The Lost Colony (Lost Starship Series Book 4)

by Vaughn Heppner

  -30-

  Maddox drew his pistol and fired, hitting the target at the end of the vast chamber. The kick this time proved greater than ever. He fired three more shots in quick succession, producing bullet holes around the edge of the first shot.

  A wisp of smoke trickled from the barrel.

  “Good shooting, sir,” Riker said.

  Maddox nodded, flicking the safety on and shoving the gun into its holster.

  “Your wound doesn’t bother you anymore?” Riker asked.

  “I feel a twinge now and again. The last two days have made the difference.”

  They’d been traveling from the outer edge of the system for over forty-eight hours. Soon, they would begin deceleration at a Mar’s like distance from the Dyson sphere.

  “What do you think about the new ammunition?” Riker asked.

  “I’ve adjusted to it,” Maddox said.

  “It kicks like a mule, and I imagine a man’s hand will go numb after too many shots. But the slugs will knock down an android.”

  “More importantly, they will shred the creature.”

  “That they will, sir,” Riker said, grinning.

  Maddox whirled around, drew the gun and emptied the magazine into the target.

  “One thing has been bothering me, sir. You don’t expect to go into the monstrous sphere, do you?”

  Maddox took his time answering. “It’s crossed my mind.”

  “Searching for Ludendorff, I take it?”

  “I mean to take him home, Sergeant.”

  “I find that a dubious proposition, sir. It doesn’t strike me as logical. One thousand light-years—”

  “We will return home,” Maddox said, “and we will do it within the year.”

  The sergeant studied him.

  Maddox noted the cloaked anxiety in the older man’s eyes. He’d been observing his crew, his family and responsibility. The others had shown similar fear, although it appeared in different ways. Truthfully, he also felt anxious. Being one thousand light-years from anything he knew was a daunting sensation.

  The Patrol arm of Star Watch routinely sent ships into the Beyond on exploring missions. The Patrol Board searched for the right type of people to crew the vessels, using an exacting and specific standard. The board did so for a sound reason. Most military people possessed physical courage. They could risk their lives in battle and function as necessary during high stress, combat situations. Heading into uncharted territory took a different kind of personality and courage. The farther one left known space, the more jittery most people became. The Patrol Board believed they had lost more than one crew due to fear. Dread could lead to mutinies, to nervous breakdowns and other mental maladies.

  Maddox doubted any Patrol ship had ever found itself one thousand light-years from Human Space. The feeling of isolation was powerful out here, battering at their psyches. Fortunately, the captain believed his makeup and life experiences had better prepared him for this. He was used to isolation.

  I must feed them my strength.

  Maddox realized he could not do this forever. There was a limit to his mental endurance. Action and hope would be more help to the others. The best chance, as far as he could determine, was finding Ludendorff. The professor was a scoundrel and a cunning manipulator. The Methuselah Man also knew more about space, the Builders and strange phenomena than anyone except possibly for Strand.

  “How are we going to get home, sir?” Riker asked. “There’s no Nexus out here.”

  “That’s a mere trifle, Sergeant. It’s clear how we’ll do it. That’s why I’m readying myself for the sphere.”

  “Do you really think you can defeat Ludendorff? The man always had a hundred tricks up his sleeve.”

  “Of course I can best him. I’m surprised you doubt it.”

  The beginning of a wry smile touched the sergeant’s lips. “I have to admit one thing, sir. If I was going to be stranded a thousand light-years from home, trying to get back, I can’t think of anyone better than you to do it with.”

  “Your vote of confidence has propelled to me to rarified heights of delight. Now, you look tired. If I’m going down to the sphere, I plan to have my left hand with me. That means you need to catch up on your sleep so you’ll be ready to fight and think.”

  Riker absorbed the news calmly enough. “Don’t you mean your right hand, sir?”

  “No. That will be Meta.” Maddox nodded before heading to the hatch. “I suggest you hurry to your quarters while you can. The more sleep you can log now, the better for all of us later.”

  ***

  Lieutenant Noonan paced back and forth in the briefing chamber. She wanted to sleep. Her eyes had taken on a slightly sunken quality. Every time she put her head on her pillow, though, she stared at the ceiling, her thoughts churning.

  This was madness. The incredible voyage down the hyper-spatial tube, the Dyson sphere, the drifting warships of Port Admiral Hayes’ flotilla…it was mindboggling. She wanted to go home. She wanted regular, sensible duties. Yes, she wanted a line command even if it was of an escort. She would have dearly liked to join Admiral Fletcher, facing the New Men in “C” Quadrant.

  That’s the real fight. We have to drive the New Men out of the Commonwealth. This place…is so alien, so frightening and unreal.

  Her world kept turning upside-down, changing direction and speeding faster than light toward madness. She just wanted normal routine, a hard battle decision now and again. This, though—

  She waved a hand in the air. This was too much. It felt as if she floated outside her body, watching herself. She hadn’t joined the Space Academy for this. Spinning silver pyramids in space was bad enough. Underwater pyramids at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean—

  Valerie moaned softly. Android doubles, alien Destroyers—

  The door slid open. Valerie whirled around. Captain Maddox stood in the doorway, watching her. He wore a gun at his hip and stood as calm as you please. He waited with his gaze boring into her.

  Something seemed to pass from him to her. Her heart rate decelerated. She seemed to breathe just a little easier. Maybe…maybe they could find a way home again. Maybe they could find something here to help in the war effort. They had Starship Victory, didn’t they? They’d defeated every obstacle so far. Why couldn’t they do it again? Impossible odds were the captain’s M.O.

  The lieutenant yawned and her eyes felt heavy. For the first time since entering the pristine star system, Valerie felt as if she could actually catch a few winks.

  The captain entered the chamber. The door slid shut behind him.

  “Sir,” she said.

  “Lieutenant, would you do me a favor?”

  “Of course, sir,” she said.

  “I have to do some thinking. But I find I prefer company while I am at it. However, I want it quiet.”

  “Didn’t you want to talk to me, sir?”

  “That can wait. Why don’t you lie down on the couch over there?”

  “I couldn’t do that, sir.”

  Maddox shrugged as if it didn’t matter. Afterward, he pulled out a chair and sat down. He stared at the table’s surface, apparently deep in thought.

  Valerie sat down too. Her eyes got heavier and heavier. She glanced at the captain. Whatever he was thinking, the man was absorbed with it. Could she lie down for just a bit?

  The minutes ticked by in silence. Finally, Valerie rose, went to the couch and lay on it. Ah, it felt so good to relax. She shut her eyes and that felt even better. Shortly, she fell asleep with her ankles crossed on the armrest.

  Captain Maddox looked up, staring at the lieutenant. He had seen the fear on her face. He’d also seen it drain away as she stared at him. With the peacefulness, her exhaustion had leapt up and grabbed her. He’d wanted to speak to her, but he’d divined that her need to sleep while she was able was more important.

  Maddox watched her, and his lips stretched into a rare smile. He lay back against his chair, stretching his legs under the table. It fel
t good to relax. It felt good to know that his presence helped put Valerie at ease.

  The others fed off his confidence. He could feel it draining him. But that was okay.

  The smile slipped away and a scowl touched his youthful features.

  What are we going to do? Is it possible to find Ludendorff among 550 million times Earth’s area? In truth, a man could spend the rest of his life down there trying to do just that.

  Maddox held his pose, thinking deeply, realizing Victory and its crew might be in the most impossible situation of their rather short career.

  -31-

  Admiral Fletcher sat in his ready room looking at holoimage after holoimage of Hades IV, an Earthlike planet in the Hades System.

  After atmospheric recon units had determined that nothing moved on the planet, the landing parties had gone down. They had swept through various communities, recording everything. As Fletcher tapped holographic controls, he viewed empty homes with beds, tables, counters, tablets all covered with dust. It was the same in the business establishments. It was clear the cities had been empty for some time.

  Fletcher stood. With a wave of his hand, he turned off the holoimages. First cracking his knuckles, he strode to a display case of old-fashioned airplanes. Building them was a hobby of his. He had a Brazilian Zipper from World War III, a Russian MIG 29, a British Spitfire and the Red Baron’s Fokker Dr. I triplane from World War I. He’d won an award with the Dr. I in high school, having to recite Baron von Richthofen’s history before a panel of judges.

  That would have been something, flying by sight and stick with the wind whipping in your hair. Men must have been tougher back then. Having to line up the machine guns with your naked eye, watching red tracers zip through the sky. That would have been the era to be alive. It was so different these days, flying through space in perfectly comfortable starships.

  The admiral swiped a protein bar sitting on the display case, He unwrapped it and ate methodically, staring at the fighters from bygone times.

  Wiping his hands on his uniform—something that would have driven his mother wild—he turned back to his desk.

  “Give me ‘C’ Quadrant, Section Two,” he said.

  A star-map with the Laumer-Points glowing appeared in the air. The bulk of the Star Watch’s ships were with him in the Hades System. Third Admiral Bishop was a jump away in the Hermes System with the Windsor League vessels. The rest of the fleet was a jump from Bishop in the Diana System.

  They had come a long way, apparently driving the New Men before them, who kept their main fleet out of sight. All the while, though, the enemy had whittled away at them.

  Once, a handful of New Men using traitorous humans as a lure had captured a hammership. Later, the hammership had lured Commodore Garcia to her death, losing precious battleships in the process. Those hidden mines were a frightening new development. Did the enemy have a limited supply of them? Why had they only used them there?

  After the mines, the most amazing development had been the hammership showing up in the New Venezuela System. How had it slipped all the way around, past the various patrols, without anyone sighting it? It showed the enemy could dance around them at will.

  Fletcher scratched his left cheek.

  The enemy had tried to trick them at New Venezuela into believing the hammership was reinforcements. Luckily, the traitorous humans helping the New Men had regrown a conscience at the last minute. Even so, it had been a bitter fight. The Star Watch commander had destroyed the hammership, but at heavy cost.

  Clearly, the New Men practiced deceit wherever they could. Each of their moves had begun with a trick. The deceit gave them an incredible force multiplier each time. Yes… The fakes before each attack seemed to be their signature style. In fact, it fit with their maneuvers against him in Caria 323 two years ago.

  During the present campaign, the enemy had made two mistakes, one of them more an accident than an error. The first mistake had been the space bombardment against the empty cities on New Venezuela III. It seemed like a nonsensical move. Once word of the planetary bombardment had spread to the Grand Fleet, it had hardened everyone’s resolve. It had been the senselessness of the act, showing the enemy destroyed for no appreciable reason. It showed this was a fight to the death.

  The second error had been in the Remus System. Several star cruisers had struck like lightning there. They had pounced upon Sub-commander Ko’s forces, which had been stiffened with hammerships. The hammerships had lagged behind, though. At the end of the engagement, they’d accelerated and driven off the star cruisers, although at a cost. The New Men had fought savagely before cunningly slipping away through an unstable Laumer-Point.

  The error had been an accident of battle, but it had changed so much for Fletcher, so very much.

  The admiral almost smiled thinking about it, but he refused to permit himself such a luxury. Good men and women had died in the ambush, Windsor League and Social Syndicate people. The battle had cost them two hammerships and four Social Syndicate cruisers. Even more importantly, Sub-commander Ko had died. In his place had risen Sub-commander Sos, a woman of dignity and reason.

  For reasons Fletcher still hadn’t fathomed, Sub-commander Sos had switched Social Syndicate policy, siding with him at the next meeting instead of Third Admiral Bishop as Ko had done.

  That had been a decisive moment in the campaign. From that time on, he’d gained popularity instead of seeing it dwindle. These days, Bishop plotted in secret instead of aloud at the meetings.

  Fletcher studied Section Two of “C” Quadrant. They were nearing a critical star system named Thebes. If the New Men let Thebes III fall to the Grand Fleet…

  Fletcher shook his head in a silent quandary. Could the New Men have less star cruisers left than anyone suspected? He had begun to believe in the possibility. The other side of him realized the possibility could be a gigantic lure. Maybe the New Men wanted him to believe that, hoping to cause him to become reckless.

  The admiral’s nostrils flared.

  He’d studied military history as a cadet. Fletcher saw the New Men as Hannibal of Carthage, a magician of battle, able to perform combat miracles. The Romans had waged bloody war year after year against the Punic magician, slowly wearing down the genius. In the end, the Romans had produced a genius of their own, taking the fight to the city of Carthage, beating Hannibal on the field of Zama.

  Fletcher dared to desire to emulate Scipio Africanus, the battlefield master of Hannibal Barca. The idea of people regarding him as the conqueror of the New Men filled Fletcher with the resolve to try.

  I must use the enemy’s maneuvers against him. Yes, he had to fight the New Men on his terms, not theirs.

  Could the Lord High Admiral have known he would feel this way? Fletcher couldn’t see how. Still, he appreciated Cook’s confidence in him those many months ago. Somehow, somewhere, Fletcher wanted to repay the Lord High Admiral for that confidence, for giving him his life back.

  The comm unit beeped on his desk.

  “Admiral Fletcher here,” he said, voice activating it.

  “Sir,” the comm officer said. “A landing party has found a survivor.”

  With immediate excitement, Fletcher activated the holoimage display, putting the comm officer up. “What did you say?” he asked.

  “Lieutenant Bergstrom from Excalibur’s ‘A’ Force found a delirious man asleep in a bunker. He didn’t make much sense, groaning more than talking. The lieutenant put him on a shuttle and routed it to Excalibur. The psychologists are preparing for him.”

  “I want an hourly update,” Fletcher said. “Remind the psychologists I want to know what happened. Where did everyone go?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And this Lieutenant Bergstrom, tell my coordinator she’s up for an Admiral’s recommendation.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  “Did Bergstrom find anything else?”

  “That was it, sir.”

  “Fletcher out,” he said, as he closed
down the comm. “Yes!” he said afterward. It looked like they were finally going to get some answers to this mystery.

  ***

  Several hours later Excalibur’s doctors still couldn’t tell Fletcher anything. The man was badly malnourished and raving, almost out of his mind. Once, he had grabbed a doctor’s arm, telling the man to run for the forest.

  The admiral shook his head as if shaking away those thoughts. He would have his answers soon enough, he hoped. Ever since Bergstrom found the survivor, Fletcher had begun to feel uneasy. Was the survivor another lure to a trap?

  The admiral drummed his fingers on his desk in the ready room. Was he becoming too paranoid? How could the New Men have set that one up?

  He glanced at the tablet-papers spread before him. The Grand Fleet possessed an impressive number of vessels, more than any human fleet in history. There were also many different kinds of spaceships, each better at one form of fighting than another.

  There were the twenty Windsor League hammerships left. Each was worth two Star Watch battleships at close range. Together with their supply ships, that gave the Windsor League the greatest tonnage of vessels along with considerable political influence at the conference table.

  The Wahhabi sheik-superior had brought fifteen Scimitar-class warships, a type of craft between a Star Watch battleship and heavy cruiser. Those ships had the best heavy-mount lasers in the Grand Fleet. They were also the best at long-ranged beam combat. Fletcher wished he had more of those.

  The Respectable Kim Sung commanded twelve super-junks, each the equivalent of a large Star Watch carrier. The Respectable Kim also had twenty strike cruisers and a host of destroyers. The Chin Confederation had put up many warships fast. They must have been preparing for something like this for some time.

  Sub-commander Sos of the Social Syndicate had seven cruisers left and eleven destroyers. She had the largest number of vessels from a single system political entity. Adding in others from semi-independent systems gave another three battleships, ten heavy cruisers, twelve strike cruisers and forty-three destroyer-sized vessels.