The Battle for the Solar System (Complete Trilogy)

by Sweeney, Stephen

  Sadly, that was one of the few good things that could be said about the planet. Spirit was a rundown, dilapidated world, even when the Confederation was at its peak. It was suggested that the regeneration program had been put on hold as funding was diverted into the ATAF program. Had the preparations to meet the Pandoran threat not been necessary, I expect the orbital ring would’ve been near-complete by 2617 and things would have been a lot different.

  But then of course, everything would’ve been different.

  Perhaps somewhat surprisingly, as affluent as Gabriel was, neither Adelaide nor Al-Elfia ever had a ring constructed. Nor were they even considered. Spirit was therefore the first planet I had been stationed at that had an orbital ring. Even in its incomplete state, it was a beautiful and surreal sight. On clear days, one could make out the ring from the ground as a thin strip of grey running through the sky. Granted, it was in a geostationary orbit, so it remained the same sight every day, but it was still quite a sight to behold. Night times were spectacular, with the lit portions of the ring creating a multicoloured band of lights in the sky. Back then, I thought about how, once it was finished, it would look even more beautiful. Work to complete it was rushed forward when the Pandoran forces began their advance towards Confederation space. The work only got so far before they blew it to pieces, the ring completely destroyed.

  Our arrival at Spirit came as something of a shock to us all. I remember catching the sound of chuckling from a group of engineers and deckhands when we first arrived on the orbital station. I later found out that it was always a great source of amusement for the current residents to see the initial reactions each time a new set of faces turned up. We were far from the first to be repulsed by the state of our new surroundings.

  Compared to those of Fort Dyas, the barracks at Mandelah left much to be desired. During our previous postings, we had either been given private staterooms or, in a few cases, been assigned to share quarters with one other person. Maybe two, though these were short-term and extremely rare. Mandelah saw us crammed into a dormitory with fourteen other people. It was like a boot camp. It felt as though I was back at flight school, repeating my first experiences of service all over again.

  Being a border world and far detached from the Central Provinces, Spirit had earned itself a bad reputation over the years. It was classed by many as a dull, lifeless rock, and, despite having such a high military presence, it had been given the definitely ironic nickname of Action Central. Homesickness and boredom was rife, though I can say for certain that six months later many were wishing it had remained that way.

  I’ll admit now that when we were initially transferred to Spirit, I considered resigning. I saw it as something of a turning point in my life and felt that by the end of the year I would no longer be in the service. It was probably a good thing that I didn’t resign, as, aside from the important duties I would go on to play in opposition to the Pandoran push, it is not unreasonable to think that I would’ve lost my life during the Great Panic.

  A question that would forever resonate with many was whether, if we had known what we were truly up against, we would have been better prepared? Neither David Turner, Elliott Parks nor Amanda Jenkins seemed to think so, which is why it was decided to be kept secret from us all.

  We were given a tour of the base when we arrived and found that, even though Spirit had an orbital station, the overpopulation of pilots and service personnel meant that many of us had to be based on the ground. This meant that in order to perform our duties we would have to be transferred back up to the orbital station. This would occur on an almost daily basis. As it stood, not even the craft that we would be required to pilot were stationed planet-side. Standard Confederation starfighters weren’t capable of withstanding the stresses that atmospheres would put upon them whilst attempting planetary leave or re-entry.

  More and more servicemen and women continued to turn up as the weeks went on, creating a superabundance of personnel. The grounds for this was because naval brass had taken the decision to shore up the Confederation’s borders as much as possible, in preparation for – and in high anticipation of – an attack by the Pandoran army. They presented different reasons for the glut of service personnel of course, stating that we were securing our borders against an influx of immigrants from both the Mitikas Empire and Independent nations, who had been displaced by the civil war.

  I filled my days at Spirit with various activities with Dodds, Enrique and Chaz. We would go for runs around the base, and outside of it whenever we got the chance. We also took up some extra firearms training, if for nothing else to do but pass the time. Estelle didn’t join us for runs so much. She preferred to spend her time volunteering for various tasks around the base, focusing mainly on flag duty (a blanket term for overseeing and supporting a huge array of duties), in the hopes of finding approval from higher command and being promoted to more fulfilling responsibilities. It was, after all, what she’d signed up for.

  Chaz came out of his shell a little, too, though he was often still grumpy and introverted, and still never said a lot. He and Enrique would often attend boxing and other self-defence and close quarters combat classes, to practice together. I noticed then how he would speak to Enrique a little more than the rest of us. Trust appeared to be building, even if it was threadbare at best. Estelle never trusted him, though, not after the unexplained outburst at Xalan Orbital against Parks, and less-so when he refused to talk about what was on the video discs he would receive from time to time.

  We half-joked between ourselves that he was probably an Imperial spy or double-agent of some sort, working against the good of the Confederacy and planning to take it down from the inside.

  Funny, yes. And kind of ironic, too.

  *

  “Welcome to Mandelah Naval Base, boy and girls,” the portly, ginger-bearded man started, “and welcome to Spirit. My name is Captain Aiden Meyers, and for the duration of your tour you will be acting under my command.”

  Dodds suppressed a small sigh, folded his arms and tried to appear interested as Meyers gave an overview of what would be expected of the new arrivals.

  “The Temper system is the principle route, and therefore the closest Confederation border world to Independent space,” Meyers went on. “In general terms, this means that all traffic wishing to safely and sanely enter or leave Confederation controlled space must do so via this system.”

  “Why?” a red-headed woman asked. “I mean, we can easily travel all the way from Earth to Kethlan in a single jump, if we wanted to.”

  “Not any longer, no,” Meyers said. “Owing to recent developments within the Mitikas Imperium, the Confederation is no longer permitting jumpgates, save for those along the border, to allow incoming or outgoing traffic to non-Confederate destinations.”

  “So everyone is having to come through here, instead?”

  “For the foreseeable future, yes.”

  “But the volume of traffic must be incredible!” Red said, quite taken aback.

  “It is, yes. But it’s a necessary precaution that the government wishes to enforce.”

  Dodds saw the image of an egg timer in his head, the grains of sand representing the starships that were waiting – with strained tempers – to pass through the gates and move on to their destination. The top bulb of the timer was full to bursting, with only a measly few grains being able to squeeze their way through the neck that was the jumpgate.

  “But what about everyone else?” Red asked. “If they have their own jump drives, then they don’t need to use the gates. It’s estimated that somewhere between ten and fifteen percent of all spacecraft can form their own jump points. And that number’s set to increase in the next few years, with the advances in manufacturing techniques driving down cost and risk.”

  Good God, had she swallowed a book on astral navigation or something? Dodds wondered. He looked to Enrique and raised an eyebrow at the seemingly well-informed comment.

  Meyers put up a hand an
d waved the woman down. “We’ll get on to how we are tackling that in a little bit. For now, all of the Confederacy’s navigation buoys are refusing to supply data on routes towards non-Confederate systems and, in particular, Mitikas. Without that data, space is once again as the sea was to early sailors on Earth – a treacherous place, with few to no landmarks.”

  “Until they learned to use the stars to navigate,” another voice chipped in.

  “True,” Meyers began to chuckle. “But you’d have a hell of a time doing that up there.” He nodded towards the ceiling. “Now—”

  “Excuse me, Captain, but what are the government taking precautions against?” yet another voice piped up.

  “Mass immigration,” Meyers said simply. “The increased instability of the Imperial systems has led to a greater amount of traffic making its way into Temper, and from there, into further sectors of Confederation space. Most of these are traders, attempting to find new avenues of business now that their old ones have closed. Unfortunately, organised crime is also suffering the same loss, and you can all rest assured that they will come flooding in with them. So, as I was saying—”

  “Sir?” another voice interrupted.

  “Yes?”

  Dodds found that Meyers was proving to be incredibly patient, given the continued interruptions. He’d heard that the man was like that, though – very pleasant and accommodating. That was allegedly a reason why he was yet to make commodore.

  “I’m sorry, Captain,” the man who had interrupted continued, “but this sounds like a job for the local police, not the navy.”

  “True, but the police forces throughout Temper have come under increased strain whilst attempting to handle this issue and have requested our assistance. You should be aware that it could also soon no longer be a matter for the police. Remember that this is also a game of politics – whilst relationships are now good with previously troublesome Independent systems, a show of strength is no bad thing.”

  “So we’re preparing to make a number of pre-emptive counter-insurgency strikes?” the questioner asked, his face lighting up at the prospect of some action.

  The briefing room suddenly seemed to brighten, the occupants much more awake and alert. Dodds imagined that they, as he, were visualising themselves carrying out heroic deeds in action, none of which went unnoticed, and all of which resulted in grand recognition, and well-deserved promotion.

  “Oh … not at this point, no,” Meyers said, somewhat apologetically. “For the foreseeable future, you will all be assigned regular patrols within the Temper system.”

  The room collectively deflated.

  “Oh dear God, please just kill me now,” Enrique said under his breath, sliding down in his seat.

  “Make that a double,” Dodds requested, his own dreams of valour evaporating before his eyes. Estelle, seated just in front of them, turned around with an angry glare that said, “Sit up, shut up and put up.” Enrique and Dodds pulled themselves upright and attempted to stay focused.

  With the aid of a map of the Temper system, Meyers went on to detail patrol routes, potential trouble hotspots and schedules.

  “White Knights?” Meyers asked, as he ended the briefing with the flight roster.

  Estelle almost leaped to her feet. “First Lieutenant Estelle de Winter, White Knights,” she said, saluting.

  “What’s she on?” Dodds asked Enrique, in a low voice.

  “Lieutenant, you will be performing your first patrol tomorrow afternoon at fourteen-hundred hours. All route information will be provided to you on Spirit Orbital before the start of your shift. You and your team should be ready one hour prior to commencement, to allow for transfer to orbit. So, thirteen hundred hours at landing zone D. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Estelle said.

  “Good,” Meyers said. “That is all, boys and girls. Please ensure you check the flight roster regularly, as it will change. Dismissed.”

  *

  “Where the hell is Kelly?” Estelle said, rising from her position on the transport’s bench and making her way towards the still-open rear door.

  “No idea,” Enrique began.

  “When was the last time you saw her?” Estelle demanded.

  “Breakfast. She might have thought that we have the day off.”

  “Stupid bloody cow!” Estelle said. “She’s probably got her head stuck in her bloody journal. If she spent even a fraction of the time checking the flight roster as she does writing, then we wouldn’t all be waiting for her.”

  “We’re one short,” came the voice of the air marshal, poking his head into the rear of the shuttle. “Does anyone know who we’re waiting on?”

  There was a short silence, with only the hum of the shuttle’s engines for company.

  “Sir, I’m missing a member of my squadron,” Estelle said, sounding as if she was preparing to fall upon her own sword.

  “Lieutenant, do you know where your team-mate is?” the air marshal said.

  “No, but I can go and look for her. Can you give me ten?”

  “I can give you five.”

  Estelle swore and started out the shuttle. “I don’t even know why she bothers to keep that bloody journal,” she muttered as she went. “All that writing will never be of use to anyone.” The sound of Estelle’s boots tramped off quickly down the ramp and pounded across the tarmac as she ran off in search of Kelly.

  “Wow, she’s in a really bad mood today, eh?” Enrique said. “Dodds? Hello?”

  Dodds looked up from where he had been staring at the floor of the transport. “What’s up?”

  “You okay, man?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay.”

  “What you thinking about?”

  Enrique had clearly picked up on his hesitation before answering.

  “Poppy Castro and Stefan Pitt,” Dodds said.

  “Eh?”

  Dodds looked about the transport shuttle. It was full today, nearly all thirty places taken up. It felt a little suffocating.

  “Poppy Castro and Stefan Pitt,” Dodds repeated, without turning to face Enrique. “The two people from Peri.”

  “Oh,” Enrique said. He was quiet for a moment. He probably didn’t know what to say. Dodds didn’t blame him for that. “You’ve never talked about that before,” he ventured, eventually.

  “They called me a monster,” Dodds said. He thought of the dream he’d had, of how Poppy’s older brother had tackled him in the courtroom, putting in two or three punches before security had moved in.

  “You’re not a monster,” Enrique said.

  Sure? How many people have you murdered? No, it wasn’t murder.

  “It was an accident, mate,” Enrique said, as if reading his mind. “The court recorded a verdict of unlawful killing.”

  Yes, they had. But the sentencing had been unexpected. After the incident, he had been certain he would be spending the next few years in prison. The appalled looks he had been given by those on Peri as they had picked up Castro and Pitt’s bodies had clearly said so. It had come as a great shock when Parks had told him to get on that shuttle and not to return for at least six months. Why had that been the decision, and why different to the one he’d heard in court? He still hadn’t found an answer to it.

  “I deserved more than the six month suspension I got,” he said to Enrique. “Don’t you think?”

  Enrique moved to speak, but then said nothing. It was clear he was in agreement, though simply didn’t want to admit it. Dodds looked around the rest of the shuttle. Chaz had eyes on him, listening to what he was saying. He was, however, as silent as always. Other occupants were watching both him and Enrique. Though he had not spoken loudly, Dodds had neither whispered nor made any effort to conceal the topic of conversation. Above the hum of the shuttle’s engines, he was sure that many of the other pilots would’ve heard what he’d said. He wondered if any of them knew of what had happened that day on Peri.

  “You know why I came back?” he said.

  “No?”
Enrique said.

  “To find a way to put it right.”

  Once again, Enrique said nothing. Most likely, like Dodds himself, he couldn’t think of any such way. What Dodds longed for, above all else, was a chance for a do-over, an opportunity to correct the mistake, so that he could move on with his life. But it wasn’t as if he could turn back time. If he could, he would simply tell himself not to even participate in Operation Clean Sweep. Just bail, call in sick. Whatever he did and whatever the consequences, they couldn’t be worse than what he’d done on Peri. He absent-mindedly rubbed at his wrists.

  “Do you think about it a lot?” Enrique said.

  “Every day,” Dodds sighed. He became aware of two figures approaching the rear door, where the air marshal still stood waiting. They sounded out of breath, as though they had run a great distance, at speed.

  “You found your missing team-mate?” the air marshal said.

  “I did,” Estelle panted.

  “Good, get inside,” the marshal said, ushering them forward. “I was about to tell ‘em to leave without you.”

  Estelle hurried inside, retaking her place on the steel bench next to Dodds. A rather sheepish-looking Kelly followed in after her, occupying the one remaining place next to Enrique.

  “Hey,” Kelly said to the rest of her team, once she managed to get her breath back. She reached up and pulled the restraining harness down, in preparation for takeoff.

  Enrique leaned over to her. “Journal?” he asked, in a low voice. Kelly nodded in reply.

  Dodds wasn’t surprised by the answer. It wasn’t the first time – and was unlikely to be the last – that her hobby had almost landed her in serious trouble.

  “Prepare for takeoff,” the shuttle’s pilot called to them.

  Dodds heard the engines engage and felt them leave the ground. The transport was far less glamorous than the one they had used when they had been ferried to and from Xalan, being a lot more cramped and uncomfortable, and with no view of the outside world. It made him feel trapped, something he didn’t want right now. Thankfully, the journey from the ground to the orbital wasn’t a long one. At least that was one prison he could escape quickly. He pushed the thoughts of Castro and Pitt to the back of his mind. Or, at least, as far back as they would go, which was never really all that far.