Renegades (Dark Seas Book 3)

by Damon Alan

  [a sigh]

  Earlier today I watched as engineers installed the first of the missile batteries I ordered.

  I’m sure everyone thinks I’m crazy.

  But my fleet is deteriorating, and is no longer much of a deterrent should the Hive appear in system. Our only FTL capable ship is ten thousand years old and my only fully intact warship is the Hinden. The Yascurra can fight, she has her grapplers and G-Ks, but any practical assessor would admit we’re not much of a war fleet anymore. The Schein is still damaged and as of yet we have no way to repair her, and the Stennis…

  [23 second pause]

  The Stennis is out of the picture. Massive ablation damage from the explosion of Fandama’s atmosphere, four of his six fusion engines are at reduced capacity, two reactors offline, the FTL core is long gone and headed into intergalactic space. What a mess.

  That’s my ship. I want him back.

  Right now he’s encased by a hollowed out asteroid. The captain of the Fyurigan advises we gut and scrap him.

  [9 second pause, a sound AI estimates 82% probability to be a fist striking a window]

  Not going to happen.

  [20 second pause, emphasis of the word NOT indicates an emotional, not a rational attachment.]

  We will make this our home. We will find food to sustain us. I’ve ordered sea going vessels built that will fish. Ocean life is abundant here, it’s not profitable for the native boat fleets to fish this far away from their homes and in the storm zone.

  Things can only be built so fast, however. And there are only so many of us to operate the machines we do build. Add on top of that the requirement to dedicate people to the functions of a city… education, maintenance, healthcare, construction. It’s a hard sell to a lot of these people that we should be maintaining our fleet at all, let alone building defense systems here in town.

  At least those are automated. They only need one watch officer for the lot. They’re AI controlled, which makes me nervous, but we just don’t have the people to spare as crews.

  [The sound of rain against windows intensifies]

  Seventeen stories off the ground and I can’t even see the street lights below. It never rained like this on Korvand. Alarin says the storms are worse since Merik damaged the gas giant.

  [12 second pause]

  I don’t know if there’s much she didn’t screw up. She took almost everything that matters from me.

  [143 second pause]

  I head back to Zeffult tomorrow to try and make it right.

  End the log, Lucy.

  Chapter 8 - Stranded

  19 MAI 15329

  Lieutenant JG Eris Dantora drifted next to a box of artifacts. The package would be on its way to the Fyurigan in a few minutes, once she handed them over to the shuttle pilot assigned to her survey.

  She looked wistfully at the box. The Gaia could be a lifelong research project if Captain Dayson agreed to it.

  That was probably a pipe dream.

  From Fleet Command’s point of view, there were more pressing matters than astroarcheology, even if it was her specialty.

  She floated in a small observation chamber overlooking a large shuttle bay. A cargo shuttle sat moored to the metal surface of the flight deck, gases streamed from underneath the small ship as internal systems prepared for launch.

  The preflight process was AI controlled. The pilot, Ensign Jaran, used the time to finish loading. He appeared through sliding doors at the end of the observation area and moved to her. He looked cautiously about as if the ancient ship held an unseen threat. “You sure you’re okay with your team being left alone here?”

  He smiled weakly, probably to cover his own unease.

  “You got the heeby jeebies?” she asked. Eris patted the bulkhead by her. “This old beast spooking you a little?”

  His smile turned to a skeptical frown and she laughed.

  “Don’t worry, Ensign,” she said. “This ship has held together for over ten thousand years. I doubt it fails us in the next few days.”

  “I’m not superstitious,” he protested.

  “I know, I’m just messing with you,” she said, laughing. “Once you leave I’m stuck with the two members of my survey team for a few weeks. I need to get my socialization in when I can.”

  “Oh! That reminds me. I have a delivery for you that I almost forgot.” He dashed back toward the lift before she could ask him what he was talking about.

  A moment later he returned with a small package wrapped in a ribbon. “Here you go. From Lieutenant Commander Corriea.” He handed it to her. “If he wouldn’t have tossed me out an airlock, I might have pretended I lost this. You can call in a lot of favors with one of these.”

  She opened the container, inside was a small bar shaped object. She read the printed words on the front. Chocolate: Dark, process number seven.

  Below that, in writing: Just for you, and still not enough -Peter.

  The military was so romantic with their choice of words. Peter more than made up for their inadequacy.

  “By the stars, ensign, how did you resist?” She grabbed the bar from the box, which drifted away on air currents. She peeled off the edge of the wrapper.

  “He said to tell you that there will be another on Refuge when you get there. Apparently the man is dripping with chocolate.” Jaran shook his head. “One of the privileges of being command crew, I guess.”

  “Peter is the last man who would exploit his position, Ensign.” She broke off a small chunk for the pilot, who quickly tossed it in his mouth.

  His eyes rolled back for a moment as he let the piece melt. “Nice, thanks.” He smiled. “I’ll try not to break more than twenty percent of your trinkets on this flight since you’re so nice to me.”

  She pushed her last cargo container toward him. “Don’t tell Peter I shared with you. And if breakage isn’t zero percent I’ll reach down your throat and get my chocolate back.”

  He grabbed the box and stuck out his tongue before turning away. A small elevator ride saw him down to an airlock and onto the main hangar floor. A small handheld thrust unit pushed him toward the shuttle, and with his practiced skills, into the open back ramp. She watched him secure the cargo, then he gave her one final wave before he disappeared inside.

  Eris was building up quite a stock of antiques on the Fyurigan. With the Stennis decommissioned, she expected to be assigned to the giant engineering vessel once her colony ship assignment was complete.

  She’d need the relics to occupy her off duty time. Especially since she and Peter weren’t likely to be assigned to the same vessel, and the other men of the fleet didn’t interest her.

  She slipped the chocolate bar into her jumper pocket, then zipped it closed as she waited for the engines of the shuttle to fire.

  A well placed handhold allowed her to hover steady at the observation window. An antique compressor hammered below the floor plates as air was pumped out of the hangar. After the atmosphere was gone the space doors finally opened.

  It was a long process, but as she was the ranking officer of the survey team she stayed to watch out of respect for the pilot. He deserved a proper sendoff. These men and women were heroes, working terrible hours with worn out equipment. They did what needed to be done. The work was dangerous and most of them had far too few flight hours, which put them at more risk than anyone else when the fleet wasn’t in combat. These tiny vessels were the circulatory system of the fleet, carrying cargo, scarce equipment, and crew from place to place.

  A vibration echoed through the bulkhead as the shuttle demagnetized its landing struts. The pilot fired thrusters to raise a few meters from the shuttle bay floor before he fired counterthrusters to stop his motion. The tiny vessel jetted forward as the slightest trace of illumination appeared in the main engine nozzles.

  Once clear of the bay, the drive nozzles flared brighter as the pilot increased throttle.

  Then they went dark.

  The shuttle drifted with a slight rotation for t
wo or three seconds.

  With a horrendous flash of light, the small craft disappeared in fire. At first metal hull plates were outlined by waves of iridescent energy as it ripped itself apart, but they too were absorbed into the blast as the explosive force of the shuttle’s fusion reactor was released.

  The bright flare shocked Eris and she froze for a second.

  A jolt of energy shivered through the decks of the ship, and she instinctively dragged herself below the window into an area shielded by thick metal bulkhead.

  Just in time.

  An internal bracing strut from the shuttle slammed into the several centimeter thick glass she’d been looking out of moments before, piercing it and lodging in the hole.

  Her ears popped as she heard the whistle of escaping air. She looked up over the metal bulkhead, through the edge of the observation glass.

  On the other side the shuttle bay space doors slammed shut and she heard a violent whoosh as the ancient computer systems controlling the bay dumped air back into the emptiness less than a meter in front of her face. She had just enough time to see that little remained of the shuttle, only the central spar, glowing red hot, mangled, and tumbling away into space.

  Jaran!

  She tried to catch her breath. Jaran was dead, and she nearly with him. She shuddered, then closed her eyes to regain control of her shaking body. Beads of sweat collected on her forehead, and she felt the itch of moisture clinging to her scalp.

  That was close.

  Poor Ensign Jaran. She didn’t even know his first name.

  She looked up at the strut jutting from the window above her. Her survival was a whim of chance. At least the Gaia responded properly, rapidly sealing the breach. Her ten millennia old systems still functioned as designed.

  By the stars, it’s not this old vessel we need to worry about. It’s our own battle-worn equipment. Or untrained pilots. If Command doesn’t find a solution soon, this fleet is going to unravel.

  The whooshing sound died off as the pressure in the bay and observation deck equalized.

  A pleasant female voice filled the room.

  “Trykafskærming'erne er nu i den sikre åbne position. Der er intet behov for yderligere dekomprimering.”

  She’d heard the AI and its strange language before. Ten thousand years old and still barking warnings and updates to a crew long gone. She wondered what it had said this time. Jaran was to bring her a translator AI on the next flight, Eris would have been able to speak to the old ship soon after that. But that would wait until normal shuttle flights were established again.

  She pushed toward the door, heading to the base exploration station her team set up in the main gangway.

  “I don’t know what you said, sister, but if it was about how close that was, you’re not kidding.”

  “Verbal indgang ikke indregnes.”

  “Whatever.” She didn’t have time right now. A man was dead, a man who if not a friend was well on the way to becoming one.

  Her team. She needed to check on them. She keyed her personal comm. “Everyone okay?”

  A few seconds passed. “Cryo team is fine. Why?”

  “A problem with the cargo shuttle, I’ll have full details at dinner. Stay in your present location,” she answered.

  It took her a while to traverse the kilometer of gangways and open space between her and the expedition’s base station. On the way she thought of Peter to avoid thinking about Jaran’s death. It wasn’t easy maintaining the contradiction of something happy with something horrible, but she needed to postpone her emotions for later.

  She arrived to the sound of the fleet radio set squawking.

  “Gaia base, this is Fyurigan, over.”

  She grabbed the headset and threw it on. “Gaia base on.”

  “State your situation, over.”

  Eris thought a moment to get it all straight. There wasn’t really much to it. “Small cargo shuttle 17C exploded as pilot throttled up to accelerate away from the docking bay. Ensign Jaran is dead, 17C is destroyed. Over.”

  “This is visually verified? Over.”

  That irritated her. “I saw the damned central spar of the shuttle floating away. Still glowing orange hot from the explosion, Fyurigan. If you think someone survived that sort of destruction, I want you to explain exactly how.” She tossed the headset down, flipped on the speakers, then remembered to close the transmission. “Over,” she growled.

  I guess my emotions aren’t going to wait for later.

  Several moments of silence followed. She shouldn’t have allowed herself an outburst like that. When the comm operator at the other end spoke next, there was a gentleness in the voice that wasn’t there before.

  “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. Is your team safe? Over.”

  His empathy deflated her. “Slight damage to Gaia’s internal bay structures. Nothing that can’t be repaired. Dantulman and Qi are in the embryo labs safe and sound. Over.”

  “Ops informs me that it will be a while before we can spare another cargo shuttle to assign to you, Gaia. Do you have adequate supplies for a few weeks, maybe a month?” The empathetic tone was still there. She’d probably have to get a psych eval from Dr. Jannis when she got back thanks to her loss of control.

  She sighed. She couldn’t take it back. “This is still a functional colony ship. We have supplies for years, Fyurigan. We’ll continue to sort and quantify our artifacts here until you send new orders.” A tear floated in front of her. She paused to push it away from her face before continuing. “Please send my condolences to the pilot’s flight group. Over.”

  “Fyurigan copies. Communication will return to standard weekly check-in. Out.”

  “Gaia copies. Out.”

  If there was a silver lining to the day, it was that she could intensify her studies on location. She opened her personal locker and grabbed a small flask of liquor made on the Stennis before he was taken out of commission. She popped the top and slugged back a drink to steady her nerves.

  Space was dangerous. Accidents happen.

  That didn’t stop it from feeling like it was her responsibility somehow.

  She tossed back another drink, and raised the bottle toward the hangar she’d come from. “To the eternal drift, sir,” she whispered. There would be an official wake for the pilot on his ship, but she wouldn’t make that. One little toast was all she had to thank him for his service.

  Three more drinks in and she remembered she’d have to ask the Fyurigan comm center to call Peter and let him know she might be late to their planned rendezvous on Refuge if a replacement shuttle wasn’t found quickly.

  Peter would be sad, but this ship she was on… the two of them had the next few centuries together and this ship was a once in a lifetime opportunity,

  Maybe a once in many lifetimes’ opportunity.

  Chapter 9 - Escape the City

  Early Longnight

  Eislen sat on a decrepit couch across the room from his three co-conspirators. He held one of the long sticks they’d taken from Sarah’s soldiers. Staring at it, he tried to remember how the marines had operated it when Alarin had surrendered at Kampana, but then he’d not had much reason to pay attention to those small details at the time.

  Elvanik examined the other long weapon, while Greldin and Bogner looked at the smaller devices.

  “They pointed this end at an adept and she was torn apart,” Eislen said. He touched the open end of the barrel. “Once we figure out how to use it, fire will burst from this hole.”

  Greldin looked down the hole on the end of the stick.

  “I’m not sure that’s smart,” Elvanik said uncertainly.

  “No. Probably not,” Eislen agreed. “Don’t do that.”

  Greldin smirked at him, and went back to looking in the hole.

  Eislen looked at Elvanik, who shrugged.

  The door from the kitchen opened and beauty walked into the otherwise squalid room. Salla sat next to him on the stained couch, close enough Eislen could smell h
er hair. It invigorated him in ways he’d not felt since he’d kissed her years earlier. He grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it.

  “Look at you men, figuring out how to kill the adepts,” she said.

  It sounded terrible when she put it that way. “I don’t want to kill any more than we need to,” Eislen responded.

  Elvanik shook his head. “They think they have the upper hand, as they always have. It won’t be easy to teach them otherwise. People are going to die.”

  There wasn’t a response to that. Eislen just closed his eyes and shook his head.

  “These things are just the start,” Salla exclaimed. “We will make an army, as Merik did.”

  When Eislen opened his eyes again, Elvanik was smiling. “Yes,” he said as he gestured toward Eislen. “Your friend was everything you said he’d be.”

  “We’re not out of the fire yet,” Eislen said. “They’ll search for what we’ve taken. We’ll need to get over the wall and out of town.”

  “They’ll guard the walls,” Elvanik replied. “The sea holds our freedom.”

  The storms since Merik damaged Jalai were frightening, but Eislen was considering the suggestion when sound exploded in his ears.

  Something splattered on his face. His ears rang and an acrid scent assaulted his nose. Across the room from him Greldin’s headless body slumped from its chair to the floor. The stolen weapon slid off Greldin’s leg and smacked the slate tiles of the house. Eislen didn’t hear it land, the ringing in his ears was too loud.

  Salla and the other two men held the sides of their heads in agony.

  Having heard the loud bark of newcomer weapons before, he recovered more quickly. He turned to Salla to make sure she was okay.

  “What was that?” she yelled. Her face and hair were covered with splatters of blood.

  Springing to his feet, Eislen wiped his hand across his face. Red streaks traced across his fingers and palm. A piece of bone clung to his finger.