The Battle for the Solar System (Complete Trilogy)

by Sweeney, Stephen

  “This is … just in the short-term, sir?” Kelly ventured.

  Parks shook his head. “No. Until further notice you will be posted to Mandelah Naval Base on Spirit, where you will fall under the general command of Captain Meyers. Preparations for your departure to the system have already been made, and your transport will be ready to go within the next quarter of an hour. Please ensure you are ready to leave at that time.” The man’s voice had an edge of finality to it.

  Spirit. Dodds racked his brain to remember. He then discovered why he had buried it so deep – the planet was supposedly a complete hole, rundown and dilapidated, nothing about it at all very appealing, not even the ‘notable’ parts. Though it was one of the handful of Confederation planets to be wrapped by an orbital ring, construction on Spirit’s had been pushed to the wayside and had never been completed. It had fallen into disrepair as a result. The orbital station that hung in the planet’s orbit was all there was available to service the CSN’s needs, and was almost unable to handle the demands placed upon it.

  Dodds suppressed a feeling of horror. What had he come back to?

  Mansun stepped forward from behind Parks’ desk. “Um … well, on behalf of the research and development teams at Xalan, may I thank you all for your participation in the project,” he said, shaking each of their hands in turn. When he came to Chaz he let out a yelp, a look of discomfort on his face. Chaz’s eyes were still narrowed and he seemed to have caught the project leader in quite a tight grip. Mansun retreated behind Parks’ desk, nursing his hand.

  “Yes, I … er … would also like to thank you,” Ainsworth said. He gave a little wave, but refused to move away from the safety of the desk. Parks looked at him, but Ainsworth only gave a very slight shake of his head.

  “Before you go,” Parks said, looking once more to the five pilots, “I shouldn’t have to remind you that even though you are no longer active participants in the ATAF program, the project is still classified. As before, none of you are to discuss your involvement or knowledge of the starfighter. It doesn’t exist. Your personal records and other assignment papers will state that you have transferred from Wolf 359, where you were working to ensure the continued security of naval interests.

  “That is all, Knights, you’re dismissed. You will be informed when your transport arrives. Until then, please remain in your assigned waiting room. Security will see you out. If there is anything you need before your departure, please inform a member of personnel.”

  The same tone of finality was present as Parks spoke and Dodds couldn’t help but feel as if the commodore was blaming them for something. With some reluctance, he saluted along with the others and turned to leave.

  “Man, I can’t believe they’re sending us to Spirit,” Enrique grumbled.

  “It must be some sort of mistake,” Kelly said. “They surely won’t keep us there for more than a few weeks—”

  “Is there a problem, Mr Koonan?” Parks’ voice came from behind them.

  Dodds looked around to discover that, whilst the others had begun to make their way towards the security, Chaz had remained rooted to the spot. He was staring down at Parks and, from the concerned look on Ainsworth’s face, was far from happy. Mansun, too, had taken a small step backwards in retreat, away from the big man who seemed to still be radiating fury.

  “I’ll get him,” Enrique started.

  Kelly grabbed his arm as he made to do so, holding him back. “No, don’t,” she said.

  From what Dodds gathered, Enrique maintained a better relationship with Chaz than anyone else. It was doubtful, however, that he would be able to handle the man in his current state. Estelle opened her mouth to speak, but Dodds waved her down. This didn’t look like a situation that any of them should attempt to handle. Nevertheless, he saw the two security guards exchange a look with one another, before their hands poised over the pistols at their belts. They looked to be making preparations to move in, in case the situation escalated.

  Parks remained sat at his desk, twiddling a pen in his hand and staring unflinchingly up at Chaz’s enraged expression, his own quite calm. “I just asked you, Mr Koonan, is there is a problem?” he repeated.

  Chaz stuck out a finger at him. “Parks, you told me that after this was over—”

  “We’ll discuss it another time, Lieutenant,” Parks cut in.

  “You prom—”

  “That’s enough, Mr Koonan!” Parks said, meeting Chaz’s glare with one of his own. “Anything else?”

  Chaz remained silent for a moment, only staring back at Parks, the hands at his sides balled into tight fists. “No, sir,” he finally said, in a cold, bitter tone.

  “Good,” Parks said, before indicating the door with his pen. “Your shuttle will be here shortly. Don’t keep it waiting.”

  With that, and without saluting, Chaz turned on his heel and marched out the door, past his four wingmates and the two security guards. He acknowledged none of them as he went, his brow furrowed, his eyes blazing, his fists still clenched tightly. Dodds watched the big man’s back retreating down the corridor, as one of the security detail trotted after him.

  “Is Spirit really that bad?” Kelly asked.

  Dodds saw that Parks’ attention had returned to the work at his desk, pushing a pen across various pieces of paper. He didn’t seem in the least bit fazed by the incident. “I don’t think that’s what’s upset him,” he said.

  *

  Dodds’ mind ticked over as the transport shuttle winged its way through the jump space conduit, heading for the Temper system. A number of thoughts tugged at his mind, each seeking his undivided attention. The one currently pulling the hardest was Chaz’s outburst in front of Parks. Sitting in the waiting room, Dodds had attempted to question the big man and discover the reason behind it, though his lines of enquiry had been met largely by hostility. He’d decided to let the subject lie after that, feeling that being too close to Chaz could end up being rather hazardous to his health. Likely, he’d find out what that was all about later on, when Chaz had calmed down.

  He glanced around at the man from his seat, seeing him once more with his head in a book. As with the others, it appeared to be one related to travel. Dodds had seen him with two similar ones whilst they had been at Xalan. Seemingly, that was Chaz’s favourite subject. All three books appeared to come from the same publisher, though the described destination of each was quite varied. He pondered for a moment why Chaz was so interested in travel writing. Perhaps it wasn’t the destinations that interested him, but the author, or the style. Were they funny books, littered with humorous anecdotes of the adventures the writer had experienced? If they were, he’d never once seen them cause the man to crack a smile. They did appear to relax him, though, and his eyes had always taken on a softer edge when he eventually put the book down.

  Dodds tracked over the other occupants of the shuttle. Estelle was staring into space, appearing to be lost in her own thoughts. Enrique was slouched in his chair, apparently asleep. Kelly was taking the time to write in her journal, an activity that she’d been forced to put aside for the past few weeks.

  He watched Estelle for a time. Her mood seemed to have lightened a little, but he could tell it was still too soon to engage her in conversation. She had spent much of the time in the waiting room chewing on the bone of their exit from the program, assuming that the Red Devils must have somehow cheated their way to victory. Kennedy’s name had been thrown around a great deal, too. What was that all about? It was as if she had been jealous of the woman for years. He would talk to Estelle later, once they had arrived at Spirit. He was certain that her misery was further compounded by the tantalising nature of the transport they now occupied, being the sort that was often reserved for high-ranking officials and members of senior command. The sort of person whom she aspired so badly to become, and the sort that she might never. She did have a point, though. Her sadness at their failure to secure the chance to become the test pilots of the ATAFs was resonating w
ith him a little, too. He turned back to his own window.

  The view was quite uninspiring, with little else to see aside from a cloudy blue haze. In the silence of the shuttle, he slipped into his own thoughts and went back over everything that they had done in the past few weeks at the research facility. He couldn’t think where they had gone wrong. The team had been more than up to scratch on the TAF simulators. Despite his lengthy absence from the cockpit, even he had performed to his usual standard. There were no weak links anywhere as far as he could see. The ATAF evaluations in the simulators themselves had gone without a hitch. They hadn’t lost a single team member during any of the missions they had flown, an act which – without doubt – would’ve been a reason for instant failure. They hadn’t conceded very many allied casualties during the assessments either; in some cases, none at all. Neither had they wasted much ammunition.

  All he could think of was that … well, they simply weren’t up to snuff. One of the other teams had clearly surpassed them. And, of course, there may well have been other teams that they hadn’t been told about. It was possible that the CSN had actually recruited tens of teams.

  Even so, stepping into Parks’ office and seeing that confident look on Estelle’s face, he had been convinced that the White Knights would be charged with piloting the ATAFs for whatever purpose the CSN had in mind.

  “This is your captain speaking,” came a pleasant and cheery voice over the transport’s intercom, interrupting his thoughts. “We are now approaching the Temper system. Preparing to exit jump.”

  Dodds watched out the window as the blue haze peeled away and the stars outside came rushing by. A massive, far-off transport vessel, its engines glowing with cyan hues, entered into the meagre space afforded by his window, slowing along with the stars outside. The effect was something of an illusion, the disengagement from jump space giving the impression of a rapid burst of speed.

  Not long after that, he was greeted by a view of Spirit, the large blue and green ball looming in his window. Even from this distance, he could see that the orbital ring that wrapped its way around the planet was far from complete, sections missing here and there. What looked like construction equipment drifted close by, appearing as worn out and neglected as the ring itself. It seemed that work on the ring had been put on the back burner. Dodds couldn’t help but feel that it was a fitting preview of things to come. After the initial excitement and great anticipation of his call back to duty, was this really what he had returned to? Maybe his father had been right all along.

  As well as the ring, he could make out the wheel-like form of the orbital station, hanging high above the planet, spokes jutting out of its central core. It was the first station of its kind that he’d ever seen, Xalan’s own orbital station being more saucer-shaped, with rounded tops and bottoms like most others. The design of Spirit’s station looked as though it had wormed its way out of the reject pile.

  Either that, or it was just cheap.

  Kelly, sat one row in front of him, turned around with a dispirited look on her face, her first impressions of their destination clearly leaving much to be desired.

  “Disengagement complete,” the transport’s captain said, as cheery as ever. “Welcome to the Temper system. We will be entering Spirit’s orbit within the next twenty minutes, before landing at Spirit Orbital Station and completing our flight. I wish you a pleasant stay.”

  Chaz gave a snort, but didn’t raise his eyes from his book.

  So, here it is, Dodds thought, the crème de la crème arriving at the crème de la crap. He saw that Estelle had gone back to sulking. Maybe he would join her.

  VII

  — An Admiral’s Confession —

  Elliott Parks’ transport shuttle departed Xalan Orbital and made its way planet-side, weaving past the inner planetary defences. It touched down around an hour later at its appointed cliff-side landing pad and Parks made his way along a connecting jetty, towards the building that housed Turner’s temporary office. The office was high up, affording its occupants a stunning panorama of Brunsfield city, which lay across the ocean. It was early in the evening when Parks arrived and the many lights from buildings and low flying vehicles could be seen twinkling in the fading light.

  “Good evening, Admiral,” Parks said, as he was shown in to Turner’s office.

  “Good evening to you too, Commodore,” Turner said. “Please leave us,” he added to the security personnel, who stood guard inside his office. “Don’t concern yourself with any standards of correctness, Elliott, I don’t expect this to be a formal meeting,” he said to Parks, once the door had shut. “Let me apologise for having you run around so much these past few days. I appreciate that it can get rather stressful.”

  “That’s quite alright, sir,” Parks said, “whatever was needed to get the job done.” He had indeed been travelling a lot recently. Whilst in the Indigo system, he had divided his duties between Xalan’s many research centres and the orbital station, spending a fair amount of time being shuttled between many of them. The constant to-ing and fro-ing had begun to take its toll, but he was coping.

  “Spectacular, isn’t it?” Turner said, changing the subject and nodding to the view out the window.

  “I was about to say so myself,” Parks said, looking out at the bright lights of Brunsfield in the distance.

  “When you next get a chance, keep in mind that there is a nice little steak restaurant on the waterfront. I was there just the other night. One of the best meals I’ve eaten in years. Drink?” The admiral walked over to a cabinet and removed two spirit glasses, before picking up a near-full decanter of whiskey and giving it a gentle shake. “Imperial White Label,” he said, with a smile.

  “White Label? Really?” Parks said. Not only was that stuff expensive, but it was also extremely difficult to get hold of. For a moment, he thought Turner was joking. From the satisfied look on the admiral’s face, however, it was clear that he wasn’t. “How did you get that?” Parks asked.

  The admiral chuckled – a rare sight these days – and poured out a modest amount of the amber liquid into each glass. “It was confiscated from one of the local residents returning home. I saw it on the seized items list and decided I deserved a little reward for all my recent hard work. One signature and it was mine.”

  Parks raised an eyebrow at just how blasé the admiral was being. Never in his career had he seen the man behave in such a manner.

  “Anything else?” Parks asked, as Turner dropped a couple of ice cubes into each glass.

  “No,” Turner waved a hand dismissively, “a man of my authority shouldn’t abuse his position. So, knowing that, I only took the other two bottles.” He grinned and handed one of the glasses to Parks, before returning to his desk and sinking down into the comfortable black leather chair with a contented sigh. He then raised his glass. “Congratulations on a job well done, Commodore,” he said.

  “Thank you, sir,” Parks said.

  Parks watched Turner knock back some of the liquor, as he raised his glass to his own lips. Despite its rarity within the Confederacy and its apparent pride-of-place amongst whiskey connoisseurs, he was never quite sure whether he would ever acquire a taste for it. Maybe this time. Perhaps his palate had somehow become more attuned to its distinctive taste. He took a small sip.

  It was as vile as he remembered.

  As if the initial flavour wasn’t bad enough – which he imagined was how turpentine might taste, after being infused with oak – then the rancid aftertaste of burnt socks that followed was more than enough to seal his dislike of the spirit. Maybe his palate wasn’t quite as sophisticated as others. Even so, he made an effort to show his appreciation of the admiral sharing such a rare treat with him, and forced down a larger gulp, doing his best not to start gurning afterwards. Luckily, Turner hadn’t seemed to have noticed.

  The Mitikans tended to prefer their drink strong, vodka being high on their list of exports. The spirit was consumed in vast quantities by asteroid and mine
ral miners all over the galaxy, the most popular being a brand known as Velda; coincidently made by the same company that produced the White Label whiskey. Parks had tried some on occasion and found it to be, in his own words, ‘lethal’. At close to one-hundred-and-fifty proof, it wasn’t a drink to be consumed lightly. It was also highly flammable and consequently banned in many bars throughout the galaxy.

  “Looks like we got our men, then. Or, in this case, women,” Turner said cheerily. He rocked the whiskey glass in his hand, staring at the liquid within, watching as it washed over the ice cubes. “I know you favoured the Knights, but you have to remember that at the end of the day we are in fact doing them a favour by not involving them.”

  True enough, Parks thought.

  “What’s done is done,” Turner went on, “and we need to focus on more important aspects. We now only have nine months or so to convince those five women of the truly monumental task that we will be expecting them to undertake. For now, we may as well take the opportunity to celebrate one thing going right over the last six months. God knows we could use it, what with the prospect of never seeing Dragon again. I’d sooner have that battleship completely destroyed, than in the hands of the Enemy.” The last part became something of an irritated mumble. He took another drink from his glass, leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling.

  Parks took a seat in a chair adjacent to the admiral’s desk. He recalled going over the results of the ATAF evaluation test scores and seeing the minimal differences between the Red Devils and White Knights. There were various aspects of the evaluation where the two teams had out-performed one another, leading to a very difficult decision. In the end, however, the Red Devils had just edged out the White Knights, leaving Parks with the painful task of reassigning the team to the border. The Silver Panthers had performed less well and Parks had returned them to their previous duties.