Blood on the Stars Collection 1

by Jay Allan

  They can’t do much harm out in the far reaches of the system. But Barron still didn’t like leaving the enemy out there intact.

  “Commander Travis, launch the Eagles. They are to pursue the enemy as far as fuel allows, and then they are to return. If they can catch the vessel they are to demand surrender again…and if there is no response they are to engage. I want that ship crippled, though, not destroyed. Clear?”

  “Yes, Captain. Clear.” She tapped at her headset. “Fighter control, launch Scarlet Eagle squadron immediately. Orders…pursue enemy contact the extent of fuel supply. Demand surrender and if refused, engage targeting engine systems.”

  Travis turned toward the command station. “Launch control acknowledges, Captain.”

  A second later, the familiar feeling under Barron’s feet confirmed the launch in a more direct way. Less than a minute later, the confirmation came in. The Scarlet Eagles were on the way.

  “Cut thrust, Commander. Bring us around…back toward the artifact.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I want probes launched, Commander. Three full spreads. Cover the two transwarp points, as well as all approaches to the artifact, five hundred thousand kilometers out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Barron wasn’t taking any chances. It looked like Dauntless had gotten there in time, but he had no doubt—none at all—that more Union forces were on the way, ships far more dangerous than a single frigate. He was expecting his own support as well, but he knew how long it would take to pull a task force from the battle lines and get it out to the Badlands. However he figured it, he was looking at two weeks, maybe three…or even longer. And his gut told him the Union would be there first.

  He had no idea if the ancient ship was operable, but the prospect of getting it moving under its own power seemed unlikely. At a major base, with legions of scientists and engineers, maybe, but out here in so short a time? He doubted it. And that meant he had to defend it against anything that came this way…until he was relieved.

  Hold until relieved. However long that takes. Against whatever comes. Striker and Holsten hadn’t put it quite that way when they’d briefed him—when he’d “volunteered” for the mission—but he knew very well that was why he was here. Against whatever comes…what will that be?

  “As soon as the probes are launched, bring us alongside the artifact, Commander. I want scanners at full power…there’s an active energy source inside that thing, a big one.” He didn’t really expect any attack—after all, the Union ship had been docked to the thing when Dauntless first transited, and so had Pegasus—but if the power readings inside that thing spiked by so much as enough to heat up a cup of coffee, he wanted to know about it.

  “Yes, Captain. Active scanners are operating at full power. No change in readings. Just a steady background power source…but no signs of imminent attack or thrust.”

  “Very well.” At least as far as we can tell. What we don’t know about the technology in this thing could fill an immense database.

  “Power up all assault shuttles, Commander. And advise Captain Rogan I want his people ready to go in fifteen minutes.” He paused. “Full combat gear.”

  “Yes, Captain.” A few seconds later: “Captain Rogan acknowledges, sir. He advises his people will be in the bay ready to board in ten minutes.”

  Barron suppressed a smile. Bryan Rogan was a Marine…as far as Barron could tell, he was as much a Marine as it was possible for a human being to be. Rogan’s people had always come through for him, and he had tremendous confidence in them. The Marines were an aloof group, and they tended to keep to themselves. They performed routine security duties on Dauntless, but mostly they were there waiting for a situation that required some genuine ground pounders. The artifact wasn’t actual ground, of course, but it was a boarding action. Barron had no idea what was waiting over there. And he wasn’t going to take any chances.

  He sat for a moment, his eyes focused on the scans of the massive structure. He was both shocked—and strangely unsurprised—that the find had proven to be real, that the smugglers’ claims were true.

  “Captain, the…crew of the Pegasus…is requesting permission to board the artifact.”

  “Denied,” Barron snapped. He’d virtually confined the small ship’s crew to their quarters, and he didn’t want them underfoot now, getting in the way of his Marines. Still, he understood their desire to search for their captain, and he wondered if he’d been too hard on them, if his prejudices had colored his treatment of them. They had reported the artifact…and in a sense, perhaps, they’d helped save the Confederation. Barron didn’t know what the ancient ship could do yet, but he was sure it would be a disaster if it fell into the Union’s hands.

  He shook his head, and even as he did, he felt his attitude toward the smugglers softening. “Advise them we are going to secure the vessel first…and then I will allow them to go over and join the search for their comrades.” He knew how Atara would have felt if he’d been missing and she’d been held back from looking for him. Indeed, every man and woman on Dauntless would feel that way, and he would about them. He disapproved of Badlands smugglers, but he couldn’t fault anyone for loyalty.

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Barron stood up abruptly. He was a creature of duty, and there was nothing in his life as important as his role as Dauntless’s captain. But he was a curious man too, one who craved the pursuit of knowledge. It was beginning to dawn on him that this was the greatest discovery in Confederation history, and he felt an irresistible longing to see it. Now.

  “Commander, you have the con,” he said simply, matter-of-factly. “I’m going over with the Marines.”

  Travis spun around, a look of undisguised horror on her face. “Captain, I suggest you wait until Captain Rogan’s people have…”

  “You have expressed your concern, Commander Travis. And I appreciate it. But I’m a big boy, and I can take care of myself.” His tone was a little harder than he’d intended. The last thing he wanted was to snap at Travis, especially when he knew she was right. He had no place going over there with the Marines, no place at all. He was Dauntless’s captain, and he belonged on her bridge. But he was going anyway.

  It’s your fault, Atara…I couldn’t do this if I didn’t have someone as competent as you to leave in command. He held back a smile.

  “I’ll be careful,” he said, his voice softer. “But that thing over there could change history. It is the most momentous discovery in our lifetimes. In ten lifetimes.” He paused. Then he smiled at her and turned around, bounding across the bridge toward the lift.

  * * *

  Barron sat on the shuttle, moving around, trying to get comfortable. He wasn’t used to body armor, but Captain Rogan had insisted. No, more than insisted. The Marine, who’d followed every order Barron had ever given with almost fanatical obedience, had come closer to mutiny than Dauntless’s captain had thought possible, absolutely refusing to proceed unless his commanding officer wore the full combat kit.

  Barron knew his presence, armored or not, made his Marine commander intensely uncomfortable. There was little doubt Rogan considered the captain’s safety his personal responsibility, one he took very seriously. He’d tried to talk Barron out of coming. Then he’d suggested the captain wait until his first wave had gone in and secured the docking area, at least. Barron knew it all made sense, that Travis and Rogan were right. He had no place on the assault shuttle. But that didn’t matter…he had to go. It was curiosity, yes, the desire to be one of the first to set his eyes on a find of historical significance. But there was more to it than that.

  Hundreds of his crew had died since he’d taken command of Dauntless, brave men and women, devoted, loyal…killed following his orders. He’d sent so many of his people into dangerous situations, and now again, he’d ordered his ship’s Marines to go into the unknown. This time he was going with them. He didn’t know if it was Stockton down in sickbay, probably dying, or the nearly twenty pilots he’d l
ost fighting Vaillant, but duty didn’t matter now, nor obligation. The truth was, he had to be on this shuttle, and so he was. If something went wrong, if he was killed or incapacitated…well, then, Atara Travis would be one of the best captains in the fleet. He didn’t have the slightest doubt.

  “Commencing docking procedures now. Hold on back there, this might get a little rough.” There was an edginess to the pilot’s tone. The immensity of the ancient vessel was almost overwhelming. It had been here, deep in the Badlands, undiscovered for centuries. It was impossible not to be intimidated by it.

  The shuttle lurched as its deceleration thrusters fired, and again as the pilot hit the maneuvering jets, aligning with his chosen spot. Barron could feel the vibration as the boarding umbilical extended, and then a sharp metal on metal sound as the diamond-tipped blades dug into the ship’s hull, aided by short-ranged, high-powered lasers. It took a while, longer than normal for sure. That wasn’t a surprise. The ancient alloy was undoubtedly superior to anything used by the Confederation.

  Finally, the comm squealed again. “We’re in…Marines, you are clear to board.”

  Rogan jumped up, and he was half way across the room before Barron had managed to undo his harness. Dauntless’s captain had to fight back a laugh as he watched the Marine so clearly make sure he was between Barron and the door. He finished fumbling with the harness and shoved the straps aside, getting up and reaching down to grab the assault rifle at his side, something else Rogan had insisted upon.

  “Captain, please…let us at least go through and secure the immediate boarding area.”

  “Very well, Captain Rogan,” Barron replied. He gestured toward the hatch with his rifle. “I will follow.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The Marine’s tone was heavy with gratitude. “All right,” he snapped to the twenty other Marines in the shuttle. “Let’s move out. Now!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Command Center

  Fleet Base Grimaldi

  Orbiting Krakus II

  “Scanners confirm enemy ships emerging from the Landar transwarp point, Admiral. It looks like a dozen frigates so far. No capital ships.” Commander Jarravick had been Striker’s key aide before the admiral was promoted to command of the entire fleet, and he’d remained at that post, even as the responsibilities attendant to it increased exponentially. Striker knew Jarravick deserved a bump in rank to match the increase in the size and importance of his workload, but it was just something he hadn’t gotten around to yet. He made a mental note to revisit the issue when the recent crisis had passed. And before the next one starts…

  “Very well,” he replied, his voice almost robotic. He’d been listening to the reports as they came in, but most of his mind was elsewhere. He’d expected the enemy move against Grimaldi, at least he’d considered it a strong possibility, especially if this new offensive was the real thing. But not so soon. The enemy was advancing from four different jumping off points, and the transwarp network between systems imposed its own timetables, to which even the most aggressive battle plans were subject.

  Striker had been sure it would take at least another week to consolidate a combined fleet large enough to take on the main Confederation force and its forward base. Grimaldi had ten particle accelerators even heavier than a battleship’s primaries, and two dozen squadrons of fighters. It was a formidable target, and it was strongest in a situation like this, backing up the fleet. It would take everything the Union could muster to break through. And no matter how many ways Striker tried to figure it out, he couldn’t come up with any way it was possible they could launch that all-out assault now. Not this quickly.

  “The picket line is to engage, Commander.” He’d deployed a line of his own light escort ships near the transwarp portal, thirty ships strong. They’d be blown to bits by a force of battleships in a straight up fight, but they were more than enough to face the Union frigates…and then maybe to harass any of the enemy’s heavier vessels if they started coming through.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Striker stared at the huge 3D display in the middle of the control center. There were twenty-nine blue ovoids in two rough lines, every battleship he’d been able to muster. Almost every capital ship the Confederation still had in space. He’d lost half a dozen of the big ships since the enemy offensive began, and ten more had been forced back to the shipyards, most of them so badly damaged they didn’t have a beam hot enough to toast a piece of bread. It would be months before he got any of those ships back, especially since he’d sent them farther to the rear, bypassing the more forward shipyards in danger of being overrun if the enemy broke through.

  “Commodore Harris acknowledges, Admiral. The forward line is advancing.”

  “Put the fleet and the base on yellow alert, Commander.” Striker almost ordered full battlestations, but he held back. If the enemy was just probing, his pickets could handle things. His battleships had all seen action over the past few weeks, and their crews were exhausted and depleted by losses. They were here to face a major enemy attack, if it came, not to chase around enemy escorts poking their nose through the portal.

  “Yes, sir. All fleet line units to yellow alert. Grimaldi base to yellow alert.”

  An instant later, Striker’s eyes caught the lamps around the control center glowing yellow. New personnel began moving into the control room, as the alert status called more of his people to their duty stations.

  He watched as the display updated his forward line’s approach to the enemy. The battle began as both sides opened fire. The escort ships were lighter-armed than the battleships that formed the main strength of the fleets, but they were faster and far more fragile. The fight was sharp, quick. His frigates had half a dozen cruisers adding some heft to their line, and it showed. The Union lost eight ships, to only four Confederation vessels, and the survivors turned and raced back at full acceleration toward the transwarp point.

  Every instinct in Striker screamed that he should order his line to pursue, especially since four or five enemy vessels were lagging behind, engine damage preventing them from engaging full thrust. But this wasn’t a time to ignore caution. Picking off a few escorts wasn’t going to change the status of the war, and if he got his pickets too close to the transwarp point, they were vulnerable. A few enemy battleships coming through at the right moment would savagely tear into his light forces.

  “Commodore Harris advises his forces are pursuing the…”

  “Negative, Commander. Harris is to stay where he is. No pursuit.”

  Striker could feel the pause, an uncomfortable quiet in the air while Jarravick took the slightest bit of extra time to respond. He knew the aide disagreed…that virtually everyone in the control room disagreed. To them, after more than a year of brutal fighting, it seemed anathema to let Union warships escape. He understood how they felt, but he didn’t have the luxury of reacting on pure emotion. Van Striker knew he needed every scrap of force he had if the enemy eventually launched a full-scale assault on Grimaldi. The enemy was playing some kind of game with him. This was the third time Union ships had transited, and still he’d seen nothing stronger than a cruiser.

  He hadn’t figured it out yet, but he was damned sure going to. The Union had more escorts than the Confederation, and they no doubt considered the light craft far more expendable than their battle line. But what could they gain sending in such forces? They couldn’t expect to launch a credible assault on the Confederation fleet base with frigates. Yet no heavier forces had followed.

  What are they up to? Is it all just an elaborate scheme to mess with my peoples’ heads, to run them ragged before the real attack? Or is it a diversion?

  And what about Dauntless? He’d been looking for a place in the order of battle for weeks now where he could spare a battleship or two…but there was nowhere. His forces had fallen back all along the line. He hated the idea of leaving Barron on his own…and, worse, if there really was some ancient ship out there, he was taking a terrible risk not supporting
Dauntless.

  But if Grimaldi fell…if the enemy really had a way to sustain an offensive, the entire Confederation could be in jeopardy. And even an ancient artifact of astonishing power wouldn’t do any good if Megara and the rest of the Core worlds were destroyed or occupied before it could be studied and put to use.

  Perhaps the Union can’t sustain an invasion the entire way. Maybe they just wanted to push us back to Grimaldi, then take the time to build up their logistics…

  Almost on cue, Jarravick turned toward him. “Admiral…report from Commodore Harris…”

  Striker turned and met his aide’s gaze, and as he did he could almost hear the words before they were spoken.

  “Union battleships transiting, sir. Three so far, but energy readings suggest more are in the tube.”

  Striker took a deep breath and sat silently for a few seconds. Then he said simply, “Commodore Harris is to withdraw his forces two million kilometers from the transit point.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And bring the fleet to red alert, Commander. And Grimaldi base as well.”

  * * *

  Sara Eaton walked across Intrepid’s bridge. Her once tidy control center was a battered wreck. She stepped over the large rubber-coated cable running across the center of the space, a temporary power reroute put in place by her engineers in an effort to replace the shattered conduit that had once run just above the ceiling of the bridge.

  There were scratches and gouges on the once smooth and polished floor where the debris had fallen, but at least the damage control teams had hauled away the shattered chunks of the conduit…the one, she reminded herself, that had sent two of her people to sickbay with broken bones and other injuries.

  At least no one was killed…in that incident.

  She knew that had been a matter of pure providence. If either Lieutenant Dulles or Ensign Colmes had been a few centimeters forward of where they’d stood, both would have been killed instantly. That fortune, though she thought “fortune” was a grandiose term for what her people had experienced over the past few weeks, had not extended to others in different areas of the ship. Intrepid had suffered heavy casualties in its recent fights, including an abnormally large number of fatalities. Her people—and she herself—had been hardened in the brutal early months of combat, and even more so in their desperate mission behind enemy lines, when Intrepid and Dauntless had destroyed the enemy supply base. But the intensity of the fighting over the past month had pushed them all to their limits.