Rebellion at Ailon

by T J Mott

  She continued to scowl. Enough’s enough. “If I can interrupt your childish behavior for just a minute to discuss actual, legitimate business,” she said as she turned her attention to Commodore Reynolds. “My XO and I are having a disagreement regarding crewing, and he’s ignoring the chain of command and refusing to do things my way without your approval.”

  Reynolds frowned. “Explain.”

  “I want my flight crew to be all officers,” she replied. “No enlisted men.”

  “How big is your flight crew?”

  “One hundred. Ten gunships, each with ten crew members.”

  He paused. “That’s a lot of officers, Poulsen. Most of our gunship-sized vessels only have three or four.”

  She caught Cooper’s eye for just a brief moment, and then she deepened her scowl and lowered her voice menacingly. “I want all officers, or else…”

  Reynolds’ eyes narrowed. “Or else what?” he said, his tone growing aggravated, suggesting he couldn’t believe she was daring to speak to him that way.

  “Or else,” she started, looking towards Cooper again, “I will accept Commodore Cooper’s transfer and begin harsh interrogations of the Organization’s senior officers.”

  Reynolds’ expression flashed to disbelief, then confusion, and then a thin smile formed as he realized that she was actually joining in on Cooper’s odd sense of humor. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll look into it. We’re still trying to recover from the loss of the Caracal’s crew and Blue Fleet is very short on officers.”

  “Thank you, Commodore. That’s all I needed.” She nodded slightly at Reynolds, paused, and then turned to leave.

  She was nearly to the door when Cooper’s voice stopped her. “Wait! Don’t leave yet! I was really hoping to see how a former Hyberian Raider conducts harsh interrogations!” She rolled her eyes as she exited the office.

  Chapter 7

  Thaddeus came to. His head felt a bit funny. He slowly opened his eyes and saw Ailon’s reddish star hanging above him. A long, fat cloud of black smoke streaked by far above him, dividing the pale blue sky into two. He blinked a few times and then tried to sit up. Something tugged at his right arm, and he felt a burning sensation across his back as it rubbed. A sudden wave of dizziness washed over him as he moved, and he immediately decided to lay back down.

  “Whoa now, take it easy,” said Giles’ voice from somewhere nearby. “You’re suffering from heat exhaustion and dehydration.”

  Thad looked around and felt the confusion slowly lift from his mind as he began to recognize some of his surroundings. He was on one of the clinic’s examination tables back at the camp north of Zhale. The table was set up outside like they always were.

  Giles sat in a chair nearby, keeping a watch on him. Thad realized he was still wearing scorched clothes. “There’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity,” the graying doctor said. “And I’m not sure which side you fall on.”

  Thad chuckled and allowed a small smile to form on his face. “So how bad a shape am I in?”

  “You’re lucky. You have quite a few first-degree burns and some mild second-degree ones, but no serious injuries.”

  “Huh.” That was not at all what he expected. “How long was I out?”

  He heard soft footsteps in the grass, and saw Ria approaching from his left. “Oh, he’s finally awake. How is he?”

  “He’ll be fine,” Giles said. “He just needs hydration and rest.” Giles stood, making a groan as he left his seat. “Chad, you’re free to move about once that fluid bag is empty. But take it easy.”

  Thad suppressed a smile as Ria approached. He was certainly happy to be alive and relatively uninjured—and also happy to see her, he suddenly realized as he took a moment to admire her face and her green eyes—but deep inside he still felt guilt from raiding the Ailon rebel convoy years before. Without his own actions years ago, those people would never have been slaves. “The slaves?” he asked.

  “Four hundred twelve accounted for,” she replied. “Fourteen missing and presumed dead.” She took Giles’ seat, pushed it closer to Thad, and sat in it. Then she gave him a smile, but it looked like the friendly-but-fake smile doctors and nurses forced themselves to wear when dealing with patients. “You saved a lot of lives today. I don’t know what happened in there, but you succeeded when everyone else gave up. The building caved in not even ten minutes after you got out. It’s still on fire, and it could be days before it burns out.”

  He just smiled and shrugged mildly. He turned his head to the side, letting his eyes follow the inky black clouds that streaked across the sky back to its source, and saw the refinery on the horizon still pouring out clouds of smoke.

  “What military where you in?” she asked, her voice abruptly quiet, as if she was afraid of being overheard.

  He frowned a few seconds later, when her words finally registered within his mind. “I was never in the military,” he answered. It was technically true, his own paramilitary rank of Admiral notwithstanding.

  “I heard everything over the radio. I heard the way you took charge of the situation, how you ordered the others around. You sounded a lot like the Avennian Army officers. You’re not a shuttle mechanic, are you?”

  He pursed his lips and didn’t respond. Commodore Cooper hadn’t briefed him on what to do if his cover story was in danger, and his mind wasn’t clear enough for him to make something up on the spot…but then again, he’d witnessed firsthand how inexperienced the clinic crew was in some things. She wasn’t an agent or interrogator on his case, trying to extract a confession of his identity and crimes. So maybe simple silence was enough.

  He looked at the fluid bag connected to his arm and realized it was nearly empty already. Sitting up, he swung his legs over to the side of the examination table, fighting to hide the fresh wave of dizziness that caused, but it passed a few seconds later. Then he carefully withdrew the IV catheter from the back of his hand and pressed down with a mechanical finger to help it clot.

  Ria sighed. “Listen, if you don’t want to talk about it, I understand. You did the right thing today, Chad. Thank you.”

  You did the right thing. He winced at the phrase, again recalling his past actions. Guilt quickly replaced his sense of victory.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He looked at her, studying her face and realizing that, up close, she was far more attractive than he’d ever noticed before, and tried to collect his thoughts. “I’m not sure I did the right thing.”

  “What?” Confusion—and anger—flashed across Ria’s face. “I don’t understand.”

  “I see how Avennia treats Ailon, and part of me can’t help but wonder if those slaves would be better off dead. I saved their lives, but they’re still enslaved. They’ll continue to suffer, they’ll continue to be mistreated, and how many of them will die while trying to escape?”

  Her face looked shocked, like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  “The Foundation seems to be an enabler in all of this,” he continued. “Does Avennia do anything to support the slaves? It looks like they get all that for free, from the ARF. And that doesn’t sit well with me.”

  “At least they’re still alive,” she said angrily, her brilliant green eyes blazing out from behind squinted eyelids. “Four hundred twelve people get to return home to see their family and friends tonight, because of the ARF. Because of you. That’s worth everything to them, because that’s all they have.”

  He felt his jaw drop slightly as her words unexpectedly struck home. He hadn’t considered that angle. Of course he wouldn’t have. Away from Earth, he himself had no family, and perhaps only a few acquaintances that might be considered friends. It had been that way for him ever since he’d been taken from Earth. He hadn’t adjusted well to that change, becoming a loner, and if he never returned to his Organization, maybe nobody would even care. But these slaves…he suddenly realized that in some ways, maybe they had more than he did.

  He finally nodded.
She was right about that part. But he still didn’t like the strange relationship between the slaves, the Avennian government, and the Ailon Relief Foundation.

  “I can tell you’re hiding something, Chad. Most people here are. But if you ever want to talk, you know where to find me.” She smiled. He stared at her for a second, letting himself admire those brilliant green eyes set in a slightly-lined, pale face, framed by wavy, shoulder-length red hair which blew in the slight breeze. She was a rugged beauty who knew how to persevere through an unfair life on a frontier world. Very much his type.

  But she was from Ailon, a world he’d helped to destroy with his own willing ignorance and selfish attitude. And, he was still hurting over Adelia, who still haunted him in his nightmares, taking up the role of accuser.

  Outwardly, he nodded again, but inside he once again felt racked by guilt. “Thanks.” But no thanks. I can’t tell anyone here what it is I’m hiding. You’d never accept me. He stood up, bracing himself against another wave of dizziness, and looked sheepishly at his dirty, burned, smoke-infused clothing. “I think I’d better go clean up.”

  “Do that, and get some rest. You’ve been through a lot today. And take it easy tomorrow.”

  Chapter 8

  About 3.5 Years Ago

  Clunk.

  The Caracal dropped out of hyperspace. Thaddeus was already prepared to board his targets, dressed in the same standard light duty security armor his Marines generally used, although he was not wearing its helmet yet. Standing up, he approached the holoprojector at the middle of the Command Center, patiently waiting for it to switch to a local three-dimensional tactical map and refresh itself as his frigate’s sensors came back online.

  They were in deep space about two hundred light-years away from Headquarters, at coordinates believed to be a rally point in the convoy’s passage to Ailon. Most of the convoy’s rally points were in deep space, in the huge voids between stars. They were keeping a low profile by staying well away from everything, except when they were forced to enter a populated star system for refueling.

  “Radiators extended,” reported the engineer on duty. “We’re bleeding off heat at the standard rate and will be cooled down by the time the targets arrive.”

  Thaddeus nodded a thank-you at the officer. Hyperdrives generated tremendous heat during operation, far more than could be radiated away in real-time. So starships carried giant heat tanks filled with expensive meta-materials that could store mind-boggling amounts of thermal energy. After each jump, the ship had arrays of high-efficiency radiators to radiate the stored heat back into space, cooling the ship and eventually allowing it to safely return to hyperspace. This position was one of many such points along the convoy’s route to Ailon; allowing it to cool off and prepare for the next leg of their journey.

  “Phi-band flash eighty kilometers astern!” an officer reported from the cluster of sensor workstations. Phi-band radiation was a form of superluminal energy emitted whenever matter transitioned into or out of hyperspace. It could be modulated and used for instant signaling at ranges of up to a light-year or so. But a so-called sensor “flash” meant that a high-intensity burst had been detected, which only happened when a starship activated or deactivated its hyperdrive. And if enough of the starship’s operating parameters were known, an observer could even calculate the other end of its hyperspace jump.

  Thaddeus looked at the holographic tactical display, and a moment later a generic symbol representing an unknown ship appeared behind the Caracal. Nothing changed for several seconds. Then, as the sensor crews analyzed the new data, the symbol transformed into a miniature gray representation of a starship. It looked identical to the Caracal, and it became green-tinted as their IFF suite identified it. “It’s the Lynx,” the sensors officer reported. “They’ve re-established data links with us and are moving into formation.”

  The Lynx was the Caracal’s sister ship. They were of the same design and model, with only minor variations, and almost always traveled together. Both were lightly-armed fast frigates, the kind of starship Thaddeus preferred for his Blue Fleet, prioritizing speed and agility over raw firepower. These two frigates were the fastest warships in his fleet, and their speed and range gave him considerable reach within the Independent Regions despite the remoteness of his new Headquarters.

  Thaddeus watched as the miniature holographic Lynx extended its radiator arrays. Shortly after, the hologram’s main thrusters flared and it began to approach the lead ship.

  The situation repeated three more times over the next several minutes as the Jaguar, the Ocelot, and the Leopard all arrived, completing his task force. He smiled to himself at the appropriateness of the frigates’ monikers. He had named all the Blue Fleet starships after predators from his homeworld of Earth, but today, his task force consisted only of wildcats. And now, the five fast frigates lay in wait like a hunting party of large cats, crouched and alert in ambush position, patiently awaiting the arrival of their prey.

  And they waited.

  Five hours later, the convoy began to arrive. Each ship popped into existence within five hundred kilometers of Thad’s task force, unintentionally shouting its entrance with an uncontrollable burst of superluminal phi radiation.

  The Ailonian ships had no idea they were in the presence of pirate frigates. Thad’s ships had long since cooled down. On infrared sensors, they no longer glowed like beacons with the waste heat from their last hyperspace jump. And the convoy ships, not expecting to encounter anyone in deep space, were coordinating using transponders and short-range radio signals. Not even once did they activate their active sensors which would have quickly revealed the nearby frigates.

  Perhaps they don’t even have active sensors, Thaddeus surmised, noting how outdated and poorly-maintained the freighters appeared on his visual feed. Although he hadn’t bothered to study the political situation, he vaguely knew that the Ailonians were waging a war against their neighbors in the Avennia system.

  When the eighth and final freighter arrived, Thaddeus made his move. He signaled for his comm officer to open a channel to their target. “Ailon convoy, this is Thaddeus Marcell. Power down your reactors and stand by for boarding.”

  Nothing happened for almost a minute, and Thaddeus began to wonder if their comm transceivers even worked. But then someone finally replied. “We have nothing worth taking. I’m transmitting our cargo manifests now.”

  An obvious deflection. “I know you’re carrying weapons. Power down and stand by for boarding.”

  “I think you have us confused with someone else. We’re carrying fresh produce to Cranger.”

  He smiled in amusement at the illogical cover story. Why would a rag-tag convoy from faraway Ailon be transporting fresh produce to the Cranger Sector? “Power down and stand by for boarding, or we’ll open fire and disable your vessels. Your choice.”

  Again, nothing happened for several long seconds. “Admiral, they’ve closed the channel.”

  “Okay, then. Bring us in closer, and tell the Marine transports to stand by.” Bright, violet-colored tongues of ionized plasma flared behind them as the five frigates ignited their main thrusters, accelerating to close the distance between them and the convoy.

  “They’re firing on us!” The task force’s sensor network picked up the weapons fire and the tactical holodisplay rendered laser beams as they lashed out at Thaddeus’s frigates. “No real damage. Sir, their lasers are low-output, like they’re in dire need of a rebuild.”

  Thaddeus sighed. So they’re going to try to fight back. How foolish. “Very well. All ships, return fire. Disable their weapons and maneuvering.” If all they had was low-powered lasers, the operation would be simple.

  He moved away from the holodisplay and headed towards the Command Center’s rear exit. “Tell shuttle Beta-One that I will be joining them. All other transports are to launch immediately and begin boarding operations.”

  He equipped his helmet as he moved through the frigate’s passages, feeling somew
hat disappointed that his quarry had refused to cooperate. But his disappointment was rapidly changing into anticipation and excitement, fueled by the bloodlust he sometimes felt when he knew a battle was about to occur. Especially on missions related to his quest to find his lost homeworld, Earth.

  Sorry, Ailon, he thought to himself as he entered the Caracal’s hangar bay. You’re a backwater, unimportant system that nobody cares about. But Earth is the legendary homeworld of mankind, and its discovery is sure to trigger interstellar wars if I don’t find it first and prepare them. Earth needs these weapons more than you do.

  He boarded the Marine transport, thanked the Marine who handed him a standard-issue laser carbine, and took an empty jumpseat among his men. He was armored up, his weapon was charged, and his frigates were firing to disable the enemy freighters. All he could do now was wait.

  Chapter 9

  The hangar was packed. Nearly three hundred individuals stood within, arranged in rank and file, with the back row almost forced into the hangar’s walls by necessity from lack of space. The brand-new hangar, designated Hangar 12, was still under construction, lacking a number of systems and equipment necessary for normal operations, but it was already airtight and well-illuminated. And despite the three Lancer-class gunships and one small shuttle landed within, it was still the largest gathering place in the new Ghost Squadron facilities on Headquarters, at least until the squadron’s assembly hall was constructed.

  Lieutenant Commander Poulsen stood stiffly in front of the nose of the lead gunship and looked out at the people now under her command, and though she tried not to show it, she felt terrified. It was different from the terror she was used to, the kind she could handle, that of being in battle and putting her life on the line. This new fear was that she didn’t have the temperament or the wisdom to lead so many people, and that she might fail and let down Commodore Reynolds, the man who had brought her into Blue Fleet and one of the very few people she actually trusted.