Star Rage (Stars End Book 3)

  Star Rage

  Stars End, Book Three

  M.R. Forbes

  Published by Quirky Algorithms

  Seattle, Washington

  This novel is a work of fiction and a product of the author’s imagination.

  Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by M.R. Forbes

  All rights reserved.

  Cover illustration by Tom Edwards

  Chapter 1

  “Mandelbrot drive disengaged,” Amara says.

  I don’t really need her to tell me. I sense the adjustment to Sleipnir’s navigation systems the instant it occurs. I’m a little nervous about the occasion. It’s the first time I’ve ever come out of the aether meshed to a starship.

  I don’t know what I’m expecting. To vomit maybe? Pass out? I know Alliance capital ships do it all the time, and the meshed crew of those are none the worse for wear. Still, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. If you’ve never done it before, that first time is a little edgy. A little unsure.

  And it’s more than just the jump that’s got my stomach tied in knots. Sleipnir is about to enter space an estimated ten-thousand kilometers from Bruxton—the Alliance Naval outpost closest to Warrick.

  Closest to Joie and to the banshee mothership.

  They’re planning to send a force out to the planet to see what’s what. Not an assault. A more subtle recon. The surprising thing is they’re waiting for me to join them.

  The jump from Naraka Station lasts four days. It’s a fast trip compared to what it took to get to the ghost world, aided by the advanced Mandelbrot processing system installed on the modified Commune corvette. Geramin Rocklin spared no expense on making sure it would get him out of any emergency alive. He made sure that if he ran, he would run faster than anyone chasing him.

  I’ve spent the last four days recovering from what came before. I’ve been sleeping long hours but also training, to re-hone skills I let fall dormant since my assignment to Spindle. Skills most Navy pilots don’t typically possess, but I stumbled into after Capricorn. It’s hard to create tactical plans for special ops teams if you don’t understand the challenges and capabilities of those teams. I spent two solid years embedded with them during their training and on a couple of lower profile missions. I’m probably the only pilot who’s ever stormed a terrorist occupied city on the ground.

  I reconsider that thought the moment I have it. There’s another pilot out there with a range of experience like mine.

  Verge Rozik. Captain Commie. My Commune counterpart. He’s more experienced than me. Less emotional, less hesitant. The most dangerous man I’ve ever met. I’m not even sure he’s a pilot or if that’s just another of his many skills. Either way, I hope the next time we cross paths we’re still fighting for the same goal: ending the banshee invasion.

  It’s a goal I’m not feeling too good about right now. Not after learning the banshees used Naraka’s synchronizer to pass a message outside the Sphere. The odds are good they’re calling for reinforcements. Having already mixed it up with a single mothership and watched it destroy two fleets, I’m not eager to see more entering our segment of the universe.

  I’m not sure we can win against one. How many more might they possess?

  Then again, maybe I’m jumping the gun. True, the mothership tore two fleets to shreds, but we were already beating on each other before it arrived. How might it fare against a fully prepared and undamaged Alliance battle group, especially if we have help from the Commune?

  I hope to find out.

  My body tingles as the corvette emerges from the aether fade. It’s a weird feeling—a little bit erotic—and my body reacts in a way that leaves me slightly uncomfortable. I’m used to the mesh, accustomed to my partner being able to dig into my memories and generally accepting of the shared experience. But my partner has never been a digitized mind—what Chief Engineer Kratz calls a virtual surrogate. The state of arousal leaves me embarrassed, which I can tell Amara finds amusing, which only makes it worse.

  I turn the tables on her, reaching into her mindset. Her digitized brain is reacting like its real, but it’s also incapable of physical reactions. For her, the event is more like a calming piece of music. A symphony of dark matter coalescing around us. I’m slightly envious.

  “Don’t be jealous of me,” she says. “I’d rather be whole.”

  Fair enough.

  The process only takes a few seconds, though my body needs more time to calm down from the fade. It only takes a thought to open a comm and send a local transmission out to Bruxton.

  “Bruxton, this is free corvette Sleipnir, authorization code Omega-Delta-Four-Seven-Eight-Niner. I’ve just emerged from the aether and entered controlled space. Over.”

  It takes a minute for the transmission to reach the planet and another minute for the response to come back. I keep the corvette’s velocity low. Since Sleipnir is a Commune design, I don’t want to take any chances.

  “Sleipnir, this is Bruxton,” a perky female voice replies. “Authorization code logged and accepted. We have you on the grid. Welcome to Bruxton, Commander Stone. Be advised, we’re sending an escort to guide you in. Do you require transport to the surface?”

  The escort is a minor surprise. I sent the authorization codes, but Admiral Yi isn’t taking any chances that I’m not who I say I am. I don’t blame him. “Affirmative, Bruxton. This boat doesn’t have a dingy.”

  “Roger, Sleipnir. Maintain velocity until your escort arrives and then fall into formation.”

  “Wilco, Bruxton. Sleipnir out.”

  I close the comm. Nothing to do for the next few minutes but wait. If I had more time, I would put the ship back on auto, disengage the mesh, and make another run through the obstacle course I arranged across the decks of the corvette. And the banshee golems Yari and me decommissioned make for great target practice.

  Instead, I do the mesh equivalent of twiddling my thumbs by running through the corvette’s diagnostics and checking all of the system operations. While a ship like this can be run by a single person with the help of the onboard AI and the virtual surrogate, given enough time things will start to break or need maintenance. Then the lack of crew will become a serious detriment. I don’t know if I’ll remain in command of Sleipnir long enough for that to happen. Now that I’m back in the bosom of the Navy, my future is in the Navy’s hands.

  I’m not sure whether or not that’s a good thing. Not that I’m not loyal to the AOP or the Navy, but this situation is in uncharted territory and large organizations—whether they’re civil authorities or the military—aren’t especially adept at agile pivots. We’ve been at war with the Commune so long, I don’t know if either side will know how to stop fighting each other long enough to take on the banshees.

  I’m even less sure of the Commune’s willingness to cooperate.

  Rozik swore he didn’t lead the banshees to Warrick on purpose, and at this point I believe him. But he wasn’t happy after he spoke to his contacts with the CAS, and ever since then I can’t help but wonder if they’re willing to use the aliens to their advantage.

  To let them destroy AOP stars and kill AOP citizens. It would certainly make it easier for the Commune to take the winning advantage.

  In any case, I don’t know what the Alliance will do with me. I’m an asset and a liability at the same time, and now that there are a few people out there who know Odin Longknife is alive and well, there are bound to be people gunning for me soon enough. If Admiral Drake gets wind of it, he’ll have me fridged so fast I’ll get whiplash.

  The last thing I want is to become a bystander.

  Again.

  All of the d
iagnostics check out, save for the shield generators—overloaded and destroyed to save Naraka—and the corvette’s hangar with the Arrowhead in it, blown out by a banshee fighter. The loss of the smaller craft is the reason I can’t get down to the planet on my own.

  The escorts, a pair of Skirmishers, arrive within a few minutes, slowing as they approach and likely blanching at the sight of the damaged corvette. The outer hull is scuffed and scarred, the shield generators blackened tumors dotting the surface. Sleipnir is jump-ready but hardly battle-ready, and I don’t have high hopes of getting her repaired here.

  The Skirmishers circle me once and then take the lead, one slightly above the bow and one slightly below, each a klick away. I take over navigation controls from Amara because I need something to do, and begin accelerating to match the two spacecraft.

  Ten minutes later we’re making approach into geosynchronous orbit with the rest of Bruxton’s standing fleet. We’re still at the far reaches of the Sphere, which means it’s nothing to get too excited about. A single destroyer serves as the flagship, bolstered by a dozen smaller assault cruisers and a carrier. None of the ships in Bruxton’s fleet are anything close to new. All of the most modern builds get sent to the front line to fight the Commune, while the old surplus is sent to outposts like this. Up until a couple of weeks ago the distribution made sense.

  Now, it means the weakest units are front-and-center against the most dangerous opponent they ever faced.

  I’m sure Admiral Yi understands that as well as I do. That’s why he’s sending a task force instead of the entire battle group, choosing to recon instead of attack. Truth is, what I see laid out in space ahead of me is only incrementally stronger than what we had at Spindle. Bigger ships. More guns. There’s strength in numbers, but the numbers here are still far too few.

  The escorting Skirmishers lead me to my spot inside the battle group, placing the corvette at the far side of the destroyer just in case I’m a traitor or a fake and I mean to do the battle group harm. Once we’re in position, I pick up another ship approaching from below, rising through the atmosphere of Bruxton to meet me. I take the opportunity to rotate the corvette around so it has easier access to the interlock.

  “Amara, if this is the last time we fly together, thanks for the ride.”

  “I hope this isn’t the last time,” she replies.

  “Me too. I wish Kratz had made you portable.”

  I feel her amusement at the statement, but it’s true. Having Amara’s digitized mind isolated to a Lucier needle would allow me to fly any dual-mesh craft solo. As it is, until we get Joie back I’m unmatched. In the Navy’s eyes that severely limits my usefulness.

  “Goodbye, Commander,” Amara says, a tinge of sadness washing through the mesh. She knows there’s a chance she’ll never fly again. At least she can put herself in hibernation. Then any passage of time will only register as a blip in her consciousness.

  “Goodbye, Amara.”

  A thought deactivates the mesh, and then I’m back in my body, resting in the pilot’s seat on the corvette’s small secondary bridge. I lean forward slightly to allow the needle to slide out of my DCI, and then reach back and grab it, twisting to disconnect it from the starship’s adapter. I get to my feet and stuff it into the pocket of my flight suit as a holographic Amara appears in front of me. She comes to attention and salutes.

  I return the salute before leaving the bridge, heading down to the interlock to meet my approaching transport.

  Chapter 2

  “Commander Stone,” the woman on the other side of the interlock says as the corvette’s outer hatch slides out of the way. She’s already standing at attention, and she salutes as she speaks. “Ensign Tejal reporting.”

  I return the salute. “At ease, Tejal.”

  She relaxes her posture, her eyes sneaking past me to look inside Sleipnir. I hesitate a moment before deciding to call her on it.

  “Never seen the inside of a Commune warship before, Ensign?” I ask.

  She straightens up, her eyes flicking back to me and her round face turning red. “Excuse me, Commander. No, I haven’t. I was curious.”

  “It looks pretty much the same as an Alliance ship,” I reply. “This one moreso because it’s meshed.”

  “Yes, sir. I got a good look at the hull as we came in. I’m surprised she’s still spaceworthy.”

  “If the Commune were bad at building ships, we might have settled things a long time ago. Are we ready to go?”

  She nods. “Yes, sir. If you’ll follow me.”

  She moves further back into the transport, allowing me on board. It’s a basic GTS shuttle, with lightly cushioned seating for up to a dozen occupants in four rows of three. I drop into the front right seat while Ensign Tejal closes the interlock, resealing both spacecraft. There’s a short hiss as pressure and oxygen levels are recalibrated, and then she takes the seat beside me.

  I barely notice. My eyes are still fixed on the hatch. It’s harder to leave Amara behind than I expect. Maybe I’m still a little raw about abandoning my mesh partners.

  “Commander, is everything okay?” Tejal asks, getting my attention.

  I glance at her and nod. “Yes. Thank you, Ensign.” I have to remind myself she probably doesn’t know who I am, at least with regard to my history. I’m a little curious what Admiral Yi told her, if anything, or what she thinks about all of this. I hope it’s not every day she gets sent off base to escort an incoming officer in a privatized Commune corvette to meet the admiral. “Ensign Tejal,” I say. “I take it you’re relatively new to Bruxton.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replies. “I came in with the last supply hauler, about two months back now. Have you been to Bruxton before?”

  “It’s been a few years.”

  She looks at me. “Sir, if you don’t mind me asking. If you haven’t been here in years, how did you know I’m new?”

  I smile back at her. “A few things, Ensign. One, you’re young. Nineteen or twenty if I had to guess.” Too young. The Alliance is pushing them through too fast, making them officers before they’re even adults. “Two, your uniform is tailored and well-kept, which means that it’s relatively new and you haven’t been here long enough to start gaining weight. Plus you’re wearing your service uniform instead of utilities. And your hair is too short.”

  “I’m twenty-two, sir,” she replies. “And this isn’t my first deployment. But I’m impressed by your observation and reasoning. I’ve noticed the longer-term Astros here tend to let some of the regulations slide.”

  “Welcome to the edge of the galaxy. If this isn’t your first assignment, what happened?”

  Nobody ends up out here because of their impressive resume or skillset. If she didn’t get sent to Bruxton because her test scores are low or her leadership skills are marginal, it’s because she either screwed something up or was in the wrong place at the wrong time when someone else screwed something up.

  She looks at me, her face flushing again. She doesn’t want to answer the question. It’s embarrassing to her, which tells me it was likely her fault. There’s not a lot of ways an ensign can make that bad of a mistake.

  “You don’t have to answer that,” I say. “We’ve all got our skeletons and our demons. I’m sorry to see you out here, regardless.”

  She nods respectfully. “The land of broken toys. I was navigator on Rampant, a third-generation destroyer. We were bringing her in for upgrades.”

  “Third-generation? I’m sure she needed them.”

  “Yes. All I had to do was get her into the cradle. Kid’s stuff. I got too nervous, came in a little too fast. They put the damage to the dock at a hundred million chrome and two months to repair the cradle.”

  “I see,” I reply. “The third-gens don’t have the same counter-thrust capabilities of newer ships, especially the meshed bridges. Are you matched?”

  She turns her head to show me her DCI. “I was. But I navigated third-gen sims at the Academy. I had high marks on the contr
ols. I just…choked.”

  “I don’t understand why the Navy put a matched officer on a third-gen to begin with?”

  “Cost-cutting. I was supposed to transfer to Havoc once we arrived at the dock. I never got that far.”

  “What about the quartermaster?”

  “She threw me into the thrusters. She said I was slow to react and struggled to follow orders in a timely fashion.”

  “Is that true?”

  Her eyes are getting moist now, and I suddenly regret starting the conversation in the first place. A mental image of Yari’s box pops into my head. I keep opening the damn thing at the wrong times.

  “I froze,” she admits. “It was my fault. I deserve to be here.”

  “So do I,” I reply. “But if you joined the Navy to defend the AOP then the fates put you in the right place.”

  “What do you mean, sir?”

  “I’m not free to discuss it right now. All I can tell you, Ensign, is that I’m not here to play golf with the admiral.”

  She smiles at that. While she’s new to Bruxton, Admiral Yi isn’t. We both know he has a soft spot for the game. “Yes, sir.”

  I keep her talking most of the rest of the trip, moving on to lighter chat about lineage, her homeworld, and life at the Academy. Turns out she knows Bryce, which catches me by surprise. She graduated the same year he went in. Apparently, he was fairly popular with the female cadets.

  He never told me about any of that.

  The shuttle touches down on Bruxton ten minutes later. I hardly noticed the descent, but there isn’t really anything special about the planet anyway. It’s an arid world, barren and dusty, with a thin atmosphere and little water beyond the ice core. A red planet, like Mars. There’s no life here save what the Navy brought with them.

  “We’ve got twenty steps to the portal, Commander,” Ensign Tejal says. “Best to hold your breath the whole way, if you can.”