Blood on the Stars Collection 1

by Jay Allan

  Righter exhaled loudly, only then realizing that he was soaked in sweat. He looked down at his still-shaking hands, and then he got up and turned back toward the hatch. “Well done, Eugene. Incredible.”

  “And to you,” the young officer replied, “for getting this thing back into space.”

  The two men walked to the airlock, stopping to double check that the seal was sound and the tube was pressurized.

  “So, we made it.” Clete Hargraves walked up behind the two men, the shadows of several of his Marines in the short corridor behind him. “I’m not sure I would have bet on you guys pulling it off,” the Marine said, in the coolly matter-of-fact way only a veteran like Hargraves could manage without sounding insulting. “We don’t know what’s been going on here since we left,” he said, just as emotionlessly, despite the implications of his words. “I think my people and I should go first.”

  Righter nodded. He had no problem with that. He stepped to the side. “By all means, Sergeant.”

  Hargraves nodded, and he pulled the assault rifle from his back. “Squad,” he yelled, looking behind him as he did. “Prepare to board.”

  Righter stood where he was, watching the Marines move forward, crawling through the tube. He’d been so worried about getting the shuttle functional—and keeping it that way—he hadn’t even considered what they would find on the artifact. The small ship’s scanners were badly damaged, but he’d gotten enough data to piece together that a major fight had been going on in the system. Had they come all this way just to end up as Union prisoners?

  Righter waited, his earlier relief dissipating, giving way to new concern. He half expected to hear the sounds of gunfire at any second, but there was nothing.

  Finally, one of Hargraves’s Marines came crawling back through the tube. He poked his head through and said, “Mr. Righter, Ensign Lorne…the sergeant wants you both to come aboard. Right away.”

  Righter could hear the urgency in the Marine’s voice, but he hadn’t seen nor heard any signs of fighting. What could it be?

  He looked at the pilot, noting the young officer wore the same confused expression. They nodded to each other, and then they followed the Marine back through the tube.

  * * *

  Lafarge watched the shuttle moving toward Pegasus. She’d been nothing short of stunned when she’d gotten the transmission from Commander Fritz. She’d been about to contact Dauntless, to face the unpleasant task of telling Tyler Barron she’d been unable to get to his people as she’d promised to do. She had dreaded that task, for reasons she only partially understood. The communique had saved her from that…but it had put her and her ship into greater danger. The personnel from the artifact had somehow all crowded onto the captured shuttle, but now she had to link up with them, and the neighborhood was getting decidedly unhealthy.

  She’d watched Timmons and his pilots on the display for a few moments. The Scarlet Eagles had torn into the Union squadron with a vengeance, destroying half the fighters in a matter of moments, and sending the rest fleeing back to reorder. The lopsided victory had gained some time, but it had been won against a tiny advance guard of interceptors, less than a tenth of the Union birds loose now in the system. More fighters were coming, even now, and Timmons’s people, as good as they were, would soon be outnumbered fivefold.

  The shuttle was almost there. She could see from the variation in its vector that its engines were barely hanging on. She’d almost been ready to give Lex Righter up for dead, but instead, she found out her engineer had saved not only the Marines left on the Union frigate, but also everyone on the artifact.

  She had been more than impressed by Tyler Barron and his people, deciding without a doubt that the stories about them had, if anything, understated the truth. But her people had done their share as well, and she knew part of the victory—if destroying such a wondrous discovery and then fleeing could be called a victory—belonged to Pegasus and her crew. She wondered if the Confederation authorities would come to that conclusion…or realize that without her involvement, the Union would have gained control over the artifact without opposition. Relying on the good sense—or gratitude—of government went against her every instinct. But she didn’t see any options.

  She watched as the shuttle approached. She knew its comm was down. Fritz had told her that in the communique from the artifact. She’d suggested Fritz bring the portable unit, but the engineer didn’t seem to have done that.

  No room, Lafarge realized. There were over a hundred people crammed on that shuttle, including the Union prisoners the officers had insisted on bringing. Lafarge didn’t have a doubt she’d have left the enemy spacers behind, and she suspected she was seeing Barron’s honor code once again at work.

  It would be a miracle if the life support held out and no one was crushed or trampled. There was no room for superfluous equipment. And no room for Union prisoners to her way of thinking.

  And there was one prisoner there with whom she had a score to settle…

  She looked around behind her. Pegasus would be better than the shuttle in terms of space, but not a lot. Her cargo hold and compartments would be bursting at the seams. It would be fine if she was able to get right back to Dauntless, but if she had to make evasive maneuvers, or if it took too long to return, she was going to have injuries back there…or worse.

  She didn’t like sitting and waiting for a ship to dock with hers, with no communications. Intellectually, she knew her friend and engineer was on that ship, but it still felt strange. If the shuttle malfunctioned, if anything unexpected happened this close to Pegasus, the consequences could be disastrous. She tried to tell herself she was being paranoid, but that was just how she was. Her life had taught her to watch out for the unexpected, for all the things that could go wrong at any time.

  The ship shook lightly, and a loud clang rang out a few seconds later. She looked down at her screen, at the row of green lights that meant one thing. The shuttle had docked safely.

  She looked over at Rina Strand. “Go down, and open the docking portal. I want everybody onboard immediately.” Strand was the only other member of Pegasus’s crew onboard. Lafarge would have taken all her people, but she’d known she would need every bit of space she could get. Besides, she’d figured the odds of making it back at around 50/50, and there was no reason to subject more of her friends to that risk.

  “I’m on it, Andi.” Strand leapt out of her chair and across the ship’s tiny bridge. Then she slipped out into the corridor and down toward the airlock.

  * * *

  Lafarge stood just inside the metal door of the airlock, looking out through the small window into the velvety blackness, and the grayish-white metal of the artifact beyond. She was still savoring the image of Laussanne’s face as she’d slammed the airlock door shut before he’d gotten through the tube. She’d looked into his eyes, drawing near ecstasy from the panic in his expression as he began to understand. She had promised to kill him…and Andi Lafarge paid her debts.

  She only regretted there hadn’t been time to truly allow the bastard to reflect in the error of his ways for longer before she’d cut the docking seal…and watched her former tormenter sucked into the frozen blackness.

  But now her mind moved on. She’d saved Vig and Lex…her entire crew had somehow made it through this nightmare…assuming Pegasus got back to Dauntless, and the battleship managed to flee the system.

  She raced back toward the bridge, knowing there was no time to waste. Killing Laussanne had been a luxury, but it was the only one she could afford. It was time to get the hell out of here…before the enemy got here. Before Fritz’s bomb set off an explosion beyond anything she could imagine.

  She slipped into the chair, looking over toward Strand. “All right, Rina…let’s move it!”

  * * *

  “We’ve got them, Tyler. We’ve got all of them. We’re on our way back.” All except one…

  Barron felt relief as Lafarge’s words blared through his headset. Partial r
elief, at least. His Marines, his engineers…all his people he’d been about to give up for dead, were on the way back. And Andi was coming back too. He wanted to feel joy at the news, to let the fear and tension that had twisted him into knots dissipate into nothing. But it wasn’t over yet. Pegasus was still out there, as were his fighters. And enemy forces were all around, five battleships closing on the artifact and squadrons of fighters dueling his wings, chasing his fleeing vessel.

  His scanners had picked up strange energy readings that might be the transwarp link Lafarge had claimed was out in the depths of the system. They just might pull this off. If that portal was there, and if Pegasus made it back and was able to dock. If Fritz’s timed fuse worked and destroyed the artifact…and if his fighters were able to disengage and land.

  And if those battleships don’t chase us through whatever portal is out here…

  He was pretty sure Dauntless would make it out of the system before any of the hulking Union vessels could catch her. But they could track his ship easily enough, and chase her into whatever system lay ahead. Andi Lafarge had made some hazy comments about being able to “find the way” home from this new system, but her choice of words had filled him with something less than supreme confidence.

  “Send the recall, Commander. All fighters are to break off and return to base.”

  “Yes, Captain.” Barron had been watching the hit and run battles Jamison and his squadrons had fought. Dauntless’s fighter commander had conducted a masterful campaign to delay the enemy, preventing them from organizing a major pursuit of the ship. But they were out of time. They had to come back now…or they’d risk not making it. Barron had almost had to abandon dozens of his people, but now he’d made one decision he was going to stick to…he wasn’t leaving anyone behind.

  He glanced at the display, starting to count the number of fighters responding to the order. But he stopped himself. There wasn’t time now. The dead would still be dead later. Right now, he was worried about the living. About keeping them alive.

  “Captain, scanners are detecting enemy ships moving into range of the artifact.”

  Barron felt his stomach tense. Had Fritz’s fuse failed to work? Had she mistimed it? No, he couldn’t believe that. If there was one person he trusted to be utterly fastidious, reliable beyond question—save perhaps Travis—it was Fritz.

  He waited, his eyes darting to the screens, checking on Pegasus and his squadrons. It looked like they’d all make it back in time, and far enough ahead of their pursuers. He’d run the calculations already. Dauntless would barely outrun the fighters on her tail, getting just far enough that the Union wings would have to turn back or risk not having enough fuel to return. As long as the engines held out, and his people managed to land the fighters and dock with Pegasus without cutting acceleration.

  He pushed those concerns to the back of his mind. He was confident his crew could handle all of that. He was beginning to believe Dauntless would escape, that his people would live to fight another day.

  As long as that antimatter charge blows…

  Barron didn’t relish being the man who had destroyed the single greatest discovery in history, and he knew it was something that would eat at him for the rest of his life. But he knew one thing for sure. He’d prefer that by a considerable margin to being the man who’d allowed the Union to gain the power to dominate all of mankind.

  He was too tense now to know just how he’d feel, too exhausted, too twisted into knots. Maybe once Dauntless was out of this place, when he’d had time to mourn the dead and put things in perspective. Perhaps then he’d have a clearer point of view.

  He was staring right at the display, becoming more worried with each passing second, when every instrument on the bridge went crazy.

  The display itself went dark, the hologram simply vanishing. Every scanner on the ship overloaded in a microsecond, and the AI struggled to calculate what its inputs were reading. Barron knew, of course. He understood exactly what had happened. Fritz’s bomb had gone off…and in releasing billions of kilotons of energy, it had vaporized the hundreds of other canisters on the ship, setting off an almost incalculable chain reaction of matter-antimatter annihilation.

  Dauntless was far away, of course, too far to be affected in any way save instrument failure and higher than normal gamma rays hitting the outer shielding. But the Union vessels weren’t so fortunate. Petawatts of raw energy blasted outward, slamming into the approaching vessels. Two of the battleships were destroyed outright, vaporized by the massive energies unleashed. The other three were farther out. They survived with varying degrees of damage.

  Dauntless’s scanners were too scrambled, too far away, to get a solid reading, but Barron knew in his gut that none of the enemy vessels would be pursuing his ship.

  He stared at the center of the bridge, where the display hologram was slowly rebooting. He knew what the system would show when it had fully recovered. An area of dissipating heat and intense radiation where once the ancient vessel had been. A planet, devastated in ways he could only imagine, by the almost unimaginable explosion that had taken place in its orbit. Its atmosphere would almost certainly be gone, and perhaps much of its crust along with it. It would be a sight to see, he had no doubt, but there was no time. Dauntless had its chance at escape, and Barron intended to make the most of it.

  A wondrous bit of technology was gone too, a vessel that had survived the near-destruction of the race that had built it, that had remained in an undisturbed orbit for centuries.

  Another victim of this war…and all the good that might have come from that tech…

  Barron exhaled hard. Then, Travis’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. He welcomed the distraction.

  “Captain, Red and Yellow squadrons requesting permission to land, sir. All other wings will be back within fifteen minutes.” She paused. “And Pegasus is approaching. Captain Lafarge reports some casualties from high g maneuvers, but nothing life-threatening.” Travis turned toward Barron, a crooked smile on her face. “She requests that I tell you she’ll be back on board in less than thirty minutes.”

  Barron tried to hold back his own grin, but he knew it had slipped out. “Very well, Commander. Let’s get everyone back onboard and get the hell out of here.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  CFS Dauntless

  System Z-46 (Styria)

  In the Quarantined Zone (“The Badlands”)

  309 AC

  “I heard you actually looked human again, but I just couldn’t believe it without seeing it.” Barron walked into Dauntless’s sickbay, his eyes moving right to his ace pilot.

  Jake Stockton was lying in bed, propped up, looking about a sickly as any human being Barron had ever seen. But he was alive…and according to Stu Weldon, he was going to stay that way. The pale, almost snow white skin covering his body would eventually look just like the ruddy flesh he’d had before his crash, or at least so Doc Weldon had insisted.

  “Captain…it’s good to see you, sir.” Stockton’s voice was weak, but Barron could hear the old resolve buried in there somewhere. In that instant, he fully believed Weldon. Jake Stockton had somehow pulled through his ordeal.

  “I see you have a party going on down here.” Barron looked side to side. Stara Sinclair was in her usual spot, of course. Nothing but combat duty had served to pull her away. But now Kyle Jamison was there too, along with what looked like most of the exhausted but cheerful survivors of Blue squadron.

  “Just a few friends, sir. It gets boring down here, you know.”

  “Well, you could always quit milking this and report back to duty. I’m sure I could dig up a patrol for you.” Barron paused and smiled. “Though we’ll have to dig up a new fighter somewhere. I’ve never seen a ship that actually landed in such bad shape.” Barron stared right at the pilot. “Seriously, Jake. We lost enough of our people in the last few weeks. I’m damned glad you’re still with us.”

  “Thank you, sir. And I hear Dirk did a good job fil
ling in for me.”

  Barron didn’t respond right away. He just stood there and looked back at Stockton.

  “No worries, sir. All that is behind us. I can’t think of anybody who can take better care of the Blues for me than Warrior.” He laid back for a few seconds, taking a deep breath. “I’d sure like to get out of this thing.” He moved his arm, gesturing toward the plastic barrier that separated him from the others. “Maybe you could talk to the doc, work something out. Just a walk.”

  “Like you could walk. You’d fall on your face in two seconds if you even tried to stand.” Stu Weldon came walking across the floor. “Not to mention the fact that you’d be a walking, talking invitation to every microorganism on this ship. That new skin of yours is only half grown, and you’re not getting out of there until it’s one hundred percent. You are my masterpiece, and I will not have you destroying my handiwork.” Weldon walked up next to the bed and looked down at the readouts. “And if you give me a hard time again, I’ll put your complaining ass back in that medpod, where I don’t have to listen to your bitching.”

  “All right, let’s go. All of you.” Barron smiled and gestured to the small crowd. “Back to the officer’s club…assuming that establishment still functions without Jake there. The first round’s on me.” He turned and looked back at Stockton, and at the woman sitting next to him. “I think Lieutenant Sinclair can keep an eye on Raptor here, don’t you Kyle?” He glanced at Jamison.

  “Yes, Captain. I do believe she can handle it.”

  “Then let’s go…all of you. This is sickbay after all. The real party will have to wait until Jake here is released.”

  Barron stood and watched the group of pilots file out into the corridor, followed—and to an extent, herded—by Kyle Jamison. He paused for a few seconds himself, and he looked down at Sinclair. “I’ll leave you here with him for a while, Stara…but I want you to promise me you’ll get some sleep.”