Counterstrike (Black Fleet Trilogy, Book 3)

Counterstrike

Book Three of the Black Fleet Trilogy

Joshua Dalzelle

©2015

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real persons, events, or places are purely coincidental; any references to actual places, people, or brands are fictitious. All rights reserved.

*****

Edited by Monique Happy Editorial Services

http://www.moniquehappy.com

Location: Unknown.

Time: Late twenty-third century.

“Hey!”

Colonel Robert Blake blinked against the bright light overhead and tried to move his arm up to shield his sensitive eyes again. Once again he was unable to do so. His mind felt like mush and he knew that he must have just recently been brought out of hibernation. He’d experienced the whole process during his mission training, but the side-effects this time seemed much more extreme.

“Come on, Siddell! Let me out of the restraints,” he said again, calling out to the
Carl Sagan
’s medical officer and the woman who would have supervised their awakenings. He could hear the echo of his own voice and was relieved that at least his ears were working. “I promise I won’t try to get up and walk yet … I just want to cover my eyes and scratch my nose.”

“State your name,” a deep, emotionless voice called out. It was an omnipresent sound, seeming to come from everywhere.

“Who is this?” Blake demanded.

“State your name,” the voice said again.

“Blake.”

“Blake,” the voice repeated. “Colonel Robert, mission commander.”

“Yes,” Blake said. His mind was racing and the first twinges of panic were beginning to set in. “Who are you? Where am I? Please let me out of my restraints.”

“Your body is not restrained,” the voice informed him, now taking on a sympathetic tone. “I have simply not restored control of your voluntary musculature to your brain yet. Not until we have had a chance to discuss some matters.”

“Who are you?”

“Let me ask you a question before I answer that,” Voice said. “How long do you think you have been in space, Robert?”

“This is our first hibernation,” Blake said, trying to kick his brain into gear. “No more than six months.”

“Where do you think you are currently?”

“En route to the Proxima Centauri star system,” Blake answered. “I’m not answering any more questions until I get a couple of answers myself.”

“Very well, Robert,” Voice said. “You have been in a form of suspended animation for just over two hundred and fifty of your years. Your species would understand the condition as death.”

Death? My species?
“Please,” Blake whispered. “Please … who are you?”

“I am the lead researcher on a ship that encountered your craft, powerless and drifting through interstellar space,” Voice said. “From what I’ve been able to deduce from my examination of your craft, you’ve not yet encountered an intelligent, space-faring species other than yourselves. Your isolation is as much for your protection as it is for mine. Your environment is sealed and sterile until we can acclimate your body to conditions aboard our vessel. The isolation serves a dual purpose, as my physical appearance could be somewhat distressful to you until you’ve had time to process events.”

Crazily enough, there were actually protocols in one of his mission manuals for just such an occurrence. Tsuyo scientists had felt the risk of encountering alien life was low, but the U.S. military had decided that any risk was worth having contingency plans in place for. Blake had read through the manual during their flight out of the Solar System and found it to be utterly, utterly absurd. Now, face to face with just such a scenario, he found it to be even more so.

Blake drifted in and out of consciousness a few times, vaguely aware that there was movement around him but unable to fully wake himself and focus. When he was finally able to shake away the lethargy he found that his body responded when he tried to move. He slowly swung his legs over the side of the hard, unforgiving table he’d been lying upon and looked around the room.

It was stark white, circular, and apparently seamless. In fact, the table, walls, floor, and ceiling appeared to be constructed from one continuous piece of what felt like some sort of ceramic. He looked down at his skin and saw that it was grey, mottled, and sagging. Maybe he really had been dead. For some reason his previous conversation with the Voice seemed like a dream. No matter … it was time to see if there was a way out of the small room he found himself in.

When he tried to shift his weight from the table to his legs he discovered that they weren’t quite yet up to the task. His knees buckled and he hit the floor with a clatter of bony joints striking the hard floor. There was a soft hissing sound from somewhere in the room and he felt warm hands—human hands—lifting him up and putting him back on the table. He looked up into the face of his rescuer and saw that it wasn’t quite human, but close.

“Do not be alarmed,” Voice said, the sound still emanating from somewhere in the room. “This is an artificial construct that will be assisting you until you are able to fully function on your own again. We built it to resemble your species in order to minimize the shock.”

“Very considerate of you,” Blake said, leaning back and breathing hard.

“You’ve obviously discovered that I’ve restored your voluntary motor functions, but it will be some time before your atrophied body will be fully repaired,” Voice said. “In the meantime, there are some things I’d like to discuss with you. Things I’d like clarified before we begin trying to revive the rest of your crew.” The mention of his crew swept away the rest of the cobwebs and Blake was now focused like a laser on what Voice said.

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll answer anything you’d like.”

“We have been able to access the computers aboard the ship you were traveling on,” Voice said, now sounding a bit hesitant. “It took us some time to differentiate between your factual records and your entertainment, but we feel that we’ve been able to begin seeing certain patterns within your species’ behavior.”

“Such as?” Blake asked, a bit terrified that all of humanity was to be judged by whatever bad movies happened to be on the crew's personal tablets.

“Your capacity for violence, even towards each other, is truly remarkable,” Voice said, its tone indicating that wasn’t an indictment, merely an observation. “Yet underneath this there seems to be a tendency to act along very well-defined standards of right and wrong.”

“I’m not sure what you’re asking,” Blake admitted. “I’m actually not sure you’re even asking me anything.”

“I am just seeking simple affirmation and possibly some clarification,” Voice said.

Over the next three hours they talked at length about the application of violent force as a means to solve problems, the ethical and philosophical consequences, and even walked through a series of scenarios in which Blake was made to describe how he’d handle the encounters. Some of the scenarios involved only him, some involved small groups like a family, and some were on a grand scale like an entire planet. In the end he was left exhausted and confused. The conversation tapered off to an uncomfortable silence as Blake wondered if the answers he’d given meant his crew would remain “dead” or if they’d be revived as he had. Since he didn’t know what Voice wanted, he just answered everything as honestly as he could and let the chips fall as they may.

“I will admit to being far more intrigued about your species than I was when we conducted our initial evaluation of your ship,” Voice said after a few minutes. “We have made our decision.”

“Will my crew be revived?” Blake asked.

“Yes,” Voice said simply. “As many as can be. There were a few members who are beyond even our help. We also have a proposition for you.”

“A proposition?” Blake almost laughed. “What could we possibly offer to someone like you?”

“The one thing that we are fundamentally unable to comprehend,” Voice said. “A concept so foreign to us that we have all but given up trying.”

“And that is?”

“The thing you call ‘war,’” Voice said. “We would very much like for you to instruct us in its intricacies, its implementations, and possibly even demonstrate its execution. Would you do this for us, Robert?”

Blake thought about what he was being asked for a few minutes and about the bizarre, unimaginable situation he now found himself in. In the end he still had one primary responsibility, and that was the well-being of his crew. That had to come before any philosophical debates he may have with himself later about what he was being asked to do.

“I will show you.”

Earth

Year: 2433

“You’ve been keeping secrets from us,” Fleet Admiral Marcum said as he gazed out from the balcony at Lake Geneva. “This planet is not the polluted slum we were led to believe it was.”

“It was when all of you left us here,” Senior Captain Jackson Wolfe said. “It’s taken us centuries to repair the damage and we didn’t feel like inviting everyone back for a repeat.”

“Feeling a bit peevish this morning, are we, Captain?” Marcum asked with an arched eyebrow.

“Not especially,” Jackson said, still not addressing his superior with either rank or the honorific ‘sir.’ It was not lost on Marcum.

“Tell me what’s on your mind, Captain,” he said. “We’re going to have to get past whatever this is if we’re going to continue to work together. I was following orders. Just like you
mostly
do when asked. What is it you want of me?”

“Tell me about the Ark,” Jackson said. “Who initiated it? How long was it out there? When did you know what it was? Make me believe in you like I did when I was pulled out almost dead from the wreckage of a
Raptor
-class destroyer.”

Marcum stared at him a long moment before sighing heavily and turning back to the lake. “It was never called the ‘Ark,’” the admiral said. “That was also not its original purpose. The planet was the next phase in the Board’s plan to detach Tsuyo Corporation from the Confederate government and operate as a sovereign entity.

“It was found by one of their top secret automated exploration drones, and when they saw how perfect the existing ecology was for a colony, they began building immediately. That was nearly twenty-seven years ago, well before the Phage showed up on our doorstep. They even had a fully functional shipyard, albeit on a very small scale. That’s where the new boomers came from … built one at a time in that system, hidden from prying eyes.”

“That explains the existence of the colony and an entirely new and unknown class of battleship,” Jackson said slowly. “But not any of the important things.”

“As you guessed, there was great concern on Haven that we simply weren’t up to the task of repelling the Phage,” Marcum nodded. “A concern that was well-founded, I might add. Your blind idealism aside, the fleet had little chance of winning at Nuovo Patria against just the forces the Phage brought with them, to say nothing of the fact it wasn’t even their main objective.

“Anyway … when talk became serious about how to save the species if we had to begin accepting the loss of entire systems, Tsuyo began coming to individual senators and lobbying them to channel resources and our best and brightest to the new planet.” Jackson’s humorless laugh interrupted the admiral, causing the senior fleet officer to frown at the inappropriate outburst.

“So even with the species facing extinction the corporation was still looking to play any angle it could,” Jackson said, still laughing.

“I don’t get it,” Marcum admitted.

“You said that they were looking to declare themselves sovereign, separate from the Confederacy,” Jackson said. “So what would happen if the Senate authorized our most brilliant people to accompany most of the resources to this new little empire and then we
didn’t
get wiped out by the Phage?”

“I hadn’t even considered that,” Marcum admitted, still frowning. “The new enclave would have a monopoly on science, art, technology … you name it, and the Confederacy would have to crawl to Tsuyo and beg for anything and everything. Do you really think that was the root of what they were doing?”

“Of what
you
were helping them do,” Jackson corrected. “And yes, I think that the Board and the Senate are one and the same: rats crawling on top of each other trying to gain some advantage regardless of the fact the ship is sinking out from under them.” When Marcum didn’t answer him, the beleaguered captain turned back to the view of his home planet.

After the horrific attack by the Phage that had completely destroyed the Confederate capital, Haven, the shell-shocked survivors of the government had eventually found their way back to the birthplace of humanity: Earth. They were not treated to a warm welcome as ships trickled into the Solar System. The citizens of the blue planet had not forgotten the insults heaped upon them by most of the Confederate worlds, nor were they overly anxious to have the Phage follow those fleeing the Alpha Centauri System.

For Jackson Wolfe, the return to Earth was viewed through the numbed, glazed stare of a man who had been pushed far beyond his breaking point. He still bore the guilt of Haven’s destruction despite the fact that little could have actually been done to prevent it. He still felt that if he hadn’t bucked the chain of command yet again and drawn most of the Seventh Fleet’s combat recourses to the Frontier then maybe there would have been a force there strong enough to repel the assault.

“I wonder how long they’ll keep him in there,” Marcum said.

“I wouldn’t even begin to guess,” Jackson shrugged. “I’d imagine they’re having some difficulty believing his story.”

“I’m not even sure I do either,” Marcum said. “But as long as he sticks around with those ships of his, he could say he’s the Queen of Sheba and I’d vouch for him.” Before Jackson could ask Marcum if he even knew what he was referencing the double doors to the reception area they’d been cooling their heels in banged open.

“Captain Wolfe, Admiral Marcum … sorry to keep you waiting,” the officious little man in an absurd-looking, albeit trendy, suit said in a tone of voice that made it quite clear he wasn’t actually all that sorry.

“And?” Marcum said irritably.

“And if you’d follow me I’ll escort you to the main conference room,” the man said, still trying to puff himself up in the presence of the two famous Fleet officers.

“After you.” Marcum rolled his eyes at Jackson as he followed the man out of the room that Jackson had begun to suspect was more of a holding cell than a reception area.

Jackson had been somewhat surprised at how they’d been treated once they had landed. The
Ares
had made orbit and had been brusquely ordered to not get in the way of Earth’s normal orbital traffic and then, nearly four days later, a summons was sent for Jackson, and only him, to arrive via shuttle at Geneva with no deviations. He’d wanted very much to set foot on the North American continent again while he was home, but all requests for a course change or an explanation for the apparent urgency were met with the repeated order to land in Geneva. Even as ships began to trickle into the system it was becoming more than clear that Earth was not too keen on receiving the displaced citizens of the Confederacy.

The hall they were led down was long and curving, with an unbroken floor to ceiling window on the wall facing the picturesque landscape provided by the Alps reflected in the calm lake. The building they were in was one of the few new built along the shores of the lake, as most others dated back several hundred years. Even during the most tumultuous times in Earth’s past, Geneva, and actually most of Switzerland, seemed to avoid being touched by the devastation wrought in the late twenty-first century.

“Right in here, if you please,” the man leading the procession said, standing aside and gesturing them past. Neither Jackson nor Admiral Marcum favored the cretin with as much as a nod as they walked into a dimly lit, lavishly appointed room that was dominated by an enormous oval table in the middle that was made of a type of wood only found on Earth. It was these tiny observations that had begun to add up and tug on the strings of Jackson’s heart. Despite living almost all of his adult life aboard a starship, this was home. This was where he belonged.

“Senior Captain Wolfe,” a middle-aged woman with long, silver hair near the table head spoke up. “It is an honor to have you join us. Please take a seat.”

“The honor is mine, Madam Minister,” Jackson said, dipping his head respectfully. Even though he’d never seen her in person, the serious, almost stern countenance of Minister Adavail Nelson was well-known even to those not familiar with Earth politics. She was the fair but relentless overseer of the Council of Nations, the organization that had once tried to negotiate between the fractious nation states of Earth and in recent times, under the leadership of Nelson and her predecessor, had smoothly transitioned into the planet’s first worldwide governing body. At least the first effective one and certainly the first in which all participants entered the agreement willingly.

“Madam Minister—"

“Do sit down, Admiral Marcum,” Nelson said with a dismissive wave. “You were invited to this meeting as the ranking representative of the Confederacy’s remaining military and as a courtesy, but you hold no sway here. There is no political power you can bring to bear nor are you entirely welcome. I apologize for my bluntness, but I wish there to be no misunderstandings before we begin.”

“Of course, Madam Minister,” Marcum said smoothly, appearing completely unruffled.

“We’re holding this informal briefing with the key players in the events that led up to the complete loss of Haven before a full session of the Council convenes to determine what, if anything, Earth will do about these unprecedented events,” Nelson continued. “Feel free to ask questions if there are points you’re unclear on … it’s imperative that everyone is up to speed in case you’re called up to give testimony.”

Jackson sighed inwardly at that last part. He was certain there was no way he would avoid being called up before the Council if for no other reason than he was the most notorious “Earther” serving in Starfleet. His role in the Phage War, as it was now being called, had been wildly exaggerated by Earth’s media outlets to the point that he was portrayed as a hero, a bungling fool, or a bloodthirsty lunatic willing to let millions die to satisfy his desire for all-out war with the first spacefaring species encountered by humans. Unfortunately, he wasn’t all that sure where he actually fell on that spectrum.

“We’ve questioned the alleged Colonel Robert Blake extensively and have even been able to analyze his DNA, comparing it to samples that were miraculously preserved in what used to be the United States.” Nelson grimaced slightly as she eased herself down into the plush chair at the head of the ovoid table. “By any measure we would use to determine such things, Colonel Blake is who he claims to be. That doesn’t preclude the fact that our investigative means just aren’t up to the task, but given his intervention on the Frontier I’m willing to take his story on faith. The real question now becomes what do we do about it?”

“Madam Minister, might it not be useful to have Colonel Blake present for this meeting?” Jackson said, ignoring protocol and speaking to Minister Nelson directly.

“Possibly,” Nelson’s careworn face gave no indication that she either agreed or disagreed. “However, Captain, there are certain mitigating factors that might make it easier if Blake is kept in the dark about these proceedings.”

“Such as?” Jackson asked.

“Not that it’s any concern of the Confederate Fleet,” an older man whose uniform identified him as an admiral in Sol Defense Forces said contentiously. “But the man you’ve so blithely led back to Earth is in possession of eighteen ships that could easily destroy everything in this system, or just as easily repel a Phage advance should they have tracked you here. Either way, if he is who he claims to be we’re not so sure he should be the one left in command of such weapons.”

Jackson was suddenly alarmed at the line of thought and was about to voice as much when he felt Marcum kick his ankle and shake his head almost imperceptibly.

“This is just an informal meeting prior to the full Council Session,” Nelson reminded them forcefully while glaring at the outspoken SDF admiral. “Speculation such as this is not needed or especially helpful. Now … let’s begin with a rough overview of the Battle of Nuovo Patria and work back from there.”

For the next three and half agonizing hours, Jackson was forced to sit and listen as his previous mission was dissected and argued over by people of questionable pedigree to judge such things. It wasn’t long before he quit interjecting or correcting the record, as it became clear the politicians and bureaucrats in the meeting weren’t actually on a fact-finding mission and were, in fact, carefully constructing a narrative that would be fed to the full session of the Council and, in turn, the citizenry of Earth.

Once the torturous meeting was concluded, Jackson escaped the room, Marcum right on his heels, before he could be cornered by any of the half-dozen attendees who looked like they wanted to speak to him privately. As much as he loved breathing the air on Earth after such a long time away, he was now wondering how difficult it would be to sneak off and catch a shuttle back up to the
Ares
.

****

“How was the meeting, Captain?” Robert Blake said, taking another long pull of his beer and not bothering to get up from the lounge.

“What meeting would that be?” Jackson asked, helping himself to one of the local brews before flouncing down on the couch across from the former Air Force officer.

“The one where you all sat around and tried to make up a plausible tale to feed the Council later this week,” Blake said.

“Ah, that one,” Jackson shrugged. “About like you’d expect, I imagine.”

“Just between you and me, the ships my crew and I arrived in do not actually belong to us,” Blake said casually. “I couldn’t hand them over, even if I was inclined to.”