Rendezvous with Corsair E-Book

Jack Campbell

• Herausgeber: JABberwocky Literary Agency, Inc.
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: The Lost Fleet
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 412

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Jack Campbell's New York Times bestselling The Lost Fleet sci-fi adventure series has transported legions of fans out of this world and into the heat of battle. Now, readers will discover how it all began—not only for John "Black Jack" Geary and his descendant Commander Michael Geary, but for those who fought and sacrificed so much alongside them. Spanning from before the Alliance/Syndicate war to the devastating initial conflagration that would lead to decades of unremitting conflict and beyond into full-blown war, from the Geary's own epic heroics to where their surviving compatriots found their own fates, this volume reveals the triumphs, tragedies, and life-altering events that made these warriors living legends in their universe. Packed with high-stakes military action and drama as well as humor and humanity, this volume explores the foundations of The Lost Fleet series as well as past exploits of its most popular characters—and also includes the novelization of the Lost Fleet graphic novel Corsair, which was praised as "a Tom Clancy thriller in space" (Publishers Weekly). Praise for The Lost Fleet novels: "Some of the best military science fiction on the shelves today."—SF Site "If there's ever a space war, the Lost Fleet series could well be the military's manual."—Audible "The whole series is worth a read…Fast paced adventure."—SFRevu

Leseprobe

Rendezvous with Corsair

Copyright © 2024 by John G. Hemry

First published as an ebook in 2024 by JABberwocky Literary Agency, Inc.

“Corsair” first published in Rendezvous with Corsair, JABberwocky Literary Agency, 2024

“Shore Patrol” first published in Infinite Stars, Titan Books, 2017

“Grendel” first published in So It Begins, Dark Quest Books, 2009

“Ishigaki” first published in Infinite Stars: Dark Frontiers, Titan Books, 2019

“Fleche” first published in Best Laid Plans, Dark Quest Books, 2013

Cover design © 2023 by Tara O’Shea

All rights reserved.

ISBN 978-1-625676-54-2 (ebook)

ISBN 978-1-625676-55-9 (print)

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

JABberwocky Literary Agency, Inc.

49 W. 45th Street, Suite #5N

New York, NY 10036

awfulagent.com/ebooks

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Title Page

Copyright

Table of Contents

Dedication

Corsair

Shore Patrol

Grendel

Ishigaki

Fleche

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Jack Campbell

To Katherine Law and William LawBecause the kids are alright.“Look within; do not allow the special quality or worth of anything to pass you by.” (Marcus Aurelius, Meditations)For S, as always.

Corsair

Chapter One

“Hold them off as long as you can…”

The fleet commander’s grim expression matched his tone of voice. He hated giving that order, Michael Geary realized. And not just because he was giving the order to his grandnephew. This wasn’t the Black Jack that Michael had been told all his life he had to revere, a flawless officer focused solely on victory regardless of the cost. Instead of launching a grand, heroic assault which would have surely wiped out the rest of the Alliance fleet, Black Jack had tried to save every surviving ship. But the plan wasn’t working exactly as it should and now a ship, Michael’s ship, and her crew would have to be sacrificed to try to save the rest. This was a commander with only one right choice—and who hated making that choice.

Maybe Michael had been wrong about Black Jack. Maybe everyone had been wrong about him.

Michael had spent his whole life fighting against Black Jack’s legacy. Being born a Geary, the endless war with the Syndicate Worlds devouring Alliance citizens and warships, meant your path was laid out for you. Join the fleet. Fight the Syndics. Try to act, try to fight, try to die, in a way that honored your great ancestor. Michael and his sister Jane had seen their aunts and uncles perish in battle, had lost their own parents the same way, and had known when the time came they would face similar fates.

Now it was Michael’s turn. His turn not just to be the “hero,” but to be the rear guard, making a last stand in the hope of saving others. Chance, or fate, had left Repulse not only closer to the Syndics, but also close to the fastest intercept trajectories for the nearest Syndic warships if they aimed for the slowest, most vulnerable, and critically important unit in the Alliance Fleet, the auxiliary Titan. To reach Titan as quickly as possible, those Syndics would have to pass through space close to Repulse.

Which meant, finally, with probably little time left to live, a few moments to grasp some of the reality of what his granduncle had faced a century ago.

“This isn’t easy, is it?” he said to the fleet commander, Black Jack, the mythical hero back from the dead. His great-uncle. “I understand a bit now. I truly didn’t want this. You do what you have to do, though, and it’s up to your ancestors how it all turns out.”

He exchanged only a few more words with his granduncle before he had to end the call. The enemy was too close, everyone else on the bridge of the battle cruiser Repulse waiting for him to tell them their fate.

“Engineering status,” Michael called out.

“Main propulsion is still at thirty percent, Captain,” Chief Petty Officer Sabit Taman replied.

“Any word on Lieutenant Nadu?”

“Still unconscious from injuries, Captain.”

Since Commander Boiko had died in the initial ambush, that made Chief Taman the senior engineering officer aboard. “What are our chances of getting more out of main propulsion, Chief?”

Taman shook his head. “We’re at maximum available for now. Estimated time for repairs is at least six hours.”

“We’re not even going to have one hour,” Michael said. The crew needed to know what was happening. “All hands, this is the captain. Repulse has been ordered to screen the rest of the fleet as it repositions.” The Alliance Fleet never retreated. It repositioned. “We will hold off the Syndics for as long as possible. To the honor of our ancestors!”

He looked at Chief Taman again. “Cut propulsion to zero. Make it look like our remaining main propulsion units failed under stress.”

“Yes, Captain.”

He made another call, to his executive officer, Commander Estrada. “I’m going to need every weapon back on line. Do whatever it takes.”

Thecla Estrada replied in a steady voice. “You’ll have them, Captain. We’ll override safeties where we have to. May the living stars light your path.”

She didn’t expect any of them to live through this. Neither did he.

Several Syndic Hunter-Killers, what the Alliance usually called HuKs, a bit smaller and a bit faster than Alliance destroyers, tried to race past the apparently crippled battle cruiser, aiming to intercept the track of the Fast Fleet Auxiliary Titan. If Titan didn’t get away, the Alliance Fleet’s already small chances would shrink a lot further. The HuKs could have safely avoided Repulse by swinging wider, but that would have increased the distance they needed to cover, and given Titan more time to flee.

Suddenly reengaging Repulse’s full remaining propulsion and maneuvering capability, Michael swung the ship about and tore apart the first two HuKs with a barrage of hell-lance particle beams and grapeshot. The third came close enough to hit with Repulse’s null field, a short-range weapon that dissolved atomic bonds on the target. Most of that HuK, and its crew, vanished into a cloud of loose atoms.

Two more HuKs tried to sweep past Repulse, their focus also on the wallowing Titan. Michael Geary let his automated weapons controls take them out with another barrage of hell lances and specter missiles, his crew cheering as the enemy ships and their crews were annihilated.

The enemy were Syndics. The people the Alliance had been fighting for a century, while the Syndicate Worlds’ rulers ordered atrocity after atrocity in hopes of forcing a victory. After all that, Syndics weren’t seen as other humans anymore. They were just Syndics, their deaths cause for celebration.

Another five HuKs tried to accelerate past, but Michael brought Repulse about again and managed to kill one of them while crippling three more. Not a clean sweep, but close enough. The last HuK would catch Titan, but Titan’s escorts could easily handle it.

“Well done, Repulse,” he called out to the crew.

The mass of the Syndic flotilla was beginning to reach Repulse. A swarm of more HuKs, augmented by light cruisers, each individually not much of a threat to a battle cruiser, but in numbers able to wear down shields with barrages of hell lances and missiles.

“Forward shields are at twenty percent,” Lieutenant Aiko reported from the weapons station. “Spot failures occurring in midships and stern shields.”

Syndic heavy cruisers were reaching Repulse, followed by battle cruisers.

Repulse trembled as shots started coming through the shields, tearing through the hull and any sailor unfortunate enough to be in their path.

“Forward shields have collapsed. All missiles expended. Hell-lance batteries 1A, 3A, and 4B are out of action. All grapeshot expended.”

Michael stared at his display, trying to judge whether the rest of the Alliance Fleet was far enough off to have escaped the Syndic trap. Not that it mattered as far as Repulse was concerned. There was no way out for this ship.

“Multiple hull breaches. Hell-lance batteries 2B and 6B are out of action.”

“Multiple hits in engineering,” Chief Taman called, his voice still steady. “The power core is becoming unstable.”

Enough, Michael thought. He’d done all he could. “All hands, this is Captain Geary. Abandon ship! I say again, abandon ship! Everyone get off!”

Repulse shuddered like a dying animal as more Syndic hits tore into her.

Michael unstrapped and stood up, gesturing at Lieutenant Aiko and Chief Taman and the rest of the crew on the bridge to get going and not wait for him.

* * *

He couldn’t remember anything after that.

He didn’t know how he got off the ship. He didn’t know how many of his crew had survived, or even how long he’d been a prisoner of the Syndics here…or even where “here” was.

His cell was as featureless as it could be. No window. He couldn’t even tell where the door was when it was closed. There was no way to measure time. Even the meal times and frequencies were deliberately staggered by the Syndics so they couldn’t be used to count the days. He knew he’d been shifted to new locations sometimes, drugged and awakening in apparently the same cell but with tiny differences. And, rough as it was, he could count how many times he’d slept, hanging onto that number as one thing he could measure. That number was more than five hundred now. He’d been a prisoner for at least several months. Quite likely more than a year. Maybe years.

He’d been taught techniques, mental and emotional, for surviving prolonged periods of solitary confinement. He had played the mind games and meditated and (so far at least) had held any emotional deterioration at bay.

What had happened to the Alliance Fleet? Had the legendary Black Jack, miraculously returned from the dead, been able to save it? Or had it been destroyed, along with the last hope of the Alliance? Had the Alliance finally lost the war, as his captors claimed?

Hundreds of star systems belonged to the Alliance, and hundreds more to the Syndicate Worlds. With those kinds of resources, a war could go on and on, decade after decade, the Alliance refusing to lose and the Syndics refusing to stop trying to win. But, after nearly a century, the strain had been showing. That was why the insanely risky attack on the Syndic home star system had been approved, out of desperation. Michael had argued against it, for one of the few times in his life trying to use his status as a Geary to make people listen to him. Having been proven right when the Alliance Fleet ran head on into a Syndic ambush didn’t bring him any joy.

He’d been interrogated quite a few times. The Syndic security agents always insisted the war was over, the Alliance having lost, but kept asking questions about John Geary. His great-uncle. Black Jack. He told them only things they’d already know. Yes, he was back. Michael didn’t tell the Syndics that instead of dying a century ago in Grendel Star System during a last stand against the initial Syndic attack, Black Jack had been frozen in survival sleep, his escape pod damaged and drifting unnoticed amid the wreckage orbiting that star.

The Syndics always demanded more information. What did Black Jack want? What was he going to do? Very odd questions given their claim that Black Jack was dead, the Alliance Fleet destroyed, the Alliance defeated. Michael didn’t have to feign ignorance, though. He had no idea what Black Jack would do. After only two brief conversations with the hero from the past, Michael had learned just enough to realize that the “legend” of his great-uncle wasn’t the truth. But that didn’t tell him what the truth really was.

And so Michael lay on the bunk in his cell, playing games in his mind to keep from going insane as who knew how many days went by, trying not to imagine a rescue that would probably never come.

Remembering growing up. Being told again and again that he had to do better. That a Geary had to be the best. Knowing that his path in life led straight to the fleet, and would end there somewhere in the endless war. Rebelling against that, refusing to serve, would have dishonored not only him, but also his parents, tarnishing them and the sacrifices they had made, and that was unthinkable. He and his sister Jane had promised each other they wouldn’t marry anyone, wouldn’t have children, so there wouldn’t be another generation bound by that curse.

Remembering how he’d broken that promise, keeping it secret from almost everyone, and hating himself for it. Wishing he could have seen Kahoku again, wondering how their children were doing, wondering how they’d react if they ever learned their father’s real name. No. He had to protect them from the Geary curse. And that meant never letting them know.

Not that he was likely to ever have the chance to tell them. Not anymore. Odds were he’d die here.

As if triggered by his thoughts, a low hum told Michael the door to the cell was opening, sections of the wall dissolving to reveal a woman. She had on a black skin suit designed to be worn under Syndic battle armor, revealing she was a Syndic soldier. In one hand, she held a pistol that stayed aimed at Michael as she walked into the cell. Her face bore scars from old wounds and a hard expression that held no hint of mercy.

Michael sat up and turned on the bunk, facing her, numb with the weariness of his long confinement. “If your masters have finally decided to get rid of me, go ahead and take your shot.”

Her expression didn’t change. “You want to die with your precious honor intact? Not this day. A Geary is too valuable.”

Michael shrugged. “The Syndics have gotten nothing from me. You’ll get nothing from me.”

“Are you Black Jack’s scion?”

He’d been expecting a shot that would end his life, not a question he couldn’t understand. “His what?”

“His heir,” she said, her words as hard as her expression. “Are you like Black Jack?”

Why did that question make him want to laugh? “Like him?” Michael shrugged again. “I’ve walked in his shadow my whole life. You try having a great-uncle with a superhuman legend, and we’ll see how your self-confidence fares.” He paused, thinking. “But a lot of things change when you get to meet the man behind the legend.”

Michael looked at her, thinking that he should be honest with himself for once. “So, yeah, I guess I am like him. More like him than I ever wanted to admit. What does that matter to you?”

She lowered the weapon a bit, her eyes still fixed on him. “Because if you’re like Black Jack, I have a deal for you.”

Michael shook his head. “I don’t make any deals with Syndics.”

Her weapon came up again, aimed at his face. “My name is Executive Destina Aragon, commander of the 1233rd Assault Regiment. The Syndicate doesn’t know about this deal. I want you to help me capture a mobile forces unit—and help me and my troops to get home.”

A revolt? Alliance intelligence had reported on occasional mutinies by Syndic soldiers, always mercilessly crushed. But they happened sometimes when the Syndics demanded too much of their own “workers.” “You’re revolting against the Syndicate Worlds? And you need me to fly a captured Syndic spaceship?”

She nodded once, her eyes intent. “Decide, now. We’ve only got a few more minutes before the snake surveillance systems might realize I’m here.”

“Snake?”

“Syndicate Internal Security Service. Snakes. My unit wants to get back to Anahuac Star System. No Syndicate. Just us. Will you deal?”

Michael stared at her, trying to judge Aragon’s sincerity. “Why would you trust an Alliance officer?”

“I don’t,” Aragon said. “I’m offering a deal. Only because you’re a Geary. Black Jack is for the people. Maybe you are, too.”

For the people? What did that mean? Did this Syndic soldier think Black Jack was somehow sympathetic or supportive to Syndics? Why? “What’s in it for me?”

“You get us home,” she said. “Then the mobile unit is yours. You can go anywhere you want.” Her eyes narrowed and she stepped closer, the muzzle of her pistol nearly touching his face. “But if you betray us, you’ll wish I’d killed you here and now.”

Was this some trick by the Syndics? But to what purpose? He wasn’t being asked to betray the Alliance. He could stop cooperating at any time. And if the deal being offered was sincere, if these soldiers really were revolting against the Syndicate Worlds, helping them would hurt the Syndics. “All right,” Michael said. “Why not?” There was a way to test this woman’s sincerity. “But I can’t drive a spaceship alone. I’ll need help. Are there other Alliance prisoners of war here?”

She nodded, stepping back and lowering her weapon. “Fine. We’ll free all of the Alliance Fleet prisoners here as well.”

How deliberate was her wording? “All of the Alliance prisoners of war here. Ground forces, too.”

It was her turn to shrug. “All of them. Agreed. But they don’t get weapons. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Done. I’ll be back.” She turned to leave.

Michael stood up, suddenly realizing how much he wanted to know. “Wait! What happened? At least tell me what happened after my ship was destroyed!”

Aragon paused just outside the door of the cell, looking back at him with a slight, humorless smile. “They didn’t tell you? No, of course they wouldn’t.” She activated the door control, the wall between her and Michael beginning to solidify again. “The Alliance won. The Syndicate lost. And now we want to go home. Stay quiet. Act normal. I’ll be back.”

Michael stared at the solid wall where the door had been, the image of Aragon’s face fixed in his mind. The Alliance had won? The war had finally ended? How?

He finally had some answers, but all they did was create an avalanche of new questions.

Including whether or not Aragon had told him the truth, or simply told the lie she thought was needed to gain his cooperation.

* * *

Executive Destina Aragon didn’t pause before heading down the hall away from Michael Geary’s cell. She didn’t want to be near it if the snakes’ surveillance systems recovered from the special glitches her own hackers had slipped into the mix.

There was an art to walking in the Syndicate. It required a deliberate pace—not too fast, which would attract attention from the snakes or supervisors, and not too slow, which would make it look like someone was dragging their feet, and also draw the eyes of snakes and supervisors. She had seen images of Alliance worlds, seen how crowds of people moved at wildly different rates. It had felt weird and dangerous. In the Syndicate, a crowd of people all moved at the same pace, no one wanting to stand out. An Alliance POW had sneered that the people of the Syndicate Worlds were so regimented they moved in formations, when the truth was they moved that way voluntarily, hiding within a mass of others.

The walls she passed were uniformly drab except for colorful posters urging passersby to obey their superiors, to defeat the Alliance, to defend the homes and the families of Syndicate workers, and to serve in the Syndicate mobile forces or ground forces. The Syndicate had never informed its people that the war was officially over. Everyone knew, but no one was supposed to acknowledge it.

The phrase “for the people” was repeated frequently on the posters. Maybe that had really meant something once, a commitment of the leaders to serve those they led. But no one remembered such a time. “For the people” was a joke at the highest levels, a meaningless phrase the Syndicate repeated as if it still mattered.

But at the lower levels, even among executives, there were more and more who were trying to reclaim the motto, to make “for the people” mean something again. The irony wasn’t lost on her that Black Jack, hero of the Alliance, had proven to actually care about the workers the Syndicate’s own leaders treated like disposable parts.

Reaching the barracks where the remnants of the 1233rd Assault Regiment were quartered, she paused for just a moment. They’d started out with over two thousand soldiers. Only a little more than three hundred were left.

Supposedly, they were temporarily assigned security duty at this orbital prison that did not officially exist, augmenting the snakes who handled regular guard duties. The Syndicate had promised to send them home, having done their duty and paid an awful price in blood. But no one believed promises made by the Syndicate, and Aragon had found growing evidence that the remnants of her unit were intended for another combat mission against a very formidable opponent.

If they were going to die anyway, they might as well die trying to get home.

Aragon slammed open the hatch to the barracks. “I’m calling a surprise inspection. The workers have been getting slack. Half an hour. Full combat gear. Weapons safed. Everyone had better be ready.”

The unit sub-executives and senior workers jumped to their feet, saluting. “Yes, Executive Aragon,” they chorused.

Aragon paused to exchange a look with Sub-Executive Alarik Harbin, her second-in-command. He knew the entire plan. The rest of the unit would go along with her orders, but she’d needed Harbin to be a full participant, ready to act in special ways when her orders came in.

Harbin nodded to her. “We’ll be ready for the inspection, Executive Aragon.”

They were putting on a show for the snakes who monitored everything going on in the facility. Aragon had carefully learned all that she could about a special, sealed room that always held two snakes on watch. Those snakes would be reporting to the snake CEO who ran this place, telling her about the sudden inspection, that the soldiers would be donning their battle armor as if preparing for a fight. CEOs never objected to anything that looked like a crackdown on workers, though, and she’d be told the soldiers’ weapons would be inactive. The CEO would surely tell the snakes to keep a close eye on things and leave it at that.

They’d also be noticing that their surveillance systems were acting buggy, however. Aragon had made sure certain signs of someone attempting an apparently futile malware attack would be apparent to the snakes.

Aragon headed down the hallway again, this time aiming for the door to that special sealed room. She had spent the last couple of weeks pretending to clumsily flirt with one of the snakes who stood watches there every day, even though the act left her feeling unclean. But snakes were used to people offering favors in exchange for special deals. This one had been grinning and looking Aragon up and down, making sure she knew he was interested.

“Commander,” Harbin called over her comm link. “The unit is ready for inspection.”

“Understood, Sub-Executive Harbin,” Aragon said. “Two minutes. Bring them to attention now.”

Harbin knew what that meant. “Confirm. Two minutes. Bringing to attention now.”

The combat systems on the battle armor worn by her soldiers had been set to SAFE, unable to fire. At this moment, in response to her command to “bring them to attention,” Harbin would be shifting every set of battle armor to READY, all weapons active.

She reached the door to the sealed room, fixing a false smile on her face. Her pistol was still in one hand, but the surveillance software should still be unable to see it thanks to the malware her hackers had inserted. But more alerts would have appeared by now, warning the snakes that something was wrong. “I need to see you right away,” she called in on the intercom.

The image of the snake she’d been flirting with appeared. “Why? What do you want?”

“I may have some problems,” Aragon said. “Immediate problems.” It wasn’t too hard to look nervous as she spoke.

The snake shook his head slowly. “You know someone’s been messing with our systems? And you don’t want to take the fall for it? Motivate me, Executive. Why do I help you right away?”

“You get what you want from me right away,” Aragon said, smiling.

“I’m not alone in here,” the snake said.

I know, Aragon thought. “Then I can make you both happy,” she said.

The sealed door slid open.

Just before it finished opening, Aragon heard the snake speaking to his partner. “Relax. She’s unarmed.”

Another voice, that of the other snake, sounding worried. “If we let her in here…Hey, if someone’s been messing with the surveillance system, how do we know she’s unarmed?”

Her arm was already coming up, centering her aim on the forehead of the second snake, the slug from her pistol punching a hole between his eyes, her aim shifting slightly, putting two more slugs into the first snake while he was still realizing how stupid he’d been.

Stepping to the console, she dropped a data coin into the programming slot. Her hackers had sworn if given full access their malware would freeze all of the snake systems. “Sub-Executive Harbin,” Aragon called over her link, “the inspection will begin in thirty seconds. Get everyone in position.”

She watched the consoles, seeing the impact of the malware spreading.

“What’s going on in there?” someone called over the snake link. “Report!”

She stayed silent.

“Enter status code now!”

Aragon stepped to the door, glancing down the hall.

“Quick reaction force to the central surveillance room! I rep–”

The voice cut off as the malware finished locking out the snakes from their own systems. “Harbin, all snake surveillance and control systems are locked. I want every snake dead before they can unlock them.”

“Understood,” Harbin replied, his voice slightly rushed. He, and the rest of her soldiers, would be racing to hit the snakes before they realized there was a serious fight on their hands. “Be careful. You’re the only one out there without armor.”

Aragon spotted figures in light armor running down the hallway toward her and leaned out enough to fire, hitting the snake in the lead. A storm of answering shots came at her, forcing Aragon to duck back. “Yeah. I know.”

Slugs and energy bolts flayed the sides of the doorway as Aragon stayed back, extending her hand out far enough to fire blindly twice more down the hall, grateful that her opponents were regular snakes, not trained combat soldiers. If they’d been vipers, the combat branch of internal security, they’d already be charging toward the room while some of their number kept up fire to pin down Aragon.

The incoming fire slackened for just a moment, allowing Aragon to duck out for a moment and fire twice more.

She leaned against the inner wall of the door, seeing the outer frame fragmenting under the snake barrage. Regular snakes or not, they’d charge her soon. “I could use a little help here, Harbin.”

“On our way.”

“I need you here now!”

The incoming fire slackened.

Aragon risked another quick look. Harbin and twenty soldiers with him had arrived and opened fire on the snakes from the back and sides. “No quarter!” Harbin ordered as the soldiers closed with the snakes, using the power of their battle armor to literally crush the lightly armored snake battle suits. “Finish them!”

Some of the snakes bolted down the hall toward Aragon. She stepped out, firing. One of the snakes dropped, another grappled with her. As she put a shot into that snake’s faceplate, Aragon heard an impact behind her. Turning, she saw the last snake had been aiming at her, but was falling, a large hole in their helmet where Harbin’s shot had hit.

She turned to face Harbin and the other soldiers as they reached her. “Took you long enough to get here, Sub-Executive Harbin. I expect better work than meeting the bare minimum required.”

Harbin’s face was hidden behind his face shield, but she could hear his grin. “If the minimum wasn’t good enough, it wouldn’t be the minimum. No injuries?”

“One second later and you would have been senior executive in this unit,” Aragon said, hastily donning the battle armor the soldiers had brought for her.

“That’s why I hurried,” Harbin said. “I don’t want the job. Too many CEOs breathing down your neck.” He gestured toward the other soldiers. “You should commend the workers. They were pushing to get here as hard as I was.”

One of the soldiers laughed. “We just didn’t want Sub-Executive Harbin taking over, Executive Aragon. We’re used to you.” The other soldiers laughed as well, nervous excitement riding in their voices. They were finally getting to hit back at the snakes who had terrorized them all of their lives. The possible consequences of that were huge, but for the moment the workers were not thinking of the future, only the next few minutes and how many more snakes they might kill.

“That’s what happens when you’re not hard enough on your workers,” Harbin told Aragon. “They get insubordinate.”

“And they save your butt when it needs saving,” Aragon replied. “To hell with Syndicate management rules.” Her battle armor was booting up, the situation display still settling out. “How do things look?”

“Most objectives have been secured,” Harbin said. “But the snake vipers managed to armor up before we could neutralize them. They’re trying to fight their way in to link up with the security forces protecting the snake CEO.”

She could finally see on her display where her soldiers were, and where they were fighting. Aragon took off at a run, Harbin and the others following. “We have to take the snake CEO’s office fast, Harbin. They’ll be trying to bring all of their systems back online. And make sure there’s a unit protecting cellblock 333.”

“We need all of our forces against the vipers,” Harbin protested. “There are plenty of Alliance prisoners who can—”

“Only one of those prisoners is Black Jack’s scion. We need to keep him alive. He’s the only one of the Alliance scum who might keep his end of the bargain.”

But if they didn’t take the CEO’s office fast enough, that wouldn’t matter. Everyone knew snake CEOs had access to hidden nukes they could use as a final measure to halt a revolt. Technically, that “Armageddon option” was a secret, but the Syndicate had made certain that particular “secret” was widely known so it could serve as another deterrent to revolt. Right now, the control links to detonate the nuclear weapon concealed somewhere in this facility would be frozen. If the snakes got their systems working again…

“I’ve got a unit heading for the cellblock,” Harbin said.

“Good. I need you to be flexible,” Aragon told Harbin. “We weren’t able to make detailed plans with the snakes watching everywhere.” She aimed and fired in one motion, taking out an unarmored snake dashing for safety.

“We could have waited until our hackers could work up a way to permanently fry every snake subsystem,” Harbin protested.

A volley of shots told them they’d reached the vipers, who had forted up in a hallway blocking access to the CEO’s offices. Aragon returned fire, cursing, mentally tallying up the time being wasted in this fight. “It took us two months to plan this much!”

“Another month—” Harbin began, kneeling beside her to fire at the vipers.

“We didn’t have another month! Two days ago I found out that snake reinforcements are due here in less than three weeks.”

“Reinforcements? What would happen to us?”

One of her soldiers fell as a viper shot hit home.

“Rebellion suppression,” Aragon told Harbin. “Against Midway.”

“Going up against Drakon’s unit? That’s not combat. That’s suicide.”

“That’s why we didn’t have another month,” Aragon said. “And right now we don’t have another minute to waste.”

“We’re pinned down! They’ve got too much firepower!”

Sometimes the options were easy to decide, even if they were ugly. “There’s only one way in the time we have left to get our workers to charge.” She shifted her comms to speak to all of the soldiers with her. “How many of you want to die for the Syndicate? Because the Syndicate is planning to kill us. Anyone who wants a chance at life, or a chance to die fighting against the Syndicate… follow me!”

Aragon leapt up and charged toward the vipers despite the barrage of fire that greeted her, slugs ricocheting off of her armor, energy bolts hitting, damage alerts appearing on her display…

She heard a collective shout from her soldiers. “Aragon!” As she staggered from another hit, her soldiers were around her and passing her and in among the vipers, killing without mercy.

This was why she treated her workers as well as she could and still maintain discipline. Because she did that, at times like this they repaid her a thousandfold.

Aragon kept on her feet, staggering to keep up as her soldiers swept through the dead vipers and wiped out the regular snakes defending the CEO’s office.

As she came through the door, Aragon saw the CEO pounding her desk controls with one hand while firing a pistol wildly with the other. Then a half-dozen shots flung the CEO away from her desk to sprawl lifeless on the floor.

Aragon reached the desk, seeing a message still displayed. You are not connected to nuclear termination device detonation authorization. Try again? “She was trying to detonate the hidden nuke, but our hackers’ malware kept her out long enough. Is Michael Geary’s cell secure?”

“I sent a squad,” Harbin said. “Rispoli’s. They should be on site about now.”

A sudden worry caused Aragon to turn toward Harbin. “Did you tell them who they were supposed to guard? That it wasn’t just some average city-destroying Alliance scum officer?”

“No, Executive,” Harbin said, sounding offended. “I didn’t tell the workers anything they didn’t need to know.”

“They need to know he is Black Jack’s scion so they don’t ‘accidentally’ revenge kill him! Come on! We have to make sure he lives or we’ll be stuck here waiting for the Syndicate to give us traitors’ deaths.”

She took off at a run again, her injuries and fatigue forgotten. “Squad Supervisor Rispoli, respond!”

* * *

Michael Geary stood in the center of his cell, listening. Alarms had been sounding. Did that mean Aragon was taking action? He was used to battles where a warship’s sensors could see for millions of kilometers. Now there might be a war going on a few meters away and he could see nothing, do nothing.

Except wait, as a familiar hum warned him the door was opening.

Two Syndics in light armor started to enter, their weapons lining up on him.

Both staggered, twisting under multiple impacts. One slug tore past Michael, embedding in the wall behind him.

More Syndics, these wearing full battle armor, their weapons ready. The one in the lead took a menacing step toward Geary. “Alliance scum.”

“Where’s Aragon?” Michael asked. “Executive Aragon?”

The Syndics hesitated, their weapons not yet aimed at him. “How do you—? Wait. This is Rispoli. Yes, Executive. He’s Black Jack’s? I understand and will comply.”

The Syndics stepped back, their weapons still ready, but not directed toward him. Their attention seemed to be divided between watching him and watching the passageway outside of the cell, where other Syndics in full armor could be seen. Were they really guarding him? Michael waited, hearing the alarms shut off and wondering what that meant.

More Syndics arrived, the one in the lead wearing battle armor scarred by recent damage. “Lucky for you, my workers believe what I tell them,” Aragon told Geary. “Otherwise, one of them would have accidentally put a shot through your heroic head.”

Michael glared at her, triggered by a word he’d avoided ever using about himself. “It wasn’t heroism. You gave me your word. I trusted that you wouldn’t have your own soldiers kill me.”

“Trust is for fools,” Aragon scoffed. She tossed him a bundle that expanded into a lightweight survival suit. “I made a deal. I keep my deals. Get into that suit, fast. We have no time to waste.”

He pulled on the suit and its helmet, life support automatically coming on. Aragon moved the moment he was done, leaving him to follow, the Syndic soldiers following behind both of them. He wouldn’t have lagged anyway, but that escort still felt more like a threat than a protection.

As they moved through the halls, Michael saw piles of bodies. His suspicions that the ‘revolt’ might be some sort of trick faded a bit. It seemed unlikely even the Syndics could get away with murdering so many of their own in order to create an image of realism. “Lot of dead,” he said. “No mercy, even for your own, huh?”

“They’re not our own,” Aragon said, loathing easy to hear in her voice. “They were snakes. They never showed mercy to anyone. We showed none to them.”

The group ran out into a hangar where ranks of shuttles waited as well as a lot more soldiers. He guessed at least a couple of hundred Syndic soldiers were here, which might be a lot or too few depending on whatever Aragon was planning. “We’re leaving?” Michael demanded. “Where are the other Alliance prisoners?”

“They’ll follow us,” Aragon said as she led him into the nearest shuttle. “The first shuttle runs are all assault troops.”

“If they don’t come with us, I don’t take you anywhere!"

Aragon shoved him into a seat, the strength of her battle armor easily overcoming his resistance. “If we don’t take that mobile unit, nobody is going anywhere. Sit back, strap in, and shut up. I keep my bargains. I won’t tell you that again.”

He almost snapped back at her. Damn, arrogant Syndic. But Michael took a moment to calm himself, knowing that losing his temper wouldn’t help anything. If there was any chance Aragon would keep her promise to release other Alliance prisoners here, he had to keep this deal on track. Swallowing his pride would be a small price to pay. “At least tell me what the target is,” he said as the shuttle lurched into motion, rising and heading out of the hangar. “What sort of ship are you trying to hijack? A freighter? A Syndic troop transport? A passenger ship?”

Aragon raised her face shield so he could see her grin, the large scar on her right cheek more prominent because of the expression. “A freighter wouldn’t get us through Syndicate space in one piece. We need something big and tough.”

That smile of Aragon’s was really disturbing, Michael thought. “Big and tough? What the hell are you thinking? What’s our target?”

“A mobile forces unit.”

A warship? “There’s a Hunter-Killer or light cruiser near us?”

“Too small,” Aragon said. “Our target is a battle cruiser. We’re going to take a Syndicate battle cruiser.”

He stared at her, momentarily shocked into silence. “Ancestors save us,” Michael finally got out. “You’re crazy.”

Aragon’s smile didn’t waver. “Probably. Everybody dies sometime, Captain Michael Geary. Let’s find out if today is our day.”

Chapter Two

Given the insanity of what Aragon was proposing, Michael wondered if she was joking about their objective. Why should he believe anything a Syndic told him? But as the shuttle closed on their goal, the view on the display screen clearly revealed the massive, shark-like shape of a Syndic battle cruiser. Like Alliance battle cruisers, it was designed for speed and maneuverability, lacking the armor and some of the weaponry of battleships. With those savings in mass, the massive main propulsion units aft could swiftly accelerate a battle cruiser. It could catch anything it wanted to destroy, and outrun anything it wanted to avoid.

But right now this battle cruiser was only going in very, very large circles near the facility that had been Michael’s prison. He looked at another display, seeing a barren planet that both the prison and the battle cruiser were orbiting around. The planet reminded him of images from humanity’s early space exploration, showing what Mars had been like before terraforming made it habitable, a lifeless waste of rock and dust and thin sheets of ice near the poles. But with jump drives and the hypernet allowing easy interstellar travel, no one needed to waste resources anymore fixing barren worlds when nicer ones were always to be found around another star.

All of this time he’d been wondering where he was. Now he knew. Orbiting a nothing world in what was probably a nothing star system, the perfect place to hide prisoners the Syndicate Worlds didn’t want anyone knowing about. “What star system is this?” Michael asked Aragon.

She eyed him as if deciding whether to answer. “Augusta.”

“Augusta? I’ve never heard of it.”

“That’s because there’s nothing here worth hearing about.”

He looked toward their objective again, the battle cruiser growing in size as the shuttle drew nearer. “How many soldiers do you have?”

Aragon favored him with another of those unnerving smiles. “We had to leave some workers watching things at the prison. All the rest are going in with me. Two hundred and forty.”

“Two hundred and forty?” Michael repeated, not sure he’d heard right. “Are you insane, Aragon? Trying to capture a Syndic battle cruiser with a force this small?”

“Not ‘trying.’ We’re going to do it,” Aragon said.

“It’s impossible.”

“Maybe I know something you don’t.” She leaned closer to him for a moment, intimidating in her battle armor. “We made a deal, Geary. We get the mobile forces unit, you get us home. Are you backing out? Despite your word of honor?”

Michael felt his face warming with anger. “I’ll carry out my end of the deal, if we survive this. Honor still means something in the Alliance.”

“It means you’re an idiot,” Aragon said before flipping her face shield shut. The shuttle was very close to the battle cruiser now, the bulk of the warship’s hull looming ahead. “Let’s go!”

Her soldiers moved, leaping from the shuttle toward a narrow platform on the hull of the warship, Geary trying to stay with them, acutely aware of how flimsy his survival suit was compared to their battle armor.

Sailing alone through space had always terrified him, the infinite depths on all sides promising a slow death and an eternity of drifting for his remains if he missed his target.

He hit the side of the battle cruiser, trying to get a grip, rebounding back into space…

One of the soldiers grabbed him and pulled him back.

“Try not to drift off,” Aragon told Geary. “Hackers, I want in now.”

“We’re in, Executive!” another voice called over the circuit. “Access codes overridden.”

Massive loading hatches swung open, revealing wide cargo hangars. The soldiers swarmed inside, landing amid crates secured to the deck. “Seems no one’s expecting us,” a Syndic woman commented.

“Don’t be overconfident, Sub-Executive Nedele. Our luck won’t hold forever. Stay alert.” Geary saw Aragon, distinctive in her battle-scarred armor, looking around. “How does it look, Harbin?”

A man’s voice replied. “We’re ready, Executive.”

Geary stared about the hangar, wondering why no one had come to check on the opened loading hatches. Where was the crew? Syndic warships didn’t have crews as large as Alliance warships did, but a battle cruiser should still have five or six hundred.

A moment later, Aragon answered his unspoken question as she called out orders. “Listen up! There’s only a skeleton crew aboard this mobile unit. All snakes. All of them complacent, thinking they’ve got nothing to fear. Hit them fast before they realize we’re aboard. Make sure they don’t manage to hole up inside the citadels. My group will take the bridge. Harbin, take engineering. Nedele, fire control.”

“Do we need prisoners?” Harbin asked. “To operate the ship?”

“They’re all snakes,” Aragon repeated. “No prisoners. Operating the ship is why we have Black Jack’s scion with us. All units, go!”

Aragon pulled Michael Geary into motion so he was running alongside her as their group of soldiers poured out of the hangar and into a wide passageway. He fought down another burst of anger at the way she was yanking him around, realizing that she was ensuring he was safe during this fight by keeping him close to her. Approaching a wide cross-corridor, they saw two figures walk into sight and stare at the oncoming soldiers. A flurry of shots knocked both sprawling before either could react.

“Why aren’t you trying to take them prisoner to operate the ship instead of depending on me?” Geary asked Aragon as the group turned the corner, the two dead snakes staring sightlessly at the passing figures.

“Weren’t you listening?” Aragon said, her words sharp and fast. “There are only snakes aboard. They won’t surrender, we won’t take them prisoner, and we couldn’t trust them even if we let some live. Now shut up and try not to get killed.”

Michael shut up, trying to stay close to Aragon as the soldiers headed for the bridge. He knew what the Syndics were trying to do. Syndic warships were designed with interior, armored citadels protecting critical command areas. One citadel was in engineering, a second in the fire control area, and the third was the bridge, where the ship’s senior officer would be. According to what he’d heard, the citadels weren’t intended only to defend against Alliance boarding parties. They were also protection against mutiny by the crew of the ship, because the Syndics didn’t trust the “workers” they exploited and mistreated.

But he doubted the Syndic designers had expected this strong of an attack on a warship that had so few defenders aboard.

Maybe Aragon wasn’t crazy after all. Maybe she had the cunning of a veteran who had survived this long in a war that ate lives like an insatiable monster.

Patched into the communications net being used by Aragon and her soldiers, Michael heard the assault teams hitting engineering and the fire control spaces.

“Traitors!” an unfamiliar voice screamed on the circuit, high pitched with outrage and fear. “Your families will suffer!”

“Snakes already killed my family,” a woman shouted in reply.

“Trai–” The voice cut off with an agonized grunt as the snake died.

“I’ve waited a long time for this,” another soldier said, the sound of weapons firing audible in the background.

Michael saw the entry to the bridge was right ahead. He was still running with Aragon, and suddenly all too aware that he was probably the only person on this ship without a gun. “Give me a weapon!”

“Move it, Alliance slug,” Aragon called in reply. But her hand moved to draw her pistol and toss it to him.

They spilled onto the bridge, where three snakes were huddled around the command seats. All three died as they tried to bring up their weapons.

Michael heard another shot behind him and spun about to see a fourth snake had been aiming at him, but was falling. One of Aragon’s soldiers stepped closer and fired again at the prone snake.

“Thanks, Syndic,” Geary said.

The soldier turned to look at him. “You’re welcome, Alliance scum.”

For at least the second time today, he owed his life to a Syndic. Michael paused to catch his breath, wondering what that meant.

Aragon was speaking again as she paced about the bridge. “Harbin, Nedele, status.”

“Engineering secured.”

“Fire control secured.”

A soldier at one of the bridge consoles waved to Aragon, who came over to look. “Harbin, Nedele, I’m tagging the locations of a few snakes still left alive. Looks like they’re asleep in their quarters. Each of you detach a squad to deal with them.”

Geary walked to what he thought was the secondary command seat, looking at the unfamiliar display. “It looks like the, uh, snakes were trying to trigger a power core overload.”

“Probably,” Aragon said. “Armageddon response to a successful mutiny. Harbin would have blocked the commands in engineering, though. We were ready for standard snake tactics.” She pointed at the controls. “Can you operate these?”

“I think so,” Michael said. He tried a tentative command, seeing the expected response. “But we’re not going anywhere until you enter the codes to activate these controls.”

Aragon turned to some of the soldiers with her. “Hackers. We need into these controls. Now.”

The soldiers straightened and rendered Syndic salutes, rapping their left breasts with their clenched right fists. “We understand and will comply, Executive Aragon.”

“You don’t have the codes,” Michael said, gazing unhappily about the bridge.

“Not yet,” Aragon said. “My workers are good. They’ll get the codes. See anything familiar? Have you ever been aboard a Syndicate battle cruiser?”

“Yeah,” Michael said, images of blood and death filling his memory. “A boarding action.”

“Did you win, Captain Michael Geary?”

“Yeah, we won,” Michael said. “Then we evacuated the ship and blew it up.”

“Sure you did,” Aragon said. “After how many of you died capturing it?”