Dark Space

by Stephen A. Fender

  DARK

  SPACE

  Kestrel Saga: Volume V

  A novel by

  Stephen A. Fender

  Edited by

  Lynda Dietz

  Published by

  JRP ©

  www.JollyRogersProductions.net

  Dark Space

  Copyright © 2014 Stephen A. Fender

  www.StephenFender.com

  First Edition: November 2014

  Published through Jolly Rogers Productions (JRP) ©, a subsidiary division of StephenFender.com.

  All rights reserved. All characters and settings are the sole property of Stephen Fender.

  Ordering information: orders@stephenfender.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  ISBN-13: 978-1503053441

  ISBN-10: 150305344X

  Cover art layout by Stephen Fender ©.

  “If I were to say that I was grateful for anything in that war, it would be that it wasn’t fought a few hundred years ago. I don’t mean that from a technological standpoint, but from a bureaucratic one. If, in their infinite wisdom, Sector Command was still intent on using paper to get anything done, we would have all surely drowned in the piles of it before the first shots were even fired.”

  -Quote attributed to Fleet Admiral Salus Hansen, Unified Sector Command (Ret.)

  Prologue

  Office of the Commanding Officer, 2nd Sector Command Fleet, Admiral William Blackwell, Command Station 14, Mintar Sector.

  Fleet Admiral Blackwell was quick on the heels of his second in command, Vice Admiral Coralin, commander of the 3rd Strategic Force, as the last of the flag officers strode into Blackwell’s briefing room. The compartment was dimly lit, with only three overhead spotlights shining down—two on the table and one on the lone polished-steel podium at its head. Emblazoned on it was the insignia of Sector Command Station 14, a fourteen-point gold star inside a red circle, both surrounded by fourteen smaller stars of silver. To the left of the conference table were three rectangular view ports that stretched from floor to ceiling, which afforded a nearly unobstructed view of the filled moorage and docks inside the cavernous bell-shaped station. As Admiral William Blackwell approached the podium, the cadre of fleet commanders rose to stand at attention.

  Newly promoted Rear Admiral Salus Hansen, the former commanding officer of the battle cruiser Baton Rouge and now the commanding officer of the 7th Squadron, gazed at Blackwell with understandable curiosity. Hansen, along with the 9th Squadron’s commanding officer, Rear Admiral Dar’an, and the commanding officer of the 11th Squadron, Rear Admiral Darius Cody, had been assembled for what the three officers assumed was going to be a large-scale joint operation.

  And there was little doubt why.

  In the three months since the Battle for Second Earth, the Meltranian invaders had managed to push back several combined Sector Command fleets, in some cases with a total decimation of the combined Unified-Kafaran-Rugorian groups. At first Hansen had found it difficult to believe; that the strike fleets, which consisted of no fewer than thirty starships, could be so overwhelmingly outmatched by less than superior Meltranian forces so close to Unified space was appalling. Now, only a few months later, Hansen and his fellow colleagues almost felt that those conflicts were becoming the norm in the former Outer Sphere. It came as no shock, then, that the brass of Sector Command admiralty were now gathering even larger groups of warships—flotillas consisting of no less than sixty vessels each—to counter the Meltranians in the Unified Collaboration of Systems’ own backyard. However, up to this point, there’d been few positive results to show for it.

  Now, with over two hundred Unified, Kafaran, and Rugorian ships assigned to each of the admirals seated near him, Hansen was beginning to have doubts it would be enough.

  “Good afternoon, gentleman,” Blackwell began, his gray eyes darting from one admiral to the next. “Please, be seated.”

  Hansen noted how young Blackwell was, younger than he by nearly a decade, and briefly entertained the thought that this man alone would more than likely be the pivotal cause of defeat or victory for the Unified Collaboration in this war. When it came to figuring out who was in operational command of the Unified forces currently battling the Meltranians, nearly every officer from the lowliest ensign to the brass present in the briefing room knew that Fleet Admiral Blackwell’s word was absolute. As if he were reading the thoughts that were directed at him, Blackwell immediately looked to Hansen. “Admiral Hansen, I believe you know everyone present?”

  Salus began a slow glance around the table. The first one to catch his eye was the man seated just to the right of Blackwell, Vice Admiral Coralin, the Polysaurian commander of the two-hundred-plus ships of the 3rd Strategic Force and Admiral Blackwell’s right-hand in the current engagement. The vice admiral was by far the oldest member of the assembled officers, having served in Sector Command for the last sixty years. The quills atop his round head, which Hansen knew were once dark red, had faded with time to a dull sheen, the toxin-tips now tinted silver—a sign of high honor in the Polysaurian society. His yellow eyes, soft and welcoming, seemed to draw Salus in as they locked eyes on one another. They’d served together many times, and Hansen was sure that they each still owed a favor to the other for some good deed done in the past.

  Hansen then looked to Rear Admiral Dar’an of Ibon, who had served with Hansen while they were both junior lieutenants on board the destroyer Hancock. Dar’an was a tall human, with his pitch black hair pulled tightly against his scalp—traditional of Ibonian culture for the last several centuries. His ice-blue eyes had a gaze that could melt steel, but he wielded a style of command that left every officer under him feeling as if they were a part of a larger family. Hansen was momentarily taken back to a time on the Hancock, when he and Dar’an had had a particularly humorous run-in with the ship’s commanding officer. As Salus looked at Dar’an, it was safe to assume that Dar’an was probably remembering the same incident. A brief smile was shared between the two men who hadn’t set eyes on one another in nearly ten years. Hansen nodded slightly, hoping that many more good memories could come to fruition, then turned his attention to the remaining officer, Rear Admiral Cody.

  Salus and Darius had had a heated run-in during a court-martial convened several years ago while Cody was a commodore at Command Outpost 4. Cody had been asked to prosecute the case, while Hansen—being a senior commander and unbiased third party—had been requested to sit on the board of judges. Hansen had watched for hours as Cody systematically picked apart the defense’s case, one witness at a time. Some would charge off the stand in frustration, some had broken down in tears, and others were simply shocked into silence by the cold methodology of Cody’s scrutiny.

  Hansen had later learned that Cody was just as vicious outside the courtroom as he was while he was in it. A story had circulated about his run-in with an Angoran ambassador, and how the ensuing argument had effectively pushed back the Unified government’s relations with that culture by nearly a decade. Though it was determined that it was the visiting ambassador himself who had both instigated and enraged Cody with no provocation, the embarrassment to Sector Command was firmly set in stone. Considering that Outpost 4 was in a perilous position of hosting a delegation of Angorans during another trade negotiation in the upcoming weeks, it was decided that, for the good of the Judge Advocate General’s office—as well as Cody’s career—he should be transferred back out to the fleet after his JAG tour ended. Cody, always the opportunist, had apparently refused to leave the JAG unless he received a promotion to the admiralty. Sector Command decided it was a small price to pay for the abdication of his position, and Cody was soon back in the fleet and in joint command of the 27th Stra
tegic Group under Admiral Tyson. When Tyson was killed in a skirmish near the Epsilon Tiranan Nebula during the Great War, Cody was temporarily placed in charge. Not long after, some said due to a disagreement with the upper echelon of Sector Command, Cody was “transferred out” and took command of the 11th Squadron under the direct command of Fleet Admiral Blackwell, where Cody had been languishing for years. Hansen inclined his head in the direction of Cody, which the almost ball-shaped officer returned in an apparent self-satisfied manner.

  Pompous ass, Salus thought to himself. He then looked to Blackwell and nodded that he was ready to begin the briefing.

  “Very well,” Blackwell said in a slightly scratchy voice. “As you all know, the Meltranian forces near the established front lines have become increasingly active in the nearby sectors. Sector Command Intelligence, in conjunction with reports from deep cover agents in the Office of Special Investigations, believes that a major Meltranian push is about to begin. It’s purported that this will be the prelude to a surge that could, if they are successful, give the Meltranians a foothold that would double the size of their current gains into Beta Sector, to say nothing about putting them within striking distance of Unified-controlled space. It is imperative that we stop them at all costs.”

  The assembled men gave each other concerned glances. “What kind of a surge are we looking at, sir?” Dar’an asked.

  “Let me show you what Intelligence has come up with,” Blackwell offered. He held his hand up and flicked his index finger toward an ensign that none of the admirals had even known was sitting in the darkest corner of the room. The young woman dimmed the already-low lights in the conference room as a large display screen was lowered behind the podium. The screen glowed to life with a high-pitched beep and began to display a map of Beta Sector, with Unified space at the far right, and Kafaran space at the far left. In the lower center of the screen—stretching for nearly four sectors—was a thick red line forming an irregular horseshoe shape that extended from the Kafaran Empire at the bottom of the map and penetrating over two sectors into the former Outer Sphere. “This is the currently established front line of the war, gentleman. You can see that the Meltranians have penetrated as far as the Nigold system. I don’t need to tell you that this means the Meltranians have gained nearly twenty-four light-years of our space to this point.” He used a laser pointer to highlight the topmost portion of the inverted horseshoe. “This is the apex of nearly fifty square light-years they’ve successfully conquered.”

  As the admiral finished speaking, the red area of space occupied by Meltranians began to flash in a steady pulse. Blackwell allowed that information to sink in before he continued. “To answer your question more precisely, Admiral Dar’an, I’ll have Admiral Coralin go over the next details.”

  Coralin, planting two of his three hands on the table for leverage, rose from his chair and glided past Blackwell. As he stepped to the podium, the beams cast by the dimmed spotlights bounced off the heavily decorated breast of his gray dress uniform. From where he was sitting at the far end of the table, it looked to Salus as if the vice admiral had a dozen diamonds on his chest, sparkling in reds, blues, and greens as the Polysaurian admiral’s thick chest rose with his breathing. The quills on the crown of his head bristled as he clasped two clawed hands behind his back and used the third, central one, to control a small pointer.

  “Gentleman, Sector Command Intelligence believes that the majority of the Meltranian surge will happen here,” he said, then fired his pointer. A beam of soft green light landed precisely on the Klef system.

  Klef: a small, nondescript system devoid of nearly anything remarkable. There was a small Rugorian mining colony and an associated trading outpost on the only habitable planet in the system. It had been established some fifteen or so years ago, but the population had yet to make a major name for themselves in the intergalactic trading market. Based on what Sector Command Intelligence was now reporting, Klef was about to get a much larger plot on the map.

  “That would seem like the most opportune target,” Hansen remarked as he looked over the entire display. He noted, and he was sure the other assembled officers had as well, that Klef was roughly twenty light-years from the newest Sector Command shipyards in the Drakkath system. It was probable that the Meltranians had somehow managed to decipher that the yards were now in operation, and that production of ships for the war effort was in full swing.

  To date, almost nothing was known about the Meltranians’ intelligence service, but it was assumed to be extremely efficient. On more than one occasion, the invaders seemed to know where their adversaries were, even though Sector Command Intelligence was still deciphering the locations of those same Meltranian forces. Even if the Meltranians didn’t know about the existence of the shipyards, Drakkath itself was still well in the direction of their current push toward Unified space, not to mention a jumping-off point into several heavily populated regions of Beta Sector.

  Coralin nodded to Hansen’s remark. “If the Meltranians take Klef, they’ll have an enormous strategic advantage over our forces. If they change course here,” he said, now pointing at a spot several parsecs from the Meltranians’ presumed current location, “they will head in the direction of the Drakkath system. If, however, they decide to change course to a more galactically north heading, they will be on a direct heading for the Sult system, which Intelligence believes will be a jumping off point for them to reach out and eventually strike us here at Outpost 14.”

  “You mentioned that the push for Klef would be the major objective in the area,” Admiral Cody began, a metallic pen twirling between his fat fingers. “What about the minor ones?”

  Coralin stepped from one side of the map to other, aiming and firing his pointer at a position opposite Klef by about fifteen light-years. “This is the planet Ogolo. It’s a Unified trading post headed up by the local Argelian government. There’s a small Unified Marine encampment there on the far side of the planet, as well as a fairly sizeable shore leave facility on the southern hemisphere used by multiple branches of Sector Command.”

  “Why can’t the Office of Special Investigations and Sector Command Intelligence work together to give us a truly accurate picture of what’s happening?” Cody said with disgust. “Who’s to say this isn’t some sort of wild goose chase?”

  Fleet Admiral Blackwell looked to Cody doubtfully. “Intelligence believes that the Meltranians will be using the Ogolo system as a staging ground for further forays into Unified territory.” He then put emphasis to his next words. “However, no communications been received from Ogolo in the last few days that would indicate enemy forces have entered their system. Intelligence is working hard for us, Admiral Cody, and you would be well advised to remember the facts and leave your speculations about their competence to others more highly qualified in those areas.”

  Vice Admiral Coralin, always the diplomat, sensed the tension and began speaking. “As with all things in this unfolding confrontation, Admiral Cody, nothing is certain until it is. Hence, we will be dispatching a combined squadron in order to ascertain Ogolo’s true status, as well as to reinforce the Unified Marines already stationed planetside.”

  Admiral Dar’an examined the screen before speaking. “How long have the Marines been there?”

  “Almost three weeks,” Blackwell answered. “The carrier Rhea dropped them off, then entered into high orbit above the northern pole. She’s out there with only her small escorts, which I don’t care much for. She’ll fall under the jurisdiction of the relieving commander.”

  Apparently this was music to the overweight admiral’s ears. Since the first day he was given overall tactical command of his squadron of two hundred warships, it was widely known that Cody desired to put them to action in a major engagement that would demonstrate to everyone his often self-proclaimed command qualifications. With the pending retirement of a handful of top brass at Sector Command HQ, it was rumored that some of the replacements would be pulled directly from on
e of the six squadrons in the 2nd Fleet. However, without winning a major accolade, Cody was just another name on the bottom of a long list.

  “That’s fantastic news, Coralin,” Cody beamed. “I can have the 11th Squadron there in less than three days. We’ll show those Meltranians that we won’t—”

  “Not so fast, Admiral Cody,” Fleet Admiral Blackwell said, raising his hand to silence the stream of consciousness that was sure to spew out of Cody’s mouth. “Allow Vice Admiral Coralin to finish his briefing.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Coralin offered to Blackwell with a curt nod. Hansen couldn’t tell exactly, but he was almost positive that Coralin was more than happy to have Cody silenced by the senior admiral. For his part, Hansen watched as Cody slinked back into his chair and folded his hands somewhat defiantly in front of him, then shrugged his head in the direction of Coralin.

  Pompous ass. The thought rang in Hansen’s mind like a church bell on Sunday morning.

  Vice Admiral Coralin turned his attention back to the large display. “There is one final piece to the Meltranians’ advancement. It is here,” he said, pointing his laser at a small green-blue planet between Klef and the Ogolo systems. “This is Jevol. It’s an agricultural center, chiefly responsible for growing many of the plants that can be found in the arboretums of newly christened starships. They also produce a great deal of the food consumed within the adjacent two sectors. Although they are considered a neutral world, they have a pending application to join the Unified Collaboration, not to mention several binding trade agreements with the Unified government. Sector Command Intelligence believes that Jevol will be the fallback strike point for the Meltranians, should Klef or Ogolo become untenable.” Coralin’s yellow eyes bore straight at Cody. “This, Rear Admiral Cody, is where you will take the 11th Squadron.”

  Cody, barely attempting to hide his discomfort, was beside himself. “Farmers?” he gasped in near-disgust. “You want me to take an entire fleet of warships to protect farmers?”