Leviathan: Book 8 of the Legacy Fleet Series Read online

  “Initiating final q-jump now, Admiral,” said Ensign Destachio.

  The familiar swirl in her gut subsided as the extreme quantum effect of the q-jump passed, and when she looked up to the viewscreen the placid star field had been replaced by hell.

  “My god,” she murmured.

  What looked like the wreckage of an entire fleet’s worth of ships hung in orbit over the planet.

  “Scan for signs of hostile targets, Commander Urda.”

  “Aye, aye, Admiral.” The XO motioned to the tactical station to get to it. Moments later, “Nothing that our sensors can detect, Admiral. Scanning all bands. Nothing in neutrons or gravitational waves. And . . . nothing in meta-space that we can detect. All EM sources consistent with, well, lots of wrecked ships.”

  “Identity of the ships? Can we zoom in on any of the nameplates?”

  “Yes ma’am.” Commander Urda pointed at one of his staff who dutifully pecked away at his console. Before long the view screen at the front of the bridge shifted and zoomed in.

  “BDFS Hammer,” Proctor said, squinting to make out the words behind the intense carbon scoring across the wrecked hull plate. The view screen shifted again to another piece of wreckage. “BDFS Harold Litvinyenko,” she said.

  “All the ships here look to be part of the Bellarus Defense Fleet. Mostly light cruisers and small corvettes, but the Hammer was their flagship,” said Urda.

  “Anything else?”

  “Scanning, ma’am,” replied Urda. “Yes, ma’am, detecting other ship designs. Definitely not Bellarus designs, or anything IDF.”

  “Alien?”

  “Possibly, ma’am. Several destroyed ships look like nothing in the registry.”

  She pointed up at the screen. “Show me.”

  The camera zoomed in on what was left of a small vessel. Random plumes of gas erupted from fissures in the hull as interior compartments vented to space, and debris slowly drifted away from it due to its slow uncontrolled rotation. It had been sleek and deadly, dotted with instruments, guns, and cannons, everything protruding from the exterior as if the ship were never designed to enter atmosphere. But now it was a wreck of twisted metal and coolant lines.

  “Never seen anything like it. Not Dolmasi, or Skiohra, for that matter.” She turned back to Urda. “Life signs? On any of the vessels?”

  “Still scanning, but nothing yet, ma’am.”

  “Let me know if you find something.” She turned to the comms officer. “Ensign Sampono, get me someone on the surface. The Prime Minister, preferably, or the military commander. I want to know what happened here.”

  “Yes ma’am, I’ll see what I can do,” she said. A minute passed, and she shook her head, which continued shaking every thirty seconds or so until she turned back to Proctor. “Ma’am, the city center of the capital looks bombed out. Orbital strike, from the looks of it. I can’t get anyone there, and I’m not finding anything on emergency channels. Same with the BDF fleet HQ. I mean, it was in the blast zone too, so . . .”

  “Dammit,” said Proctor. “So, possibly no functioning government, no military chain of command. This was a shitshow and a half, apparently. Can you hear anything on the general bands? Surely there are survivors.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m listening in on radio frequencies and it’s a mess. Power vacuum, casualties, fires, search and rescue operations—it sounds like a total breakdown of civil society right now.”

  “My god,” breathed Proctor. “I want to know immediately if another ship shows up, and if they do, go to highest alert level, Lieutenant.”

  “Aye aye, Admiral,” said Urda.

  “But at least we can breathe a little easier—this most likely wasn’t a Swarm strike.”

  “Appears that way, ma’am. There are plenty of planetary defense fleets and breakaway rogue groups that may have altered existing ship designs, ma’am.”

  She nodded her agreement. “In the power vacuum of recent days and months, it wouldn’t surprise me that some of those groups are staking their claims. Surely there was a last man standing here. I want to find the surviving ship or ships. I’ve got a feeling this wasn’t the Swarm.”

  SHELBY.

  The voice of her companion blared in her head. It had been a few days since they’d talked. After the battle of Penumbra it had been completely silent for weeks, leading her to think it had somehow left her body, until it spoke up again recently. The arrival of the Findiri and the reappearance of the Swarm had apparently spurred the being to let go of its mistrust of her, at least tentatively.

  Yes?

  SOMETHING IS OFF HERE.

  Off? What does that mean?

  I DON’T KNOW. WE ARE STILL IN A PROCESS OF RELEARNING ALL OUR RACE USED TO KNOW ABOUT HUMANITY. BUT WE STILL HAVE MUCH TO LEARN.

  She stood up. “I’ll be in my ready room.”

  The corridor outside the bridge was empty except for the two marines standing guard. When the door to her ready room closed behind her she poured herself a cup of coffee.

  Tell me more. Do you think it was the Swarm that attacked this world?

  NO. YOUR INSTINCTS WERE CORRECT. THIS WAS NOT THE ROGUE SWARM SHIP. THIS IS . . . CIVIL WAR, I’D SAY. BUT SOMETHING IS OFF. MORE I CANNOT VENTURE TO GUESS.

  Very well. She supposed it needed more time to sort out whatever it was sensing from the survivors of the battle.

  I’m sorry I’ve ignored you. It’s been a rough few days.

  I UNDERSTAND.

  Groaning, rubbing her stiff knees, she sat in the chair and waved the computer terminal on. Before she could do anything more, the door chimed. The conversation with her companion would have to wait.

  “Come in.”

  Ensign Sampono opened the door, tentatively. “Ma’am?”

  “Ensign? Something wrong?”

  The young woman shut the door behind her and stood there with her mouth half open, as if searching for words, deciding on which to use, then reconsidering.

  “Sapphira? What happened?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. I shouldn’t be bothering you. I’ll talk to . . . someone else—”

  “Ensign, sit down. Come. Talk. That’s an order.” She pointed to the chair across the desk from her.

  The woman took a few steps forward and slowly sank into the chair. “It’s just—my brother lives down there. On Bellarus.”

  “Oh my god. I’m sorry, Sapphira. Do you know anything? Is he okay?” She realized as she said the words it was a stupid question. There was no way to know anything at that point. The capital was wrecked, tens of thousands—possibly hundreds of thousands—were dead, and search and rescue was probably only just getting started.

  “I don’t know, ma’am. He’s my twin. We used to be close. He was my best friend. But . . . that was a long time ago and now I haven’t talked to him in years. All I know is that he lives on Bellarus with his girlfriend. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be this upset. I shouldn’t let it interfere with my work. I just . . . was having a lot of trouble back there, on the bridge—”

  “No need for apologies, Sapphira. You’re human. You’re worried about your brother. IDF officers are permitted to have feelings.”

  “But what if it interferes in my performance? I was slow back there, and distracted. What if it was another battle or something?”

  My god, she’s so young. Proctor studied the young woman’s face. She couldn’t be older than twenty-five. Medium-length dark hair, bound up into a sensible style appropriate for a bridge officer. Deep furrows on her brow spoke of deep concern and pain.

  “Ensign, when the guns start firing, rest assured you’re not going to be thinking about anything other than how to stay alive. And when that happens, your training kicks in, we act as a team, and we kick ass. Got it?”

  Sampono cracked a small smile. “Yes, Admiral, I suppose so.”

  “Suppose? You sure as hell better kick ass. Its why I chose you and the rest of the team on the bridge.”

  “You . . . chose me?”
r />   “Of course I chose you. You don’t get to be the former fleet admiral of IDF and save Earth twice without getting a few perks. I chose the best, Ensign. The Independence is no place for anything less.”

  “But why me, Ma’am? You hardly know me. I mean, if you don’t mind me asking—”

  She was interrupted by the comm. “Admiral Proctor to the bridge, we’ve got a situation, ma’am.”

  She stood up, just minutes after sitting down. Beside her knees, the ankle she’d broken on Bolivar several months ago ached, and she winced. “One of these times, Ensign, they’re not going to miss.”

  “Ma’am?” Sampono followed her to the door.

  “I was nearly assassinated on Bolivar three months ago. Did you know that? And since then I’ve had no fewer than four different races take a shot at me. Human. Swarm. Dolmasi. Eru. Every single time I managed to wiggle my way out and live another day. And my body is starting to show the scars.”

  The door opened and she paused.

  “Ma’am?” Sampono repeated.

  “One of these days, they won’t miss, Sapphira. And by then, I want you ready. Understood?”

  The ensign visibly gulped. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Proctor waved her forward into the corridor and toward the bridge. “Then let’s see what fresh hell they’ve served up today, shall we?”

  They entered, saluting the marines, and she took her seat at the command console, glancing over at Urda.

  “Found a survivor of the battle, Admiral. Detecting a fighter in the vicinity. Lightly damaged—it’s not going anywhere—but it’s intact, and the pilot is alive.”

  “Ensign Sampono?”

  “Yes, ma’am, trying to raise him . . .”

  Another moment passed before the bridge’s speakers blared out a voice. “IDF? Thank god.” The man coughed several times.

  Proctor stood up and faced the screen, which had zoomed in on the tiny fighter—it looked to be in a slow spin. “This is Admiral Shelby Proctor of the ISS Independence. Identify yourself, please.”

  The coughing continued. To Proctor’s ears, it sounded rather wet.

  “Do you need medical assistance?”

  More coughing. Then, “I . . . I think so. Might have a few holes in me . . .”

  “If you’re able, get into our shuttle bay. Sending coordinates now.”

  More coughing. At first the fighter didn’t move, but then its remaining engine fired up and it angled toward the Independence.

  “What’s your name? What fleet are you in?” she asked, hoping to keep him focused and awake.

  “Commander Piotr Petrovich.” More coughing. “Bellarus defense fleet . . . I— sorry, Admiral, vision’s a little . . . starry.”

  “Stay with me, Commander Petrovich. Make the landing and we’ll get you patched up.”

  The fighter was about a kilometer out from the bay, closing the gap slowly. She held her breath as she watched it approach, hoping against hope that the man could stay conscious long enough.

  “He’s in, Admiral,” said Urda.

  “Dispatch medical team, and an engineering crew to the shuttle bay—I want a forensic scan of that thing. Any data we can get about what happened here.”

  “Aye, ma’am.”

  She headed toward the exit. “I’ll be in sickbay. And after I’ve interviewed our guest, I’ll be conferring with our other guest.” She glanced over at Ensign Sampono. “Ensign, with me.” Their conversation was not over. But gone were the days she could have the luxury of a laid-back conversation in her ready room. All her meetings now had to be on the go.

  The doors closed behind them and the marines stationed outside saluted. So many things were calling out for her attention at once. Findiri, Quiassi, Haws, Tim, Eru, Trit, Valarisi, Oppenheimer, betrayal, Swarm, and now, Bellarus.

  I’m going to need your help through all this. I can’t do it alone.

  WE KNOW, SHELBY. I’M SURE BEFORE LONG YOU’LL FIND US INDISPENSIBLE.

  Good. Somehow, I know that if you’re there—you and all your people—we’ll figure this all out.

  WE WILL.

  The doors to the lift opened and she entered. “Focus on what’s in front of you, Shelby,” she told herself. Figure out if Bellarus was Swarm-related, or Findiri-related, and if not, move on to the next steps. And the next steps involved meeting with President Sepulveda down in his quarters and figuring out what the hell to do with him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sol System

  Earth, Lower Manhattan

  UE Assembly Hall

  “. . . and faithfully execute the office of the President of United Earth, and support and defend its charter and the rule of law, so help me God.”

  Danny watched Senator Cooper—President Cooper—extend a hand to the Chief Justice of United Earth’s Supreme Court, and then turn to wave at the audience of congresspeople and dignitaries assembled in the Senate chamber of UE’s assembly hall. When she finished, she walked toward the podium as if to deliver her first presidential address, but stopped in her tracks halfway there.

  “Well that wasn’t subtle,” he whispered to Fiona Liu, seated next to him near the back. He watched Director Talus stop her with a raised hand, then motioned her to sit in the chair he’d been using behind the podium. “He’s reminding humanity who the real leader is now.”

  “Shh!” She side-eyed him, and in his head he heard her voice. Shut the hell up. You have no idea who is sitting nearby that is a sympathizer. Collaborators. You think Oppenheimer acted alone?

  No, you’re right, my bad.

  “Fellow citizens of United Earth. I am Director Talus, the head of what you call the Findiri fleet, or what I call the wayward sons of Earth finally come home. By now you know that President Cooper’s predecessor was killed during the unfortunate accident at Donnelly station. While we mourn President Sepulveda, we acknowledge the just laws of United Earth, which hold that after a general election is called, and the incumbent dies, that his challenger automatically assume the post. Being a nation of laws, I endorse this transition, and pledge my support to President Cooper.”

  He turned to look at her and began to slowly clap. The rest of the hall followed suit, though without the cheers and whistles that would normally accompany such an occasion.

  “In her first act as president, she has asked me to head the combined armed forces of the Integrated Defense Fleet, the Findiri fleet, and all planetary defense fleets of member worlds. Additionally, she calls upon the Russian Confederation and the Chinese Intersolar Democratic Republic to honor their historical commitments to United Earth, and combine their forces with ours, as we stand together against the coming threat.”

  Oh god, he’s playing that card? Join us so we can stop the bad guys together? he thought to Fiona.

  Smart man.

  Man?

  Sure looks like old Commander Haws to me.

  It can’t be. Aunt Shelby swore up and down, right and left, that he died on the Constitution thirty-one years ago.

  She turned to him. Well I guess there’s one way to settle this.

  He stared back. You’ve got to be kidding. Dig him up?

  No! Good Lord, Danny, haven’t you heard of subsurface scanners?

  Oh.

  “. . . but as Titan was about to collide with our beloved Britannia, we have evidence that a Swarm ship managed to take advantage of the gigantic forces involved, travelled from their universe to ours at that precise moment, and q-jumped away with seconds to spare. That Swarm ship is now loose within our space, threatening all of human civilization. But this time, my fellow citizens, you are not alone. My brethren, the Findiri, are here. And this time, together, we will stop them before they can wreak so much destruction across our worlds. This time, the bumblings and errors of Tim Granger and Shelby Proctor won’t cause the deaths of billions. This time we will be victorious—TOGETHER!” He shouted this last part, and instead of the mild clapping, an unnervingly large number of congresspeople, senators, and dignitar
ies stood and cheered.

  Huh. Well at least this is helping us know who our enemies are.

  Fiona nodded, but stood to clap. They had to keep up appearances, of course. As President Cooper’s now-official head of security, Fiona Liu needed to make sure her loyalties were obvious and impeccable.

  They were with Cooper, of course, who had gamely agreed with President Sepulveda to play the part, to allow the Findiri to install her as their puppet, and thus have insight into the inner workings of the upper Findiri echelon.

  Danny?

  He glanced left and right out of habit, but then recognized his aunt’s mind speaking to his through the Valarisi Ligature.

  Aunt Shelby? What happened at Bellarus? Was it the Swarm?

  No. It was something else, and we’re still trying to figure it out. Safe for now, though. And you two? The meta-space transmission of the inauguration hasn’t come through yet.

  She was just sworn in, so mission accomplished, I guess. But Talus shoved her aside and is giving a speech of his own. Has Sepulveda made any headway?

  Very little. He’s still very much underground—we can’t have anyone know he’s alive at the moment. We’re still trying to figure out how to get him mobile and assembling an alliance without attracting attention.

  Well, let us know what we can do. Hey . . . hold on, he’s saying something you might want to hear—

  “. . . understandable that there is hesitation and confusion amongst your ships and crews. Who to trust? Who to believe? Which orders to follow? Many of you trust former Admiral Proctor and former Captain Granger and their associates, and would tend to follow their orders out of duty and loyalty. But we are a nation of laws, and your president, your commander in chief, and your Fleet Admiral Oppenheimer all hereby order you to seize your vessels if currently commanded by a captain who puts your ship at odds with the law, and return them to either Wellington Station in the Britannia System, or here at Yarbrough Station over Earth.”

  He’s calling on all officers to mutiny on their captains if they follow you, Aunt Shelby.