Fractured Horizons (Savage Stars Book 2) Read online

  Fractured Horizons

  Savage Stars Book 2

  Anthony James

  Contents

  The Vengeance

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Fortune

  Other Science Fiction Books by Anthony James

  © 2020 Anthony James

  All rights reserved

  The right of Anthony James to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed upon the subsequent purchaser

  Illustration © Tom Edwards

  TomEdwardsDesign.com

  The Vengeance

  The alien warship Vengeance was parked on the western fringe of the Adamantine base’s enormous landing field. Surrounding the vessel’s 1200-metre length were hastily erected walls of lightweight metal sheeting to prevent ground-level observation of the activity concentrated on the spaceship. The Human Planetary Alliance was already deep in the crap and neither the Representation, nor the military’s high command were ready to deal with the consequences if the wider population got wind of the existence of an as-yet unencountered third species. The Daklan alone were more than the HPA could handle.

  Viewed from above – where the walls didn’t reach - the dark alloy vessel, with its angled plates of combat-scarred armour, gave the impression it was crouching low to the reinforced concrete, like a fierce predator waiting to pounce.

  In and around the spaceship, thousands of personnel swarmed, from maintenance crews to technical teams, weapons designers and many other specialists. Each team had its own area of expertise, but the overriding goal was to unlock the secrets of the alien technology in order that humanity could copy it and put it to use against the Daklan.

  In the two weeks since Captain Carl Recker brought the Vengeance back from the far planet Tanril, the work had continued ceaselessly. So far, the efforts had come up short. The spaceship was packing weapons – missiles, countermeasures and other types unknown – but Recker’s security clearance he’d obtained when first activating the alien vessel didn’t permit him to use them or even to learn their capabilities. It was frustrating for everyone.

  Meanwhile, the Daklan continued whittling at the understrength human fleet and only a few hours ago news had come through that the aliens had knocked out the defensive fleet protecting a major ternium ore processing facility a short lightspeed jump from Fortune – a planet with a population of twelve billion. Every day that went by, the risk data became less palatable and it seemed inevitable the Daklan would soon locate a major HPA population centre. What would happen after that didn’t bear thinking about.

  High up and alone on one of the base’s small passenger shuttles, Recker studied the warship’s aggressive lines and angles, with a mixed sense of yearning and anger. He knew it wasn’t his spaceship, but damnit, he was the only one who could fly it. Unbelievably, he’d been only reluctantly included in the investigation and in a fringe role. The HPA was at total war, and still the pettiness continued.

  Spotting something emerge from the back of an armoured transporter vehicle, Recker adjusted the focus on the underside sensor and followed the progress of a two-metre cube-shaped obliterator processing core as it floated on its own gravity propulsion towards the Vengeance’s forward boarding ramp.

  The core was a new design – built specifically to smash through encrypted data arrays – and had been brought from Earth on the battleship Sledgehammer, which had landed only an hour ago and then departed from Lustre, its destination known only to high command.

  Recker had a feeling that the obliterator core would be no more successful at extracting the warship’s secrets than anything else the military had tried so far. What would happen afterwards, he had no idea. Just perhaps, Fleet Admiral Solan would - in the interests of the HPA - put an end to his own son’s manipulation of Recker’s career. It hadn’t happened yet and didn’t seem likely now.

  Realizing the situation was chewing him up, Recker turned off the autopilot and banked the shuttle towards one of the vacant landing pads in the built-up area of Adamantine. The base mainframe sent him a friendly reminder that the density of air traffic meant he should hand off control. Not wishing to pick an argument with a computer, Recker agreed and sat back while the mainframe guided him towards his destination.

  Although it had the benefit of precision, the flight control system didn’t take risks and the return journey took a couple of minutes longer than if Recker had been flying the shuttle on manual. During the flight, he reflected on this frustrating period. The military didn’t have a warship for him, leaving him a man with no duties beyond the interminable day-to-day activity of inbox maintenance and whatever busywork came his way.

  More than anything, Recker wanted to be out in space, fighting the enemy. When that opportunity would come again, he didn’t know. It was beginning to feel like he’d been permanently side-lined, forgotten and left to moulder, despite his hard-fought victories at Etrol and Oldis.

  With the slightest thump from its compressing landing legs, the transport set down and Recker exited onto the landing pad. The overhead sun blazed and the buildings which rose all around seemed to trap the heat and magnify it, making him feel an immediate prickling of sweat on his scalp.

  Halfway across the landing pad, the communicator in Recker’s pocket started vibrating, whilst playing its irritating alert tune which he never remembered to change. He dragged the device out of his pocket, flipped it open and stared briefly at the words on the screen.

  Outer Admin 7. Sub-5. Room 12-C. Immediately. Telar.

  Admiral Telar had something for him. Whatever it was, Recker was sure it would significantly increase the chance of his death, though in the circumstances any change was welcome. He quickened his stride.

  Chapter One

  The subterranean levels of Outer Admin 7 were more akin to a prison in appearance. The stark, undecorated corridors were lit too brightly and the sound of Recker’s footsteps echoed crisply off the smooth floor, which was covered in a hard-wearing, light green composite material, patterned in a bad replica of natural stone. Signs dangled overhead, directing personnel to such enticing destinations as Stats & Sys 3 and Storage & Repository 4-9.

  Security-locked alloy doors broke up the walls at regular intervals, hiding secrets which Recker had no interest in unearthing. The breakout areas no longer contained seating – anything spare had been ripped out to furnish the newly occupied offices – and clusters of forlorn personnel queued at the replicators, hoping to find
solace in reconstituted proteins and orange-coloured fluids that tasted almost like fruit.

  If the temperature above the surface had been too hot, here on Sub-5 it was the opposite. The natural chill exuded by the metal-clad rock from which the underground passages had been hewn was heightened by the constantly droning air conditioning, making the place uncomfortably cold. Recker hardly noticed and headed towards Room 12-C, which the map on his pocket communicator informed him was found along a turning from one of the main corridors.

  Only two weeks ago, this underground warren was half-empty – a place mostly forgotten and ignored, home to a few teams of lesser-known branches of research or statistical analysis. The personnel in these teams were uncharitably referred to as eggheads – the sort who got excited by spreadsheets, yet who nevertheless had an important role in the military.

  Following the transition to total war, space was suddenly at a premium and, as he made his way through the passages, Recker was forced to avoid numerous flustered-looking former civilians, who hurried this way and that as they became accustomed to their new home.

  As he neared his destination, a woman carrying a huge box of files, with a framed photo of a smiling family perched on top, veered unexpectedly and nearly collided with him. She apologised, asked for directions and then resumed her travels to one of the offices in a faraway corner.

  By the time he approached the corridor leading to Room 12-C, Recker’s patience was wearing thin and he asked himself for the dozenth time why the hell Admiral Telar had chosen to host the meeting down here – underground and in one of the minor administration buildings on the edge of the base -instead of one of the countless more easily-accessible locations elsewhere on Adamantine.

  He entered a passage which was wider than most others and flanked on both sides by doors. Armed guards in full combat suits stood watchfully as a small army of site maintenance operatives brought computers, cabinets, communicators and all manner of other kit, into the offices.

  “Sir?” asked one man, an admirably alert corporal with pale blue eyes and a nose which had been broken at least once in the past. The soldier held his rifle with reassuring ease.

  “Captain Recker. I’m expected. 12-C, Telar.”

  The man didn’t even check a handheld for confirmation. “Yes, sir. This way,” he said, turning and marching along the passage.

  Recker followed and the soldier stopped outside Room 12-C.

  “This was all done at short notice,” said the man without turning. “And they’re having problems updating the security, so I’ll have to get you through the door.”

  With that, he brushed his gloved fingertips over the access panel and the door opened. The soldier disappeared inside and emerged ten seconds later.

  “All yours, sir. The Admiral will see you.”

  “Thanks,” said Recker, brushing past.

  Beyond the door, a short passage led to a second door, this one already open. Recker didn’t stand timidly on the threshold and he entered without introducing himself.

  “Carl,” said Telar mildly. “Take a seat.”

  Recker glanced around the room, wondering if this was meant to be a permanent home, or a place for whichever transient officer happened to get here first. The room was as uninspiring as was possible to imagine, with grey painted walls, a green-tiled floor, a desk and a few pieces of tech, some of which hadn’t yet been connected to the base network.

  The indicated seat appeared to be one of those taken from the breakout areas and Recker lowered himself carefully onto the meagre padding. His sitting position was so low that Admiral Telar was completely hidden by his desktop communicator.

  “I’ll stand, sir,” said Recker, returning to his feet.

  “As you will.” Telar was dressed formally in blue and he looked out of place in the drab surroundings. “I’m sure you’ve asked yourself why I chose level Sub-5 as the location for one of my new offices.”

  “A trigger point got breached,” said Recker, wondering why he hadn’t guessed the answer sooner. “Somewhere, a computer or a research team came up with a risk figure that suggested the likelihood of a Daklan attack on one of our bases became too high to ignore. The mitigation is to stay away from the usual command and control areas and go underground.”

  Telar smiled thinly. “And if the risk figure climbs much further, I’ll soon have to abandon this office and find one off-base.”

  “Topaz station?”

  “Or Amethyst.”

  “I’ve been here too long, sir,” said Recker, not one to hang back in a discussion. “You told me if I didn’t cause any trouble, I’d have a new ship and a chance to discuss matters with Admiral Solan.”

  “Discuss? I recall your intention was to land a spaceship on his car and fire a full cluster of Ilstrom missiles through his window and into his display case of undeserved medals,” Telar quoted mildly.

  “You promised me a spaceship, sir,” Recker repeated accusingly.

  “To kill the Daklan, Captain. Not to commit an act of murder on a superior officer.”

  “Instead,” Recker continued as if he hadn’t heard, “I’ve been grounded for two weeks, while a thousand technicians poke around on the Vengeance, which is security-keyed to my biometrics. Two weeks wasted because of a personal vendetta from…” He paused, unable to recall exactly when his issues with Gabriel Solan had started. “Years ago,” he finished.

  “We’ll discuss these matters later,” said Telar with an edge to his voice.

  Recker had no intention of alienating Telar and he took a deep breath. “The fleet has spare riots, sir. I watched the technical teams complete the handover of one last week.”

  “Who’s to say there’s a mission for that spaceship to go on?” asked Telar softly.

  “The fleet is still on defensive duties only?” asked Recker. He’d done some digging but had no access to the flight plans from other military bases away from Lustre.

  “I didn’t say that.” Telar raised a hand when he saw that Recker was about to object. “We’ll return to your question shortly. Are you aware of the change in the command structure?”

  The question caught Recker by surprise. “No, sir.”

  Telar nodded in apparent satisfaction. “The details were only finalised yesterday. I’d hate to think our security protocols weren’t up to the task of keeping top-level planning away from the watching eyes of the entire military.”

  The man’s cynicism was grounded in truth and it was an old joke that if you asked any soldier in the HPA what Fleet Admiral Solan had for breakfast during his morning meeting with the Representation, they’d have a ninety percent chance of providing the correct answer.

  “In order to ensure continuity in the event of a Daklan attack, certain responsibilities and accountabilities have been updated.” Telar smiled, though it lacked humour. “As of late yesterday, I was given sole command of the Adamantine facility, including the shipyard.”

  It was a significant increase in Telar’s personal authority, but also came with other, more worrying implications.

  “This sounds like we’re planning for defeat, sir.”

  “You don’t think that’s wise, Captain?”

  Recker shook his head. “Not if it distracts us from turning the war around. We’ve swapped one commander for a dozen.”

  “I understand why you might have that impression. However, we’ve always had dozens of competing decision makers, Carl. The Representation likes to have its say on how the tax money of our citizens is spent.”

  “And how have things changed now, sir?”

  “Not everyone in high command is so easily blown by the wind.” Telar let that hang in the air for a moment. “I assure you, the most important elements of the military are now pulling in the right direction.”

  Recker tried to grasp the underlying message – the words that Telar wasn’t saying. He felt himself going cold at the possibilities. It sounded like Fleet Admiral Solan had been railroaded by his officers into accepting
a new approach.

  “Does that mean I can get more involved with work on the Vengeance, sir?”

  “Not yet. That particular asset is still considered an outlier.”

  The words were delivered with the unmistakeable message of don’t push it.

  “What happens from here?” asked Recker.

  Telar smiled again, though with a little more warmth. “Take a look at this.”

  He pointed at one of the screens on his desktop communicator and Recker went around to see what it was showing.

  “A star chart,” he said. “What does the highlight on that planet represent, sir?”

  “The outcome of our analysis of the data you brought back from Oldis, Captain.”

  Recker’s previous mission had seen him attacked by a Daklan annihilator, forcing him to take shelter in a mysterious cylinder – a tenixite converter – created by an unknown alien species. From the cylinder, he’d extracted data which might lead to another converter on the network.

  “It’s taken two weeks to pinpoint the location?” he asked.

  “You’re disappointed?”

  “No, sir. I know the work involved. We had to narrow down the location across a vast distance and infinite planets, then have one of the monitoring stations check out the list of possibilities. I think we’ve done well to finish so soon.”

  “We have,” said Telar, his tone suggesting that the effort was in fact much greater than Recker had guessed.