Ixan Legacy Box Set

by Scott Bartlett

  At last, they reached real-time communication range, and a transmission request came in from the Eos. Husher told his Coms officer to put it on the main display and to give everyone access to the conversation—not just everyone in the CIC, but everyone in the battle group, fleet member and civilian alike.

  Captain Katrina Norberg appeared, fixing Husher with her hawklike gaze. “Captain Husher.”

  “Hello, Captain Norberg. Can I ask the reason for such a large military presence in this system?”

  “Roundleaf’s sensor web has been getting the strange readings we’ve come to recognize as precursors to an attack.”

  “I see.” Husher happened to know that the IGF and Quatro ships had been here before they’d started getting those readings, but he didn’t reveal that.

  Norberg seemed about to speak again when she did a double take at the XO’s chair.

  “Captain Husher, is that…what is that sitting in the seat meant for Commander Fesky?”

  “This is Ek,” Husher answered. “She’s a Fin.”

  “I know who Ek is. But…this is Ek? How? And what manner of suit is she wearing?”

  “It’s a long story, and I’m sure we have other matters to discuss.”

  “Yes,” Norberg said, recovering her composure. “We do. Such as where your lifeboat might be. It appears to be missing. Did you have cause to evacuate Cybele on your way here?”

  “No. The few citizens still interested in living in the city are there now.”

  “Then where is your lifeboat?”

  “Never mind that.”

  “Captain Husher, I demand to—”

  “You’ll be making a lot of demands on behalf of the IU today, Captain Norberg,” he said. “I think you should pace yourself. Let’s get to the reason I was called here. I’m called on to turn over the Quatro who I have aboard my ship to the Assembly of Elders. Before I do that, I want to know why. I’d also be interested in knowing how the IU knew she was on the Vesta.” The only time Rug had deployed from the supercarrier had been to retake the orbital defense platform over Juktas, and that didn’t seem like the type of colony to willingly share intelligence with the IU.

  Norberg scoffed. “We’re not about to reveal our source to you. As for why we’re demanding you turn the Quatro over, it’s because she’s a fugitive.”

  “Okay, but for what reasons? What crimes did she commit?”

  Norberg continued to meet Husher’s gaze unflinchingly, but even that told him something—her eyes were too wide, for one. “That Quatro and her cohorts violated multiple laws designed to preserve the peace and keep the Quatro public safe.”

  “Okay. What were the laws?”

  Norberg continued to stare at him, not answering.

  “Were they laws that prohibited disagreeing with the government? Laws that required unquestioning obedience from Quatro citizens? Because I don’t consider laws like that to be good ones.”

  “I’m not familiar with the exact laws the Quatro violated, Captain. All I know is that she’s a criminal.”

  Husher laughed. “I think you are familiar with them, Norberg. I think you know exactly what laws, and I think I’ve already described them accurately. If you didn’t know what laws she broke, you could simply check with the Quatro in the ships nearby and get back to me. We’ve got time. But you’re not doing that, because you know I won’t agree with your reasons for wanting to give Rug to the Elders.”

  “Rug?”

  He ignored the question. “How do you think this is going to end, Captain?”

  “I’ll tell you how it’s going to end. You’re going to give us that Quatro, or you’ll be forced to.”

  “That’s what I thought. And the answer’s no.”

  Norberg’s posture grew even more rigid. “Very well. Captain Husher, on behalf of the Interstellar Union, I hereby relieve you from duty.”

  “I don’t accept that, either,” he said, and he motioned toward his Coms officer with a cutting gesture.

  Ensign Fry terminated the transmission.

  “Put me through to the entire battle group, Ensign.”

  “Yes, sir. It’s done.”

  “Captains of the battle group and crew. Right now, you are no doubt being contacted with orders to turn on me. If you decide to follow those orders, that’s your prerogative. The forces aligned against us are powerful, and it’s possible you disagree with my point of view. But before you make your decision, I’m asking you to hear me out. Hopefully our service together will move you to give me that much.

  “The Sapient Brotherhood approached me proposing an alliance, and I turned them down because I won’t support their goals. You already know that. But I want you to know that I’ve decided not to support the Interstellar Union’s goals either. I can’t support them. I can’t stand by as they arrest people merely for holding beliefs they consider undesirable. Today, I’m being asked to hand over a being as a political prisoner. If I agree to that because it’s convenient for me to do so, then what will I be asked to do tomorrow? What will you be asked to do tomorrow, if you turn on me now? I refuse to live in a society that condones the things the IU has done, and I’m willing to fight for what the IU was supposed to be in the first place.”

  He nodded at Fry, who stopped the broadcast. That done, they waited, for what seemed like an eternity. Meanwhile, on the tactical display, both the IGF and the ovoid Quatro ships were creeping closer while spreading out to surround the Vesta.

  “The Hero has confirmed their support of you, Captain,” Fry said. “Captain Hall of the Resolution just followed suit.” She paused, staring at her console. “The other two captains support you as well.”

  “Good,” Husher said. It wasn’t much—not against the forces arrayed against them. But it was something. He turned to his Tactical officer. “Tremaine?”

  The man nodded. “Prepping the first barrage now, Captain.”

  Chapter 45

  Under Heavy Fire

  “Captain Norberg likely will not expect the Vesta’s battle group to side with you, Captain,” Ek said from the XO’s seat. “I recommend striking at once, with ferocity.”

  “I like the way you think, Commander.” If Husher could use the element of surprise to neutralize one of the capital starships, it would go a long way toward evening the odds. “Coms, order our battle group ships to load every forward tube with missiles and fire them at the Promedon at once.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Missiles away, sir,” Tremaine said, and Husher watched on the Tactical display as a mix of Banshees, Gorgons, and Hydras left the Vesta to scream across space toward the Promedon.

  Promedon’s battle group moved to intercept the barrage with missiles of their own, but the Quatro ships flanking it did nothing. Likely, they saw no need.

  Then the two destroyers and two missile cruisers on Husher’s side loosed their barrage.

  That sent the enemy formation into a panic. The Quatro warships sped forward, lasers lancing out to intercept the incoming rockets.

  That’s right. Use up your capacitor charge.

  Together, the Promedon, her battle group, and the two Quatro ships managed to cut what began as a nearly four hundred-strong barrage down to around seventy, and most of those were mopped up by the Promedon’s point defense systems, supplemented by secondary lasers.

  But not all of them. Seven missiles made it through, blowing a massive hole in her prow.

  “Let’s twist the knife,” Husher said. “Fire our primary laser into that breach, Tremaine.”

  “Yes, sir. Firing laser.”

  Seconds later, the already jagged metal began to twist and warp even more. Massive explosions began to cover the area as the beset capital starship backed away at speed.

  Her battle group sprang forth, launching a volley of Banshees at the Vesta, supplemented mightily by the Eos. That forced Husher to redirect his attention to defending his supercarrier, allowing the Promedon to pull back and lick her wounds.

  He�
��d wanted to destroy her completely, but taking down a capital starship wasn’t so easy, despite the mighty blow they’d dealt. The Promedon was still in the fight, but her crew would no doubt be suffering from a serious case of nerves.

  “The Eos is launching Pythons, sir,” Winterton said. “According to the last reports we received from Command, we know one of their squadrons to be subspace-capable.”

  Husher nodded. Thank God none of the Promedon fighters have gotten the upgrades. “It’s about time we scrambled our own Pythons. Coms, pass the order along to Commander Ayam. Tell him missile defense is our main priority for now—except for neutralizing the enemy subspace fighters if at all possible.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “When you’re finished with that, tell our missile cruiser captains to start targeting down the Quatro ships, one by one. From what we saw in Hellebore, they have conventional weaponry, and their ships are designed to be multipurpose, meaning they’re decent at everything but excellent at nothing. Heavy barrages from two dedicated missile cruisers should overwhelm them—especially if they mix in a healthy dose of Gorgons. None of the enemy captains are used to dealing with stealth missiles, so I expect Gorgons to have an outsized impact today.”

  “I’ll pass that on, Captain.”

  “Very good. As for the destroyer captains, tell them they’re on missile defense with us. We can expect to be under heavy fire from here on out, so for now, the missile cruisers represent our only offense. Tremaine, assign secondary lasers to assist with point defense.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Winterton, we also have no experience being targeted with stealth missiles. I need you to stay vigilant, conducting constant active scans of the battlespace. The second you detect an incoming Gorgon, send its telemetry over to Tactical. Tremaine, I want you to answer every Gorgon with two Banshees, and be sure to monitor their progress, staying ready to follow up if the Banshees get taken out.”

  Both officers acknowledged the orders, the tension in their voices evident. This engagement had a lot of moving pieces, and they’d rarely faced this much firepower since the war began.

  “Rely on your backshops, everyone. Don’t try to do everything yourselves. We can win this engagement, but only if we maximize every asset at our disposal.”

  The enemy Air Group darted forward, maneuvering much more aggressively than Husher would have expected, especially given how effectively the Vesta and her accompanying destroyers were blanketing the space around them with missiles and lasers. They must be eager to put their subspace Pythons to work. Maybe too eager. The problem was, Ayam wouldn’t know which squadron was comprised of subspace fighters until they vanished.

  “Tremaine, fire a spray of kinetic impactors at the enemy Pythons while we still have a clean shot.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Husher returned to his study of the tactical display. His carrier group was holding firm so far, but the first Quatro ship had yet to fall—that was taking longer than he’d expected. If they didn’t start knocking down the enemy’s numbers soon, the sheer weight of them would prove too much.

  Chapter 46

  Enemy Subspace Squadron

  Ayam’s Oculens tactical overlay was filled with red-tinged miniature representations of enemy Pythons. The opposing Air Group’s aggression surprised him. Looks like they want to end this quickly. Probably by getting Gorgons close. Or their own subspace-capable squadron. Unopposed, that could quickly spell game over for the Vesta.

  He’d kept his own subspace squadron at the rear of the Vesta’s Air Group, with full knowledge of exactly how valuable they were.

  “Enemy Pythons seem focused on full-squadron and half-squadron tactics,” he told the rest of his pilots. “That tells me they hope to get in some alpha strikes on the Vesta or on some of our battle group ships. I want all non-subspace capable Pythons to group into preassigned finger-four formations, and be ready to split into partner pairs. This is about outflanking the enemy squadrons and dismantling them with surgical strikes. Especially if you spot a squadron that’s close to getting in position for an alpha strike.”

  A transmission came in from the CIC, then. It was Tremaine, the Tactical officer: “Commander, I spotted an incoming Gorgon too late to do anything about it. Nearby turret batteries are tied up with other things. It’s going to fly near your subspace squadron—think you can take care of it?”

  Ayam clacked his beak, not happy about putting subspace fighters on the line for missile defense. “I’m on it,” he said, his speech clipped. Then he jumped on a squadron-wide channel. “We have an incoming Gorgon. I’ll take care of it. Watch my six.”

  Although he’d selected his subspace pilots for their top-notch skills, Ayam wouldn’t trust anyone except himself to go after the missile. The subspace Pythons were too valuable to entrust the job to anyone but the best.

  He glanced at the missile’s telemetry, which Tremaine had supplied to him just a few seconds ago. Then he engaged gyroscopes to angle his engines away from the missile and accelerate toward it.

  It was going to be a near thing—the missile was already close by, otherwise Tremaine wouldn’t have asked for his help. Kinetic impactors sailed from Ayam’s main gun the moment he had a stable firing solution.

  The Gorgon detonated just a few dozen meters from his fighter, leaving him no choice but to pass through its explosion, which dissipated fast, thankfully.

  His vision washed red—kinetic impactors flashed toward him from an enemy Python squadron who’d caught him out of formation.

  Ayam activated his spherical wormhole just in time, leaving realspace for subspace. He whirled his bird around, pointing the main engine in the opposite direction and executing an engine burn back toward where he knew his squadron would be waiting in realspace.

  Before transitioning back in, he performed a quick scan of subspace’s oppressive blackness. Nothing. He was alone in here, for now.

  He reentered realspace in almost perfect formation with his subspace squadron.

  “Fancy flying, Commander,” said his second-in-command, Lieutenant Cyn.

  “There’s a lot more where that came from,” Ayam said. “And we’ll need every bit of it.”

  He’d kept an eye on the tactical situation as he’d spoken, and as he said the last word he noticed one of the enemy squadrons wink out of existence—right at the front of their Air Group.

  Wow. Gutsy of them to expose themselves like that. Although, he supposed the enemy had put their subspace Pythons in the last place Ayam would have looked.

  Fingers flying over the small console between his legs, he asked the computer for the enemy subspace squadron’s vector and speed at the moment they vanished.

  Bingo. He painted a point thousands of kilometers to the right of the enemy Pythons’ exit point and forwarded it to his squadron’s computers. Then he got back on the squadron-wide. “Make for the point I just marked, matching my acceleration. Do not transition to subspace until I say so. Go now.”

  With that, he punched it. His Python leapt forward, tearing across the battlespace. “Clear a path,” he squawked after hammering his console to put him on an Air Group-wide channel.

  Vesta fighters began peeling out of the way. It was still occasionally necessary to dodge Banshees and Hydra segments, but the subspace fighters had already accumulated enough speed that, as long as they avoided impact, the missiles wouldn’t have a hope of catching up, whether they’d been programmed to prioritize Pythons as targets or not.

  Ayam’s sensors weren’t showing any Gorgons, which could either be a good thing or a very bad one.

  That question was answered immediately, as one of the fighters on the left side of his squadron blew up, followed almost immediately by another.

  “Should we transition to subspace?” Cyn asked, voice strangled with tension.

  “Not yet,” Ayam grunted, flexing and unflexing muscles all over his body to fight the crushing force of increasing Gs. As if that wasn’t bad enough, a
Banshee flashed toward him, and when he edged his bird out of the way, he ended up in the path of another.

  An enemy squadron of Pythons took notice of Ayam’s fourteen remaining subspace fighters, their speed no doubt telegraphing to the enemy that they were doing something important, if not exactly what that thing was. Either way, the opposing Pythons accelerated toward them, letting loose with kinetic impactors, filling the space ahead of Ayam and his squadron.

  “Commander?” his second said.

  “Lay on more speed, now!”

  To their credit, his pilots followed the order immediately.

  “Get ready to generate wormholes on my mark,” Ayam said.

  They were almost at the impactor-riddled region of space.

  “Commander!” Cyn yelled.

  “Mark!” Ayam yelled back.

  They transitioned to subspace—at least, twelve of them did. Another must have fallen to the impactor barrage.

  He had no time to process that, as his calculations had been spot-on: the enemy subspace fighters were right in front of them, on a direct collision course.

  “Impactors!” Ayam shrieked. “Blanket the area, and follow up with Sidewinders!”

  His Pythons’ guns blazed, taking out seven enemy fighters. The Sidewinders accounted for the remaining nine, with the last one going down right in front of Ayam’s fighter. Shrapnel battered his Python’s hull, sending tremors throughout the entire structure, and his vision washed red once more.

  But he made it through. One of his missile launchers was damaged, and his nose was dented…but otherwise he was in fighting form.

  His ears filled with the cheering of his subspace pilots as they realized what they’d done.

  At the expense of three subspace-capable Pythons. He didn’t like that, but he had to acknowledge that the trade had been an extremely good one. Taking out the entire enemy subspace squadron would have a big impact on this engagement. It could easily make the difference between survival and death.