Legacy Fleet: Avenger (Kindle Worlds) (The First Swarm War Book 2)

by Chris Pourteau

  “Belay that!” barked Preble. “We don’t have time—”

  “Captain, Avenger is engaging the fighters attacking Niña. The other two transports have jumped away.”

  A Swarm carrier moved by them on-screen headed for Avenger. A bright, green light lanced across the viewscreen, stealing Preble’s attention.

  “Damn it!” yelled Hayden. “Niña’s lost, sir.”

  Independence shook hard with tremors again. The ship lurched, throwing Preble to the pit’s floor. He met the deck with his right shoulder, and pain shot down his arm. Wheatley reached down a hand and hauled the Indy’s captain to his feet as the deck calmed.

  “Comms, recover our fighters ASAP,” said Preble, wincing and rubbing his shoulder. “Order the CAG to land his birds hot on the deck.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Captain—we just lost our q-jump drive,” said the XO. Preble could hear it in his voice. Game over. And no more Heroic, no more transports to protect. So this was it, then. Even with Avery here now, they had little chance against three carriers in good condition. And all those fighters…. They needed to retreat, but without a q-jump drive, that was impossible. Following protocol, Preble passed the order to prioritize engine repair.

  “Sir, the three carriers are angling away from us. Their fighters are breaking off from ours.” Hayden looked up solemnly. “All heading for Avenger.”

  Preble exchanged looks with Wheatley. The old warrior’s resigned expression spoke for him.

  “Lieutenant, get me Avenger. Ship to ship. Then order the CAG to redirect his pilots to Captain Avery’s deck.”

  The Swarm was indeed moving past them, no doubt seeing them as a helpless wreck, Preble thought. Distant rumblings signaled secondary detonations inside Independence.

  Now I really think I know how John Richards felt.

  “Noah! Thank God you’re still alive,” said Avery on-screen. The transmission fritzed and stabilized and fritzed again. “I’m sorry we’re so late. We were—”

  “You need to retreat, Captain. The Swarm will be on you in seconds. Recover my birds and get the hell out of here.”

  “You first.”

  “Captain Avery!” shouted Preble, striking the arm of the captain’s chair. His patience had left him, along with hope. “Our q-jump drive is offline and internal damage is spreading. You can still get out of here in one piece—”

  “Helm, turn us bow down, thirty degrees along the z-axis!” interrupted Avery, issuing orders offscreen. “Take it on the hard shell, Lieutenant. O’Brian, have the flight deck prepare to receive the Indy’s fighters. They’ll be coming in hot.”

  On-screen Avenger shivered as Avery and her crew held on tight.

  “Go, Captain Avery,” said Wheatley. “As soon as you’ve recovered those fighters. Or before, if you have to. That’s a direct order.”

  “Noah—”

  “Sam, they’re headed for Britannia next, I’ll wager. Addison needs you there.”

  Avery’s face contorted. He knew her well enough to know how much she hated it when she felt fate deciding her next action.

  “Noah, your birds are hitting the deck. We’re holding position until all of them are at least in the hangar bay.”

  “Or until you can’t hold any longer and still jump away, Captain. You heard the commodore,” said Preble.

  Avery hesitated, then nodded. He knew what she was thinking. She was thinking about having to leave brave pilots behind, the ones who’d survived the Swarm onslaught and bought Heroic’s personnel the time they needed. The ones who’d survived only to sacrifice themselves in the final moments of an impossible battle.

  Well, Independence wasn’t out of the fight yet. “Weapons Officer, fire everything we’ve got left at that rear carrier,” said Preble. “Let’s try to distract them while Avenger prepares to jump.”

  “Aye, Captain,” came the soft reply.

  “Helm, lay in a course for—”

  “Captain!” said the comms officer. “Engineering reports q-jump drive back online!”

  Avery overheard and shared a look of you’ve got to be shitting me for half a moment with the Indy’s captain.

  “Noah, go! I’ll cover while we finish recovering your birds. We’re right behind you!”

  Preble hesitated but only for a moment. “Helm, q-jump us the fuck out of here.”

  “Sir, we haven’t had time to verify destination coordinates—”

  “Roll the dice! Avenger, spin up and follow as soon as you can!”

  “Acknowledged,” said Avery, cutting the feed.

  Preble watched the screen wide-eyed as Indy pilots raced through space for the haven of Avenger’s flight deck. Avery’s mag-rails blazed, spraying thousands of slugs at the Swarm ships prowling toward her. Then the screen went white with the star-streaked oblivion of q-space.

  Chapter 20

  Earth, Sol System

  Washington, D.C.

  The Oval Office, the White House

  “I’ll arrive at Churchill Station within the next half hour, Mr. President,” Kilgore said. “When I’ve got boots on the ground, I’ll have a better assessment of the situation for you.”

  Quentin Chamberlain nodded at the screen. “Thank you, Admiral. I hope to God Independence is repairable. And it’s essential you find out what happened with Avenger. If Avery is compromised, I want her taken into custody immediately. We can’t afford another very public betrayal like Baltasar’s. Our alliance with the Russians is paper thin as it is. If Ivanov loses confidence in our ability to vet our own personnel….”

  “I understand, sir.” There was interference in the meta-space transmission, then it cleared.

  “Speaking of personnel issues, what’s the status of Captain Halsey’s court-martial? I don’t have to tell you, Admiral—these kinds of events only erode public confidence in the IDF and my administration.”

  Quentin couldn’t be sure with the less-than-pristine feed, but Kilgore appeared to be biting her tongue. “That’s more smoke than fire, sir,” she said finally. “I won’t bore you with the details, but the upshot is this: Henry Pierce needs to have a corncob pulled out of his ass.” Her impatient expression changed quickly as she recalled to whom she spoke. “Apologies, sir. Dealing with the Halsey situation is one of the top five items on my to-do list. Right after assessing the spaceworthiness of Independence and Endeavour, determining whether or not Sam Avery is a Swarm spy, and, oh yes, defeating the Swarm.”

  But Chamberlain missed her sarcasm, distracted by the mental image of Kilgore extracting a corn cob from Pierce’s derriere. It made him chuckle. He’d met the man once, and her assessment sounded exactly right to him. Despite her obvious disdain for the Englishman and concern over the threat of a human apocalypse at the hands of the Swarm, it felt good to giggle a little at the absurdity of it all.

  “I’m sorry, Admiral, I don’t mean to laugh,” he said, trying to be kind.

  “Oh, sure you do, sir.”

  The president raised his eyebrows, half a smile still occupying his face.

  “And I don’t mean to offend, sir, by saying that. But being able to laugh at the ridiculous realization that we’ve managed to survive this long as a species is one reason we’re fighting this war, right?”

  The irony of that fueled full-blown laughter from the president. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  His chief of staff poked his head in the door. “Sir?”

  “One moment, Admiral. Yes, Rob?”

  “Premier Wei is calling.”

  That quickly sobered Chamberlain’s expression.

  Finally. It had been two days since Rob woke him up in the middle of the night to pull together the cabinet meeting where, surprising everyone, Ivanov had easily offered Russian support against the Swarm. Two days since his calls to Premier Wei had begun to go unanswered. And remained that way … until now. With a finger, he requested a moment’s indulgence from Francis.

  “Admiral, what is the Swarm’s disposition?”
<
br />   “We have every expectation that they’ll hit us again here, given Wellington’s strategic value as a production facility. But nothing yet,” she said. “In all honesty, Mr. President, we have no idea what the Swarm is up to. They punch, we duck. Knowing where they’ll hit, though? That’s our greatest weakness. Maybe they’re mustering at Outpost Heroic … at Heroic’s former location. We should’ve built a starbase there fifty years ago.”

  Chamberlain allowed a moment of silence out of respect for the souls lost on the Niña and the pilots and crew of Independence, who died defending them. “Admiral, I uh—I have another call I have to take. You’ll report back to me within, say, four hours on the status of your to-do list?”

  “Of course, Mr. President. I’m reviewing battle reports from Heroic as we make our final approach to Churchill.”

  “Very good, Admiral. Thank you … and stay safe.”

  Kilgore saluted. “Mr. President.”

  He returned the salute to her fading image, then nodded to Francis. “I’ll take it in here, Rob. And send in Kyla Torres. I want her listening in.”

  “Mr. President,” acknowledged the chief of staff.

  As he waited for the call and his national security advisor to step in, Quentin took a moment to breathe. He needed to center himself before engaging Wei. He knew little about the premier, other than that he was older—in his sixties, a generation older than Sun had been. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. After Huxley’s reluctant admission about the lack of reliable intel regarding infiltration by the Swarm, all bets were off for profiling who might or might not be an enemy agent. Quentin had no way of knowing if he was about to speak to another world leader already planning to betray him.

  Francis popped his head in again. “Line one, Mr. President.”

  Kyla Torres walked in past the chief of staff. “Mr. President,” she said respectfully.

  “Close the door, Rob.” Chamberlain indicated a chair out of camera view in front of the Resolute desk. “Kyla, you’re a silent witness here.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  The president hit the speaker button, and Wei’s face appeared on the screen. “Mr. Premier,” he said formally. “Thank you for calling me back.”

  Premier Wei Mao of the Chinese Intersolar Republic inclined his head. “President Chamberlain, so nice to finally make your acquaintance in person, such as it is.”

  Quentin absorbed Wei’s image. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected—a flowing, black-silk robe with dragons on the sleeves? A Fu Manchu moustache hanging wispy and mysterious from the premier’s face? What he observed was a man on the verge of elderly, about the same age as himself, dressed in a dark, practical, modern business suit with a thin tie and wearing eyeglasses—an unusual affectation in an age when corrective eye surgery was usually performed in utero. Three-dimensional images sat on the bookshelf behind him. They appeared to show family, including grandchildren, very much like the motion photos surrounding the back of Chamberlain’s own chair. Wei, dressed in everyday clothes, hugged and smiled at the youngsters, who laughed with delight. The motion images were strategically placed facing the camera, so the individual they framed appeared to value family, whether or not that was true.

  So they do that over there too. His earlier amusement returned. He tried to keep it from his face. Maybe this was a man he could talk to, Quentin thought as he observed the kindly grandfather smiling and waving in the photos. Wei’s predecessor had always seemed so damned cold and intractable.

  “I also wish to offer my apologies for how long it has taken me to respond to your kind requests for conversation,” Wei continued. “The … transition … to my administration has been somewhat … nontraditional.”

  Chamberlain gave him his best American fuggedaboutit expression. “I certainly understand, Mr. Premier. The Swarm threat has created difficulties for all of us.” That was putting it mildly. “When we learned that Premier Sun might’ve been a Swarm agent….”

  The formal cast of Wei’s face cracked a bit. Quentin thought he might have just stepped on a landmine of international protocol and blown the legs right out from under any possible partnership. Eastern leaders could be so sensitive sometimes. Or Western leaders so insensitive, he reprimanded himself. A quick look to Torres reflected back the oops! faux pas horror he managed to keep from showing on his own face.

  Wei’s eyes fell to the side for a moment as if he were making an assessment, a decision. Then he engaged Chamberlain again, and to the president’s surprise, his expression warmed to resemble the one in the family photos behind him.

  “Do you know much of my background, Mr. President?”

  The question threw Chamberlain for a loop. Outrage, denial of Sun’s duplicity … these were the reactions he’d expected from his fellow head of state.

  “I must admit, in all candor, Mr. Premier, I do not.”

  “Candor indeed. Exactly my point here. I have visited America many times, Mr. President. Yes, it’s true. Don’t look so surprised.”

  Quentin had to admit—the man’s English was superb. Almost native North American.

  “I attended college in the northeast, in fact. Rutgers. Have Mr. Huxley’s spies not briefed you on this?” His tone was almost incredulous but also amused. He seemed to enjoy informing Chamberlain of background he should, by all rights, already know—not to mention name-dropping the president’s own CIA director while doing it.

  Remembering something his old high school band director once told him, Quentin recovered quickly. “Winston has had other things to keep him occupied lately, Mr. Premier. But I’m glad to hear this from the horse’s mouth.” If you’re going to play a wrong note anyway, blast it.

  Wei’s formality finally broke and he laughed. Chamberlain dared not assess Torres’ expression for fear of losing his own composure. He could see in his peripheral vision how stunned she was at the speed at which a first, formal meeting had devolved into … whatever this was becoming.

  “Your Americanisms were a shock at first. Our culture, as you no doubt know, is based on tradition, on formality of expression. On propriety. The first time I heard an American dirty joke, I thought the blood would pour out of my ears, I was so embarrassed.”

  Not going to look at Torres. Not going to look at Torres.

  “My father was a businessman, Mr. President. I traveled with him as a child and a teenager. My mother did not, of course. Tradition.”

  Chamberlain nodded, taking it all in.

  “I fell in love with America early on. Your architecture. Your purple mountains majesty. Your loud entertainment, colorful in so many ways. And later, your women, so beautiful and exotic to a young man from the Far East used to silk kimonos and deferential attitudes. I even came to appreciate your dirty jokes. Now that I think about it, those last two are probably related.”

  Now he couldn’t help himself. Quentin chuckled. “I have no doubt, Mr. Premier.”

  “I attended Rutgers to study international business. And took over for my father in the family business when he suffered ill health. It is how I came to prominence in the Politburo.”

  “Indeed, sir.” That much Chamberlain knew. Wei Mao was one of the wealthiest men in China. Quentin remembered seeing a campaign blurb once, years ago: He Who Can’t Be Bought.

  “So your candor earlier—about Premier Sun. Believe it or not, it took me a moment to remember I was talking to an American. I find it quite refreshing. In a way, it feels nostalgic, if that makes sense.”

  Chamberlain offered him a smile. He already liked Wei much better than he’d ever liked Sun. “I think I understand, Mr. Premier.”

  “I’ll have my bio sent over to Mr. Huxley for you,” said Wei with a last attempt at humor. “But we have other matters to discuss, no?”

  “Indeed, sir. Your military has no doubt briefed you that the Swarm has returned?”

  Wei’s expression changed. He was all business, now. “Not only returned. But also destroyed a number of yo
ur starships, including the Endeavour and Independence. You have my sympathies, Mr. President, for the loss of your brave soldiers.”

  Chamberlain nodded solemnly. It was something to do while he made a mental note to find out from Winston Huxley how Chinese intelligence seemed so much better informed about them than they were about the Chinese.

  “Actually, Endeavour and Independence are still in one piece. Mostly.”

  Torres was waving a hand at him. They know enough about us already. No need to spoon-feed it to them, her gesture said. But Quentin ignored her. They were past that kind of thinking now.

  “That is good to hear, Mr. President.”

  “I’m calling to ask for your help, Mr. Premier. Can we count on the Republic to come to our aid as you did a month ago?”

  Wei’s face took on a pained look. “That was a troubled time, Mr. President. As you so frankly mentioned earlier. We are deeply shamed by Premier Sun’s betrayal. By the unprovoked attack by one of our captains on your ships.”

  “I understand, sir, and I appreciate your sentiments on the matter.”

  “Let me be equally candid, Mr. President. I am still cementing my hold on power. The Swarm’s infiltration of the previous administration went beyond its head. We are still—as you might say—mopping up the mess.”

  Torres was swinging her head back in forth in an exaggerated way. He’s lying. He’d never tell you that if it were true. Quentin took her opinion under advisement. Was Wei already making an excuse for refusing to commit ships? Maybe, for all his cordiality, he too was under Swarm control.

  Goddamn, I hate being in the dark. The not knowing.

  “So you cannot commit ships, then? Or will not?”

  Wei hesitated. He appeared to be weighing the options Chamberlain had just given him in the way the president asked his questions—was his refusal to help a necessity of circumstance or a personal choice? “I cannot send ships at this time, Mr. President. But I will make this commitment to you—I will do everything I can, as expeditiously as I can, to firm up the integrity of my administration. To root out any remaining Swarm influence. And to contribute when I can, whatever I can, to your valiant defense of our species.”