke was moving through here already. Hazy, difficult to breathe, but he could manage through it until he got to a respirator.

  A bloodied young technician, who could be no older than Aaron, stumbled into him. He held onto the young man, who proceeded to yank off a respirator.

  “It’s useless,” the technician said. “It’s getting worse. We thought we had it contained,” he went into a coughing fit, mucus and bile coming up and onto Patrick’s shirt. “We thought we had it contained, but it’s over, you can’t go in there!”

  Patrick shook the boy. “Where is the Chief?” No answer. “Have you seen my son?” He shook the boy again—harder.

  “Chief is back there, somewhere, I don’t know, just let me go, we’ve got to get out of here!”

  Patrick snatched the respirator. The boy stumbled down the corridor the way Patrick had come. At least now, he had a respirator. He adjusted it in position, ensuring it covered his nose and mouth and sealed it.

  His eyes would have to endure.

  As he moved deeper into the engineering section, he could hear screams, shouting, and some whimpering. He tried to focus on particular voices. He needed to find the Chief. The heat burned his eyes and blurred his vision.

  He squinted through the haze as he followed the sounds of arguing from a large group. He approached and saw Aaron with the Chief. He’s alive. Relief washed over him and he felt a pang of guilt, knowing others hadn’t been so fortunate.

  “Aaron!”

  “Dad!”

  Another bear hug. Tighter this time. He turned to the Chief.

  “What’s the situation?”

  They were all shouting above the noise.

  “Containment in the number two reactor must have developed a crack somehow. If it had really blown, we wouldn’t be standing here. The crack self-sealed with emergency systems, but not before some of the reaction got out and exploded across quarter of the section. Fire suppression systems couldn’t contain the plasma fires and were quickly neutralized themselves. Just before you got here, we had it contained to these sections. But another blast compromised the rest of that section and who you see in here is who is left!”

  He looked around. Men were dragging bodies out of the section, some probably lifeless, others near there. There were still dozens of men scattered throughout trying to contain the
blaze.

  Patrick knew there was only one option now.

  “Chief! Evacuate this entire section now! We will decompress the deck!”

  “Pat, that might be a problem. With the structural integrity compromised here, we risk blowing off this entire section of the ship, you know—it’s attached to the engines!”

  “It’s either that or we lose the entire ship, Chief! Evacuate now, get everyone out. Prepare to decompress the entire section. Aaron, help get these men out of here, then get as far away from this section as you can.”

  “Dad, let me stay with you I can help—”

  “Now, son! The Chief and I can handle what needs to be done. We need to get these wounded out of here as fast as possible or they’ll be left behind. Go now.”

  It seemed Aaron was about to protest further. But he turned and went to help the others carry the wounded out of the section.

  A few minutes later, he and the Chief had prepared to decompress the deck, and all those they could account for or see were hauled out of the section. He nodded to the Chief who sealed off the section with its normal bulkhead and an emergency blast door. They were ready.

  As he was about to order everyone behind the other emergency blast door beyond the corridor, the comm panel next to the secondary blast door buzzed. It had a small screen on it. Someone appearing on the emergency comm panel could only mean one thing; they were on the other side.

  He gasped when he saw the image.

  Anna!

  “Pat! What’s going on? Why have the blast doors been sealed?”

  “Anna, why are you in there! We—”

  “I responded to the first emergency. I was helping to treat the wounded. We’d just stabilized them and they were ready to move. I must have blacked out in the rear section.” Her voice was raspy, she was breathing hard, somehow she’d either lost her respirator or she never had one. Her face was a black mess of soot. She wheezed heavily with every breath.

  “Anna . . . the emergency blast doors are down, they can’t be raised once triggered. How, why . . .” His voice trailed off as he fractured his wrist hammering the blast door. There was no pain. Only a hole in his chest.

  “Patrick,” she coughed. “Aaron . . . is he safe?” Tears streamed down her cheeks, leaving black streaks.

  Someone pushed him aside.

  “Mom! It’s me! I—I’m here. I’m safe, mom.” No reply. “Mom!”

  She coughed heavily, she was suffocating.

  “Aaron,” she wheezed. “I love you, son. Take care of your father. You know how stubborn he can be. Oh how I love you both. Pat, I—”

  “Anna, I’m here. I’m so sorry, Anna, all the known deit—”

  He couldn’t leave her, but how could he watch. How could he watch as she slowly suffocated, and the thick smoke burned her lungs? The heat must be unbearable now. Slowly cooking her.

  She held up a pressure injector. “It’ll induce a coma. I’m going to inject myself. I won’t suffer. I love you both.” She put two fingers to her lips and pressed them against the screen.

  The screen dissolved to static. She was gone.

  Forever.

  Something shook him. Violently.

  “Dad! We have to do something! Mom’s right there, right on the other side!”

  Patrick’s mind was a cloud.

  “Dad!” Aaron sagged to the deck whimpering.

  Patrick gripped his son and dragged him to the others waiting beyond the secondary blast doors. The boy kicked and screamed all the way. “Hold him!” he shouted to the others. They did.

  Patrick ran back to the emergency bulkhead. There was a way to raise the blast door once triggered. The designers created the almost forgotten procedure in case a malfunction triggered the blast door. Now he would use that to trigger the opening, playing with the lives of everyone aboard for selfish reasons.

  He ripped the panel off the controls and tapped a few commands into the secondary interface convincing the door it was malfunctioning. He disabled the sensors which triggered the blast doors. The bulkhead started to rise and then stopped.

  “Anna!”

  There was no answer. The bulkhead groaned. It only opened about twenty inches. Then it began to drop again. He slid under the door with his hard suit legs and jammed it. He craned his neck over as he lay on his back, his face red and screamed. “Somebody help me!”

  No one moved. Then Aaron broke free of the men holding him. He dashed forward and slid on the deck and under the bulkhead. A few seconds later Aaron crawled out. His son then reached under the bulkhead and dragged a pair of legs. Patrick groaned at the increasing pressure on his legs. He leaned forward and helped drag one of Anna’s legs. Aaron leaned over and pulled her clear of the bulkhead.

  “Quickly, Aaron! Pull the override and kill the bulkhead’s power.”

  The blast door had jammed and the mechanism held it in place. It wouldn’t budge. Releasing the override would release the door’s mechanism and let its weight fall. The armored suit leggings wouldn’t resist the weight of the bulkhead.

  Aaron pleaded. “Dad . . .”

  “Do it now, Aaron!”

  Aaron reached up and with a deep breath yanked the red lever down. The bulkhead mechanism released and the blast doors severed Patrick’s legs above the knees. It was the weirdest sensation he ever felt. A brief moment of sharp pain and then nothing. Someone dragged him from behind leaving a trail of blood on the deck. He watched as Aaron held Anna under the arms and dragged her beyond the secondary blast door.

  The Chief slapped the control and the secondary bulkhead lowered. Seconds later a steady vibration reverberated throughout the ship. A deep rumble came from the bulkheads and overhead. Secondary explosions.

  The ship lurched and threw him hard against a bulkhead. The lash to his head formed stars in his vision.

  Then only darkness.

  Chapter 8 – Journey to Rigel

  Interstellar Space

  Distance to Rigel—10 light-years

  Present day

  Six hours ago, Aaron had boarded the sleek, privately registered high-speed courier to Rigel. Lieutenant Delaine piloted the high-speed courier and wasn’t in Fleet uniform now. She wore a tight grey utility top and a dark loose fitting utility slacks. He pondered his status. He was now a dishonorably discharged former United Fleet officer. Would that be unofficially officially? Or officially unofficially. Trying to describe it was tongue twisting.

  The first three hours he slept and soon he would reconnect with Lee and Vee. The XO was his center of gravity, a pillar of strength. Lee reminded him of the boldness of youth. Miroslav reminded him of a talented wayward teen in need of guidance.

  The fourth hour he spent reading some of his favorite twenty-first century Earth fiction. His personnel device was loaded with material from that century. He and Lee shared a common obsession with that particular era. Their frequent use of ancient Earth slang was a constant source of annoyance to the other senior bridge crew of his former Command.

  The fifth hour he studied everything he could about the separatists, the Empire, and rehashed some of the Supreme Commander’s words in his head. As we speak both sides have dispatched large battle groups to the border. The last major fleet engagement happened almost seventy years ago. Since then the USS and the Empire minded their own affairs and neither side engaged in any action which threatened the peace treaty. He shuddered to think of the devastation another conflict would bring.

  Since then the advancements in technology would bring the belligerents into contact with each other quicker and more often. The Empire was fifty days away from the Core United worlds at high warp now. And ships of the line were nearly five times as fast in warp as their counterparts seventy years ago. When his thoughts continued in an endless cycle, pondering the variables, he decided to force it from his mind.

  The final hour he decided to test Lieutenant Delaine, just trying to get any kind of reaction out of her. She must have a breaking point. Plus, his mind wa
s far away thinking about the Trident, so hours for him would seem like minutes. If he was right the effect of him staring at her, would cause time for her to slow to a crawl.

  And he was right.

  “Stop staring,” she said. It sounded more like a warning than a command.

  The sudden sound of her voice jarred him. “It must be a spy thing,” he said.

  She gave him a clueless look.

  “I mean, just because you’re a spy doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me does it?”

  “No, Commander, it does not. But I’m piloting the ship, I am exhausted and I am processing a million different things inside my head.”

  She did look tired. Maybe it really didn’t have anything to do with him.

  “Where do you hail from, Lieutenant?”

  “If you intend the emphasis on my rank to imply that I am required to answer you, I am not. A Fleet officer outside of United Star Systems Intelligence has no authority in any capacity over an Intel officer. I am not United Star Systems Bureau of Intelligence. I am United Star Systems Intelligence. That makes me a civilian.”

  Odd. Since when did USSI spies serve as aides for the Supreme Commander of the Fleet? He filed the information away for later. Instead, he said:

  “Okay, you spoke and words came out of your mouth, and I still don’t know where you’re from.”

  He could hear her teeth grinding. By now, she must know he would not give up. And they had two days until they reached Rigel. He would make it the longest two days of her United Star Systems Intelligence career. He would make her wish—

  “I was born on Nova Prime. My parents fled soon after the Imperial annexation,” she said. “Would you mind taking over here? I wish to rest for a while. I’m weary.”

  Nova Prime was located along the former border where the USSF fought the Empire to a stalemate, with both fleets smashing against each other for months. Not somewhere anyone wanted to be during that period of the war. Nova bore the brunt of the devastation during those final months. “Very well, Lieutenant. Have a good rest.”