Stellar Fox (Castle Federation Book 2) (16 page)

It had been a long and emotionally exhausting flight home.

Michael had set the computer to fly the simple course back to
Avalon
and tried to sleep, but it wasn’t happening. Victory had turned to ashes in his mouth, and when he closed his eyes, his mind insisted on replaying his implant’s picture-perfect record of the missiles striking home.

Having a good idea of what was going to be waiting once he returned to the ship, he’d eventually ordered his implant to force him to sleep. It wasn’t as restorative as natural sleep, for reasons he was assured were as much psychological as anything else, but it let him feel somewhat rested as he settled his
Falcon
into its docking cradle and exited into the flight deck.

He was completely unsurprised to find Senior Chief Petty Officer Olivia Kalers waiting for him. His Acting Deck Chief with Hamond on medical leave was an older woman with a shaven head and a permanently sour expression.

“The Captain wants to see you,” Kalers said quickly. “He wants me to make sure we have a detailed list of everything we need to bring the Group up to full strength by the time we hit orbit.”

Stanford winced. They were still in the process of retrieving fighters, and the Kematians still hadn’t retrieved all of his people’s emergency pods. They would soon, he was assured, but there were a lot of escape pods in the debris of Force One’s running battle with the Kematian Navy and subsequent destruction.

“Do your best,” he told Kalers quietly. “Pull whatever resources you need – Stars know the crews coming back in could use a distraction.”

“Wasn’t their fault, sir.”

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault but the Commonwealth’s, Chief,” Michael replied. “Keep an eye out for anyone who’ll need to see Cunningham’s people,” he added after a moment’s thought, shaking his head. “This isn’t something everyone is going to be able to compartmentalize.”

His only response was silence, and the CAG looked over at his Acting Deck Chief. Kalers’s gaze was focused on the floor, and the woman looked old.

“Not sure I’m going to be able to compartmentalize,” the Chief admitted. “My God, sir –
half a planet?!
”

“It’s evil, Chief,” Michael told her, very softly. “It’s evil, and we will hunt down the bastard like the sick dog he is. But put yourself on that list for Cunningham,” he ordered. “I need you fully functional.”

“Will do, sir,” Kalers acknowledged.

Michael entered the Captain’s office to find Solace and Roberts clearly in the middle of a video conference. Solace shushed him with a finger to her lips as he opened the door, then gestured him to a seat waiting for him.

Avalon’s
Executive Officer looked shattered. She was in full dress uniform – Michael was suddenly all too aware that he was still in his combat flightsuit – but the collar was askew and she’d spilled coffee on it at some point.

Roberts,
on the other hand, looked as unflappable as ever. He gave Michael a small wave, but his attention was focused on the wallscreen showing a dozen other senior officers, and one old, exhausted, man in a business suit.

“I assure you, Mister President,” Vice Admiral Tobin was saying, “we have no intentions of leaving Kematian unprotected! I am breveting Captain Alstairs to Force Commander and leaving all of Battle Group Seventeen except
Avalon
behind.”

Force Commander was an odd rank, one that didn’t appear on the tables and was never permanently granted. It acted as an O – Seven point Five, a brevet-only rank between the Federation’s Captains and its Rear Admirals. The only reason for its existence was to allow an Admiral to designate a specific Captain to command a sub-force.

“Only
Avalon
has the upgrades to the Alcubierre drive that make a pursuit even remotely possible,” Tobin told the President of Kematian.

“We need all the help we can get,” the man told him. “With explosions of this size, my advisors are warning of catastrophic ecological damage, even on the side of the planet that was untouched.”

“We have at least a partial solution to that,” Captain Aleppo of the
Zheng He
told him. “The Factor had a terraforming expedition going on in an uninhabited system we’d claimed. Given the circumstances, we’d already ordered them back the Rembrandt system – but they can and have been re-directed.

“I am advised by my government that the terraforming vessel
Mona Lisa
should be arriving here within three days,” she concluded. “They have the equipment and the specialists to be able to minimize the long-term damage.”

The old man visibly slumped in relief.

“I will pass my thanks to your government,” he said softly. “Whatever this service costs, we did not think such a team would be available in time.”

“The Factor Board has already decided that we will carry the cost,” Aleppo told him. “There are times and services when friends are more valuable than profit. This is one of those times.”

“Vice Commodore Stanford has joined us,” Roberts interrupted as everyone was silent for a moment to digest the somewhat unusual generosity of the Factor. Born of a union of corporations that owned planets rather than planetary governments, profit was always at least second or third in the Board’s thought processes.

“Ah, good,” Tobin replied, turning his gaze on the screen linking him to Roberts’ office. The Admiral’s eyes belied his energetic words and motions – they were bloodshot, surrounded by wrinkles Michael was certain hadn’t been there before.

“
Avalon
cannot leave until your starfighter group is fully up to strength,” the Vice Admiral told him. “I want to be on our way within two hours of making Kematian orbit – every hour, every minute, that passes runs the risk of that ship escaping us.”

Before Michael could say anything, the Captain dropped a note onto his implant.

“We identified the battleship,” he said. “
Triumphant
, one of the last
Resolutes
built. Intel is digging into the Captain.”

“My staff are already working on a list,” Michael told them. “Off the top of my head, we could use a munitions resupply, but our biggest issue is fighters and crews. I lost sixteen starfighters in the battle, and while half of those crews are fine, they won’t catch up to us in that time frame.”

“Force Commander Alstairs,” Tobin said briskly, glancing at
Cameroon’s
commander. “Once we’re in orbit, I’ll want you to transfer pilots and crews from your own group to make up Stanford’s strength.”

“Understood, Admiral,” the newly breveted Force Commander replied. “I presume you’ll want complete squadrons?”

“If you’ve got them,” Michael said cautiously. His own losses were scattered through his Wings, but he’d have a more functional weapon if he integrated two complete squadrons into his Group than if he tried to insert new fighter crews into his existing squadrons.

“Two of my squadrons took no losses,” she confirmed. “I’ll have them aboard
Avalon
as soon as we’re in orbit and they’ve managed to catch some sleep.”

“What about pursuit vectors?” Roberts asked. “Did we get a line on where
Triumphant
went FTL?”

“We did,” a shaven-headed man in a dark burgundy uniform unfamiliar to Michael replied. A quick implant query informed him the man was the Fleet Admiral commanding the Kematian Navy – and currently aboard one of the cruisers sweeping the debris for survivors.

“We got our drones into position before the
bajingan
warped space,” he continued. “Both
Triumphant
and the transports are on a vector for KG-779. It’s a brown dwarf system, nothing there, but it makes a useful navigation relay.”

“Captain Roberts,” Tobin directed his attention back to the Captain. “Have you had a chance to discuss the Alcubierre upgrade with Commander Wong?”

“I have,” the Captain replied. “And he and I both managed to raise Rear Admiral Klein, who’s running the upgrade project back on Castle.

“The reasons the upgrades aren’t being pushed to the entire Navy is that the speed boost is minimal,” he continued. “We’re talking one point one light years per day squared instead of one. It’ll add up, though. We won’t catch them at 779,” the Captain warned. “But we
will
catch them.”

That reassurance seemed to hit home as Michael saw a lot of nods and grim expressions that could charitably be called smiles on the wall.

“We’ll be in orbit of Kematian in five hours,” Tobin told the President. “We’ll transfer fighters and munitions as necessary, and drop most of
Avalon’s
small craft to assist in the search and rescue. By then, the convoy will also be inbound and set to rendezvous.

“I suggest that those of you can get what you rest you can,” the Federation Vice Admiral told his people, then glanced back to the Kematians. “Once we hit orbit, we’re all going to be very busy.”

Slowly, with a series of acknowledgements and final orders, the various screens winked out. When the screen faded back to plain metal at last, Roberts heaved a huge sigh of relief and turned his gaze on Stanford.

Somehow, despite everything, Roberts still looked energetic and engaged.

“Mira, go get some sleep,” he ordered, taking in the shattered state of the XO. “Belmonte should be back on duty in an hour, I can hold the fort down until then. I’ll need you fresh when we hit orbit.”

“What about you, sir?” she asked, and Michael was surprised by her gentle tone.

“Rank hath its privileges – in this case, stimulants – and its detriments – in this case, too many duties,” he replied cheerfully. “I’ll sleep once we’re en route out of the system. Go.”

With a quick nod to both men, the exec slipped out of the room, leaving the two friends sitting together.

“Starless Void, what a disaster,” Michael said quietly. “How bad, Kyle?”

“Twenty-four cities,” Roberts replied, his voice equally quiet. “Average population fifteen million. But that’s… being ignorant. One-gigaton explosions don’t just hurt what they destroy. Ash. Acid. Debris. The regions for a hundred kilometers around each impact are toxic death zones. Including the countryside and smaller cities in the debris zones and those overlaps…”

The big Captain sounded more tired than Michael had heard him since they’d thought they were going to die at Tranquility.

“Current estimates are at half a billion dead and rising,” he said simply. “If
Mona Lisa
arrives in time, they should be able to minimize the damage, but…” Roberts’ hand closed on an empty coffee mug, and threw it against the wall in a convulsive motion.

“Even
minimized
Kematian could see a billion dead from this
massacre
,” the big Captain snarled. “I could have stopped it. Should have argued harder. Dammit, Michael, we
failed
.”

“We couldn’t see this coming,” Michael objected. “The Commonwealth’s worst are usually the true believers, the ones willing to sacrifice anything for Unity – this is as Voids-cursed anathema to them as you or I.

“Even if
Triumphant
eludes us, the fucker won’t survive,” he told his friend. “Some of the higher ups might be willing to let it slide, but Starless Void knows Walkingstick
is
a true believer. This kind of blood doesn’t help their cause, and he knows it.”

“It changes nothing, Michael,” his Captain replied. “Half a billion and more dead. What’s revenge to that? What’s
justice
to
that
?”

“You’re not sleeping because you can’t, aren’t you?” Michael demanded. “This isn’t your Voids-cursed
fault
, Captain Kyle Roberts,” he snapped. “It isn’t even Vice Admiral bloody Tobin’s fault, though I bet you diamonds to donuts he’s fighting the same demon you are.”

Roberts quirked his lips in something that might have been a smile and bowed his head.

“I
also
have work to do,” he said. “But you’re not wrong.”

“Then let’s get to that work, boss,” Michael told him. “Because one thing I do know – justice may be a frail shield against something like this, but by all the Stars, I still plan on killing the son of a bitch who did it.”

Avalon
spent less than two hours in Kematian orbit, which was, in Kyle’s opinion, about three lifetimes too long.

About the only positive of antimatter warheads used on a planetary target was the lack of radiation. When cities powered by fusion and fission reactors were the target that was a moot point. Combined with the immense craters blasted most of the way through the planetary crust, the continent that had suffered the brunt of
Triumphant’s
anger was an uninhabitable hell-hole.

Hundreds of shuttles and aircraft braved the vicious hurricanes already forming across the entire planet to enter that hell-hole and bring people out. Unavoidably, not all of those craft survived their trips – which didn’t stop any of them.

There were still hundreds of millions of people in the affected zone. The massive effort being launched by Kematian’s people, now joined by the shuttles from Battle Group Seventeen, could save hundreds of thousands. Perhaps millions.

They couldn’t save everyone.

There was
nothing
Kyle could do from orbit to help, either.
Avalon
had sixty-four non-starfighter small craft of various sizes, almost all of them capable of search and rescue. He’d kept eight of the mid-sized twenty thousand ton rescue tugs and sent the remaining ships down to help the planet. The desperate attempt to rescue
anyone
could use everything from the dozen five thousand ton SAR shuttles to his pair of hundred thousand ton drone tenders.

“All the fighters from
Cameroon
are aboard and locked down,” Stanford told him over the implant com. “Alstairs’ people dropped off a munitions reload on their way down to the planet, too. We are fully stocked and prepared for operations.”

“Thank you, CAG,” Kyle acknowledged and glanced around his bridge. “Anything anyone hasn’t mentioned to me yet?” he asked.

There were chuckles at that. Solace had rejoined him ten minutes after they’d hit orbit, and his people had done a fantastic job of getting everything moving and down to the planet. Any resource they could spare for Kematian had been loaded onto the shuttles heading out – everything from portable infirmaries to medical supplies to generators and decontamination units.

A Deep Space Carrier was designed to single-handedly fill the role of a wet navy carrier group, which meant it had a
lot
of seemingly random equipment aboard. It was rare for a carrier to find a situation the crew didn’t have a tool for – and now thousands of tons of those tools had been deployed to the surface of Kematian.

Kyle had reviewed the ship’s entire equipment list before they’d reached orbit and given most of the orders for deployment himself. He knew he’d micro-managed the process, his fingers far deeper into his senior officers’ departments than he usually went, but this time, no one seemed to mind.

It was a poor sop against all of their consciences.

“Admiral,
Avalon
is prepared to move out,” he told Tobin quietly. “Your orders?”

Operating as a Battle Group of one ship was always an awkward situation, but Kyle agreed with the Vice Admiral’s logic. They only needed one ship to take down
Triumphant
, and
Avalon
was the only one that could catch her. The rest of their ships would be better used helping Kematian.

“No change, Captain,” Tobin replied simply. “If we’re ready, take us to KG-779. Do we have an ETA yet?”

Kyle glanced over at Pendez. “Commander?”

“We are four hours from warping space,” she reported. “From there, to travel the nine light years to KG-779, we’re looking at one hundred and thirty-seven hours. It will take
Triumphant
six full days, so we’ll have a seven hour advantage and will enter the system five hours behind them.

“That’s dependant on us being able to sustain one point one light years per day squared for the full period,” Pendez warned. “We haven’t tried this before, and it may not hold together for six days.”

“Understood, Commander Pendez,” Tobin rumbled. “Don’t worry, Commander Wong gave us the same warning.”

“In fact, Maria,” Kyle interrupted, “I want you or your deputy in constant communication with engineering so long as we’re pushing the drive. As
soon
as there is an issue, pull us back to one light year a day until Wong approves something different.”

Vivid memories of the morgue that had been the bridge of another
Avalon
flashed through his mind, and he glanced over at Tobin’s image on the screen.

“We won’t do anyone any good if we die before we catch
Triumphant
,” he reminded the Vice Admiral. “And one Alcubierre failure in a career is enough for anyone!”

“Agreed, Captain.” The big Admiral looked tired, blinking heavily against bloodshot eyes. He was likely on the same stims as Kyle, but while they could keep you awake and reduce the functionality loss, they didn’t stop you
feeling
tired.

“And if we’re on our way,” the Admiral continued after a moment, as if reading Kyle’s mind, “
you
, Captain Roberts, should get some sleep. Commander Solace looks bright eyed and awake beside you.”

Kyle glanced over at his XO, who did look
much
better after five hours sleep. There was the same haunted look in her eyes as everyone else on the ship, but she didn’t look like she’d been run through a meat-grinder.

She turned a smile on him, and a shock ran through his system. For the moment at least, the statue was gone, and he was tired enough that what registered in his mind was that the woman sitting next to him was absolutely gorgeous.

He shook his head to clear the fuzz, and very carefully returned his gaze to the Admiral. “You’re not wrong sir,” he allowed, “though I would suggest a mirror as well.”

Tobin laughed, a loud surprised rumble that shocked the entire bridge.

“You’re also not wrong, Captain,” he replied. “We’ll talk once we’re in FTL.”

Corona
burned around him. A power conduit burned through, the resulting explosion throwing debris across the hallway. Shrapnel cut through Brown’s torso, cleaving his Chief of Staff in two. Blood poured impossibly from the man’s torso as Dimitri caught him.

“It’s all your fault,” his aide told him, his bright blue eyes meeting his Admiral’s gaze. “
Look
at it.”

Somehow, the half of a man in Dimitri’s arms gestured widely, and Tobin realized that the entire side of the ship was gone. Outside, he could see the blue-green skies of the planet below. He didn’t recognize it for a moment, then the ugly splotches of immense mushroom clouds erupted from the surface.

“You’re doomed, Dimitri,” a softly accented voice told him. “Everything you try to protect will die. Like me.”

Flight Lieutenant Karl Michaels-Tobin was dressed exactly as he had been the last fateful day Dimitri had seen him. The lanky blond man looked sad, with no sign whatsoever of the antimatter blast that had ended his life with no chance for his family to even see a body.

“You failed
me
,” Karl snarled. “You failed Amaranthe. You fail
everyone
you try to protect – why do you keep trying?! Others would do better.”

“Your arrogance killed me,” Brown joined in the chorus. “It killed Kematian. Why, Admiral, why?!”

Behind him, more explosions marched across Kematian, a world he’d been supposed to save dying in fire as his lover and his friend repeated the same question:

“Why?”

#

Dimitri finally awoke with a start to his darkened cabin, sweating and cursing aloud as he fumbled for light. It was several seconds before he managed to marshal his brain into a coherent enough shape to issue an implant order.

Finally, the room lit up with a bright stark light that chased away nightmares. The Admiral sighed, stumbling from his bed to desk and pulling a bottle from the bottom drawer.

There were no real memories to play to shield against this kind of nightmare, he knew that from long ago. He poured himself a shot of vodka and considered the dream.

“Happy fucking New Year, Dimitri,” he whispered to himself.

Downing the shot, and then a second one, he tried to steady his nerves. It had been
years
since his subconscious had dragged Karl’s memory up as part of its attacks on his sanity. His husband was long dead. Karl’s parents were god-parents to his and Sasha’s children – they’d helped him move on and
find
Sasha after Karl’s death.

The nightmares had been getting worse after Midori though. With Kematian… he shivered. He was afraid sleep was going to be hard to come by until he brought
Triumphant
to justice. He
needed
to avenge Kematian – he doubted anything less would let him sleep at night.

There was a quiet knock on his door and his implant informed him Commander Sanchez was outside.

“Enter!” he snapped. “What is it?”

His young blond aide saluted crisply, her precise uniform a sharp contrast to his own rumpled shipsuit.

“I had an alert set for when you woke up, sir,” she told him. “Are you all right? You didn’t sleep very long.”

“I’m fine,” he said shortly, slamming back a third shot of vodka. “I’ll be back asleep in a few minutes. What do you need?”

“New dispatches came in from Alliance High Command, sir,” she told him. “Not urgent enough to wake you, but they are your eyes only and require your authentication code so they may be important.”

“Give them here,” he ordered. He yanked the pad out of her hand, downloading his implant code.

“That’s the wrong pad, sir,” Sanchez said quickly, snatching back the datapad and replacing it with another. “That’s my report on the Kematians’ long-term logistical needs. It’s not ready yet.”

Blinking blearily against the alcohol and incipient exhaustion, Dimitri grabbed the new pad and unlocked it. This one did open up the list of dispatches, and he exhaled as if struck.

Kematian had held, though the price was beyond imagination or acceptance.

Two other systems hadn’t. Battle Group Seventeen and the Kematian Navy had destroyed five Commonwealth capital ships without starship losses of their own.

The Toledo and Arsenault systems had bled the Commonwealth, but had fallen. Seven more Commonwealth capital ships had been destroyed, but so had nine Alliance ships.

His pursuit of
Triumphant
was authorized, but with a very strict time limit – if they hadn’t caught up to the battleship in two weeks, they were ordered to return to Kematian and reassemble Battle Group Seventeen.

Alliance High Command couldn’t let more systems fall without trying to retrieve them. It appeared that Battle Group Seventeen was to be part of that operation.

Regardless of the cost to Dimitri Tobin’s soul if he had to let
Triumphant
go.