The Rampant Storm

by J. Alan Field

  “ETA in seventeen minutes, sir.”

  There had been much discussion back at Strike Base Havoc as to how close the Union forces should jump in relative to the hypergates they were trying to seize. The presence of troop ships, in TF 19’s case the Marine transport Blackthorn, complicated the issue. There was concern that the unarmed troop carriers would be vulnerable if the translation to realspace happened too close to the enemy’s garrison force. Pettigrew argued that the Marines should be squeezed aboard the space force vessels for safekeeping so they could all jump in close to the target, but Major Mowry and the Marine brass had insisted on their own ride. Admiral Carson sided with Mowry, so Pettigrew was stuck babysitting a Marine troop transport. Just one more thing to go wrong.

  As TF 19 crept closer to the Gate, several small ships and life pods were seen launching from the complex. “We’ve been transmitting the evacuation order, sir,” reported Swoboda. “And there has been some action in that regard, but not enough for all personnel to be off that station.”

  “They know we aren’t going to blow it up,” said Pettigrew. “Their security forces will stay, and I’d be willing to bet a month’s pay they’ve got Marines on board, too. Major Mowry and his people are most likely in for a hard fight.”

  At fifty thousand kilometers from the Gate, the other warships of the task force surged ahead of Tempest and Blackthorn, starting their attack run on the Gerrhan warships. The four enemy vessels had moved away from the hypergate station and were closing on the Sarissan invaders. Missiles leapt from both groups of combatants, slamming into their targets moments later.

  Sinopa’s shields worked perfectly, with only three enemy birds getting through, and they were promptly destroyed by the heavy cruiser’s point defenses. The frigates survived the first exchange intact, but the destroyer Helios took some minor damage. The Gerrhans were less fortunate. One of their frigates was destroyed in a volley of missile fire, and the lead destroyer was heavily damaged.

  As Sinopa’s Captain Gambell directed the attack against the remaining Commonwealth forces, Tempest and Blackthorn bypassed the battle, sprinting ahead toward the Gate facility. One of the Gerrhan frigates tried to disengage from the fight and turn to follow Pettigrew, but Sinopa placed two Scion torpedoes into its aft section, destroying the enemy’s engines and any hope it had of interfering with the Union plan.

  “Any response from the Gate to our surrender demand?” asked Pettigrew.

  “Just now, sir,” said comm officer Paruzzi. “Sending it to your station, Captain, but I’d say the answer was a negative, sir.” Paruzzi broke into a curious grin that left others on the bridge wondering what the message said. As Pettigrew glanced down at his screen, a similar look appeared on his face.

  “I don’t even think that’s anatomically possible, do you Lieutenant?”

  Paruzzi forced the smile off his face. “I would think not—sir.”

  Tempest and the Marine transport applied braking thrusters to arrive at a dead stop within five hundred meters of the Gate. Hypergates did not normally possess any kind of weaponry, so it was reasonable to assume both ships were safe for the moment.

  “Mullenhoff to Captain Pettigrew,” came a voice over the intraship comm.

  “Pettigrew here—go ahead Commander.”

  “Sir, the power demands involved in firing the EMP weapon will require us to deactivate the shields for the moment.”

  Pettigrew gave a nod to Ensign Kuypers. “Shields have been disengaged, sir,” she confirmed.

  “Whenever you’re ready, Captain,” said Mullenhoff.

  Chaz Pettigrew sat back and took a deep breath. “Ensign Kuypers, ready the EMP projector.”

  “Projector coming on line… Projector is powering up… Projector ready to fire, sir.”

  “Fire EMP,” ordered Pettigrew.

  “EMP wave away,” Kuypers confirmed.

  The projector was designed to cast a wave of electromagnetic energy, in this case a wave covering a forty-five degree arc forward from the bow of Tempest. Seconds went by and nothing happened.

  Pettigrew leaned forward in his seat. “You did fire the weapon, didn’t you Ensign?”

  “Yes, sir, I did.”

  “Captain,” called Swoboda. “We’re getting new readings from the Gate. Power levels are dropping, and sections are shutting down. There is a cascade effect taking place, and they’re losing power rapidly.”

  “You mean the damn thing worked?” Pettigrew blurted out.

  “Apparently so, sir,” said Swoboda. “All power levels on the Gate now read zero.”

  The captain smiled. “I guess I’m just used to things going ‘boom’ when they work,” he said to some quiet laughter of the crew. Truth be told, many of them were as nervous about this part of the operation as he was.

  “Sir,” Nyondo spoke up from her station at the helm. “Blackthorn is going in.”

  The Marine transport was now pulling in front of Tempest, and outer doors along the spine of the ship were opening. Rising from each opening was a small, ovoid-shaped vessel. As they reached the apex of the carrier, the small ships fired thrusters and began pulling away from the Blackthorn and toward the Gate. It was as if someone had thrown a cluster of gigantic metal eggs at the station.

  “Breaching pods are away,” reported Nyondo.

  ‘Mowry’s Marauders’ were on the move. As the Marine craft headed toward the Gate station, Sinopa and Brigand were arriving in the vicinity after dispatching their opponents. The frigate had taken some significant damage in the skirmish but nothing compared to the four Gerrhan ships. One Commonwealth vessel had been destroyed, and another was damaged so badly its crew had abandoned ship. The other two enemy vessels were fleeing. TF 19’s sole destroyer, Helios, and the frigate Zaria were collecting Commonwealth life pods and taking on prisoners.

  “Task force casualties, Mr. Swoboda?” inquired Pettigrew.

  “Nothing on Sinopa, five injured on Helios. The frigates got the worst of it—twenty-three injuries total, but we have two dead on Brigand.”

  Pettigrew grimaced. Swoboda was right, he thought. The frigates always get the worst of it.

  Lightly armed and lightly armored, frigates were excellent ships for anti-piracy actions or patrol and recon tasks, but they were always vulnerable in any engagement that involved larger opponents. A famous space commander had once referred to them as “cruiser fodder.” Pettigrew had a soft spot in his heart for frigate crews since his first posting had been on one.

  There wasn’t much to do now other than wait for the Marines to finish the job. The breaching pods had reached the surface of the Gate station, and reports were coming in that some squads had already blasted through the hull and entered the facility.

  But it could never be that easy. Chaz Pettigrew saw the first indications of trouble off to his right. David Swoboda was pressing an earbud hard to his ear and wearing a puzzled expression.

  “Captain, we are getting reports of intermittent power fluctuations all across the ship,” stated the XO.

  The master of Tempest threw his head back onto the headrest. “And it was all going so nicely,” he said before punching a comm key. “Pettigrew to engineering. Commander Mullenhoff, come in.”

  A few seconds passed before Mullenhoff answered. “I know, I know—working on it.”

  “Does it have anything to do with the EMP weapon?”

  “Captain, when I find out you’ll be the very first to know. Mullenhoff out.”

  It was a terse statement from the Chief Engineer. Any other captain might have taken it as borderline insubordination, but this was Uschi Mullenhoff. Pettigrew knew her well enough to leave her alone when she was quashing bugs because there wasn’t a better problem solver in the fleet.

  And they did have a problem. Reports were flooding into the bridge regarding things which had simply stopped working—a turbolift on deck two, a diagnostic computer in sickbay, lighting in various passageways.

  “Mr. Swoboda,” called an
increasingly concerned Pettigrew. “Advise Captain Gambell on Sinopa of our situation.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Also, what is the status of the Marines?”

  “Blackthorn reporting all of the dispatched Marines are inside the station. They are working their way through the facility, securing one section at a time. So far, they’ve only encountered light resistance, sir.”

  “Good,” said Pettigrew. “And what about rescue operations? What is Helios reporting?”

  Swoboda glance over his console. “Fifty-eight enemy prisoners taken—”

  “Captain!” Nyondo interrupted. “Hyperspace bubble forming one point abaft the starboard beam at sixty klicks out. Something’s translating in, sir—something big.”

  “Power up shields,” ordered the captain.

  “Beam weapons are off-line,” reported Swoboda.

  “Captain, shields will not reinitiate,” said Ensign Kuypers.

  Before Pettigrew could respond, there was a flash of light as a ship translated into realspace sixty kilometers away, just as the lieutenant commander had predicted.

  Nyondo swiveled in her chair to face Pettigrew. “Sir, CIC is identifying the enemy ship as the Commonwealth heavy cruiser Nobunaga.”

  29: Arrow

  The Centroplex

  Esterkeep, Sarissa

  Despite her initial order to bring Roman Zevkov to Koenig Manor, Renata Darracott had changed her mind. The meeting would take place at the Centroplex, headquarters of the Sarissan Central Command. The First Consul thought the sight of Zevkov being lead through the corridors by State Security inspectors would dampen the enthusiasm of anyone in the building who might be conspiring with the billionaire. There was still no solid proof of any plot against the government however, and Darracott had spent a sleepless night wondering whether she and her inner circle were being prudent or paranoid.

  “I suppose I should be honored, eh?” said Zevkov as he sat down opposite the First Consul in one of Central Command’s many secure conference rooms. “A visit to the Centroplex to meet with the beautiful leader of our starhold,” he smiled. “And personally escorted here by Superintendent Preiss, no less.” Zevkov turned in his chair to give a mock salute to the white-gloved SSB director who patiently stood by the door.

  “Thank you, Superintendent. You may wait outside,” said Darracott.

  “Excellency.” Preiss gave a small bow and exited the room, leaving Zevkov and Darracott to their confrontation. Zevkov’s charming manner melted away into steely firmness.

  “Alright, First Consul,” he said impatiently. “What is this farce all about, eh? I happen to be a busy man.”

  Darracott’s stern face broke into a mock smile. “I’m sure building arkships must be time consuming work. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

  Zevkov sat back in his chair, his right hand rising to touch his moustache. Darracott had seen this nervous habit before—it was something he did when things weren’t going his way.

  “And while you’re telling me about arkships,” she pressed her attack, “give me some background on Project Arrow.”

  “Well, I see that Mr. Preiss is considerably better at his job than his predecessor,” Zevkov said with a tight-lipped smile. “I’ve done nothing illegal, so I have nothing to hide.”

  “The Home Ministry prosecutors might disagree once they’ve checked out all the dummy corporations behind Arcadius Industries,” said Darracott. “They take corporate fraud and money laundering very seriously over there.”

  Zevkov raised an eyebrow. “You ARE remarkably well informed. All right, First Consul. It doesn’t matter at this point anyway—we were about to go public.”

  “Go public with what?”

  “Project Arrow,” he answered. “The first interstellar colonization attempt in over two-hundred years. My arkships, Daedalus and Icarus, will be leaving within three months.”

  “Only if I say they can,” said Darracott icily.

  Zevkov steepled his hands. “Rennie, we humans have lost our sense of adventure. Why haven’t we been exploring? Why haven’t we been seeding more of the stars with humanity?”

  “Because it’s expensive—”

  “Not for me,” he scoffed.

  “And because we haven’t even begun to populate the worlds we already have. Sorry, Roman, I’m not buying it. If you’re really going to colonize a new planet, there has to be another reason. You don’t do things for science or humanity; you do things for money and power.”

  Darracott studied the man. She had known him for three years now, since Victor Polanco named her Prime Minister. Zevkov was the consummate capitalist—what he didn’t have, he either bought or didn’t want.

  “Who is leading the expedition?” she asked.

  “I am.”

  “Wait. YOU are going?” Of course, it actually makes sense, she thought. He’s a control freak, so he wouldn’t trust anyone else. “Let me make sure I understand this correctly. You are going to personally lead a colonization mission to claim a new world for the Sarissan Union?”

  Zevkov face reddened in a flash of anger. “No, no—not for the Union—for me!” he exclaimed, poking an index finger into his chest. “To hell with the Union! Your military cronies have turned the Union into a damned dictatorship, haven’t they, eh? We can’t move, we can’t breathe without the Space Force or the SSB sanctioning it. Victor Polanco and his bloody Directorate. I hate it and everything it represents.”

  “You never objected to the Directorate when it helped you make money,” she pointed out. “All those sweetheart defense contracts I’ve negotiated with you have put a lot of dennics in your pocket, so your hands aren’t exactly clean.”

  “They’re not as dirty as yours are, Rennie. I know you think you’re in charge, but that’s only self-deception. You are the Space Force’s marionette. Maxon and the others are pulling your strings—the threads are just so fine you can’t always feel them.”

  “I don’t mind getting my hands dirty as long as I can wash them every so often,” Darracott said defensively.

  “Wash them in what?” asked Zevkov. “Your so-called social programs? A waste of the taxpayers’ money—of MY money. Wait until the blood starts pouring in from this war Maxon and Carson have started. There won’t be enough do-good programs to get your hands clean. You won’t be the First Consul—you’ll be Lady Macbeth.”

  Both of them sat quietly for a moment. Darracott considered that there might be more than a kernel of truth in what Zevkov had just said. She was uncomfortable with the war, particularly with the lack of diplomacy before Channa Maxon rushed to initiate Operation Bronze Talon.

  “Rennie, how long have we known each other, eh? Three years now?” asked Zevkov in a conciliatory tone. “You know my temperament—it’s no secret that I don’t like what I can’t control. In the old days, I could bribe enough members of the Union Assembly to feel, well, comfortable,” he smiled. “Then Polanco ruined things with his damned coup. So now, I’m literally going to build a new world, one that I can control.”

  “Playing God, Roman? Don’t forget to rest on the seventh day.”

  Zevkov chuckled. “I know, I know, it all sounds preposterous. But seriously, I have a vision for a planned colony. During the Diaspora, all the settlements were slapped together as best they could—survival was the top priority. Now we have the luxury of planning, of carefully laying out all of the initial communities in the most efficient and productive manner. And we will be staking a claim for humanity in an entirely new region of space. It will be the first settlement outside of the Renaissance Sector.”

  Roman Zevkov—intrepid explorer and colony builder. That’s what this was all about—he’s buying a place for himself in history.

  “Just for curiosity, where would this new world of yours be located?”

  The industrialist’s eyes lit up. “The Beta Corvi system, located one hundred-sixty light-years from here. That’s a hundred light-years beyond where any human crew has ever bee
n in that part of the galaxy. Arcadius robot scouts have been mapping the third planet in that star system for over a decade. Water, atmosphere, minerals, natural resources—it’s all there, a perfect location for a colony. The arkships and support vessels will be ready to depart in three months, with six more months to make the journey.”

  “Beta Corvi?” she puzzled. “Is that near the area where the Earthers say the Adversary may be?”

  “Ahh, the theoretical aliens who are coming in three hundred years to destroy us all,” Zevkov laughed. Darracott started to rebuke him, but he waved a hand to stop her. “I believe, I believe. Or let’s just say I believe enough not to tempt fate. No, Beta Corvi is hundreds of light years away from the home of our future conquerors.”

  It was all surreal. The wealthiest person in Sarissa throwing away a life of riches and luxury to start from scratch. “What about your business holdings, Roman? Your departure will throw the Union into financial chaos.”

  “No, it won’t,” he said intently, shifting to the edge of his seat. “I’ve arranged everything. Stellar March and all subsidiaries, including Arcadius Industries, will be run by trustees until I return—if I ever do. I’ve chosen these people very carefully. I can assure you that things will operate smoothly, including all Union military contracts with Arcadius.”

  Darracott shook her head. “Who are your colonists? You’ll need subjects for your new kingdom.” That came out more caustic than intended, but Zevkov didn’t seem to notice. He was a man who had kept a secret from outsiders for a long time and now seemed thrilled to be sharing it.

  “We have around three thousand people already lined up, not just from the Union but from other starholds as well. They are all sworn to secrecy until we make a public announcement,” said Zevkov. He paused, giving her a devious look. “And now, Rennie, here’s where we can help each other.”

  “What do you mean—help each other?”

  Zevkov went into his dealmaker persona. “My arkships have room for eight thousand people. I need five thousand more. I want your blessing to publicly promote the journey, especially on Arethusa.” Arethusa was the second-most populated world of the Union and home to a large number of anti-government dissidents.