Constitution: Book 1 of the Legacy Fleet Trilogy (2 page)

“Very well. If they don’t file it in the next five hours, send a scout ship out there.”

“Aye, sir.”

Chapter Three

Sol System, Earth orbit

Valhalla Space Station

Captain Tim Granger shook his head. He couldn’t believe it. After all this time, after all his years of dedicated service. All the awards, medallions—every worthless pin, bar, and insignia that adorned his left breast meant nothing.

They were taking
her
away from him. Dammit, they were actually doing it.

“Admiral Yarbrough, I don’t understand. The
Constitution
wasn’t scheduled to be decommissioned for at least another five years.”

The thin, gray-haired woman gestured for him to sit.

He remained on his feet in quiet defiance, eliciting a drawn-out sigh from the admiral. She sounded like a worn-out school teacher, and it irked him.

“Tim, you know how ancient the Old Bird is. I’m sorry, but the High Command has decided to—”

“Nonsense,” he interrupted. “She’s in as good a shape as any ship in the fleet. Why
Constitution
? Why now? Dammit, Vicky, I—”

“Tim, the decision is made.” She winced when he swore under his breath. “Look, I did what I could. I tried to extend the decision out another year, but they wouldn’t have it.”

Granger stared at the pictures on the wall, Admiral Yarbrough posed in handshakes with various government dignitaries—including President Avery—a smattering of favorite vacation destinations, and, of course beautiful shots of all her previous commands, the
ISS Legacy
and the
ISS Baltimore
included. Magnificent ships. Just like his beloved
Constitution.
His home.

“It’s the Eagleton Commission, isn’t it? They’re forcing the military cuts, and Command decided the easiest way to comply with reductions is to scrap her, didn’t they?”

“I won’t pretend I can read their minds....” She trailed off when he shot a skeptical look at her. “But, you’re probably right.”

He finally sat down, slumping heavily into the seat across from the Admiral. He remembered sitting in the same chair in the same office fifteen years earlier, when he accepted command of the Old Bird. The
Constitution
was old even then. Hell, she was old during the Swarm War seventy-five years ago.

But they built them right back then. They built them to last.

He sighed, and searched for words. But there was nothing he could say, so he resorted to nostalgia. “When we were at the academy, things were different. You still remember old Commodore Vickers?”

She grinned. “How could I forget? Ninety-five years old and still teaching Orbital Tactical Theory.”

Granger stroked his chin, rough from neglecting his morning shave. “I was a year ahead of you, so you might not have been there, but one day he burst through the door of the classroom, waving his cane—bashing the chalkboard and the screen and his desk with it—screaming about a new Swarm invasion—” He broke off as he saw her chuckle, and descended into laughter himself as he tried to finish.

She finished his story. “And then he pulled the fire alarm, and caused the evacuation of half of the academy before they sorted out what happened ... yeah, I remember that. Who could forget?”

Granger wiped his eye. “Who could forget indeed? All it turned out to be was him overhearing some old archived press reports that they were playing in the history class as he walked down the hall. Thought he was listening to a live news feed.”

Admiral Yarbrough stood up and pulled a small bottle out of the cabinet behind her, along with two glasses. She offered, and Granger nodded. “Poor old man—probably scared the living daylights out of him. Didn’t he die just a few years after?”

“He did.” Granger swallowed some of the liquid she’d offered him and grimaced. Jack Daniels. Damn, she broke out the good stuff for him. He coughed, and winced more—he’d been coughing more lately, sometimes with pain. It was probably time to schedule that checkup with Doc Wyatt. “But you know the thing about Commodore Vickers? He was there. He was
there.
He was old enough to have actually served during the Swarm war. He knew what it was like. The action. The danger. The casualties. He was a goddamned war hero. Blew up half a dozen Swarm capital ships with his own light cruiser before they finally got him, and he drifted in high-earth orbit in just his space suit for almost three days before IDF found him—mind you, that’s when space suits were rated for only one day at vacuum.”

“Hardy old bastard, wasn’t he?” She threw back her own glass and winced.

He stared at her knowingly, wondering if she was on the High Command’s side or not, if she had actually tried to dissuade them from decommissioning the
Constitution.
“And you know what he would say to the Eagleton Commission?”

“As I recall, he was not fond of politicians,” she replied, pouring another two fingers of the amber liquid.

“He’d hobble his way into that capitol chamber, smack a few of the senators upside their heads with his cane, and lecture them about constant vigilance and preparedness. He’d be spinning in his grave if he knew how deep the military cuts were.”

“Well, we
are
over seventy years out from the end of the war, and not even a glimpse of the Swarm in all that time. Not even the barest hint. It’s natural that people are letting down their guard. Hell, it was natural to do that forty years ago.”

“Natural, and stupid.” He finished off his drink and slid the cup back over to the Admiral. “They’re out there, Vicky, and we’re pulling our pants down and pleasuring ourselves, thinking no one is watching.”

“Well, let’s just hope the Cumrats aren’t voyeurs,” she said with a wink.

He snorted, and slammed back the second glass she’d poured for him. “We didn’t win the war because we were stronger than them, Vicky. We didn’t win because we were better or smarter. We won because of luck. We won because they up and left for no reason at all. If they hadn’t, Earth would be a graveyard and all our colonies destroyed. If they come back, do you really think we’ll be so lucky? If we’re not prepared....”

Admiral Yarbrough interrupted. “I agree, Tim. But those are decisions above our pay grade. For now, there’s nothing to do but move on.” She regarded him, and scowled. “Look, it’s not like you’re being forced to retire. You’re only sixty-four, for god’s sake. Why are you treating this like your funeral? There are other commands out there—”

“But not like the
Constitution
,” he said, rising to his feet. “Not like the Old Bird. Nothing compares. She’s in a class of her own.”

“She’s an outdated hulk of mismatched parts and misfit crew members, Tim! She’s the last of the Legacy Fleet—all the rest of them are mothballed or destroyed. She’s way past her prime. It’s time. No young officer in their right mind ever asks for assignment to the Old Bird.”

He poured himself a third glass and held it up to the light, watching as the blue-tinted overhead lights refracted through the amber liquid. “I did. It was my second assignment back as an ensign forty years ago, and when Adams retired fifteen years ago, I jumped at the chance to go back.”

She glanced at him skeptically. “You were assigned there because after what you pulled that was the only command they would give you.”

“How dare you ...” he sneered. Dammit, the alcohol was affecting his verbal filter. He needed to go.

“How
dare
I?” She stood up. “Tim, I’ve been
far
more than accommodating all these years. I’ve looked the other way. I’ve covered for you. I gave you a chance when no one else would. And that’s what you say to my face? How
dare
I?”

He only scowled at her.

“Get off my station,” she said with more force than she meant, for after a moment her face softened. “Report with the
Constitution
at Lunar Base in two weeks for decommissioning. There’ll be a nice ceremony. Dignitaries, historians, celebrities ... all that shit. You’ll love it. Make a two-minute speech. Eat some expensive hors d’vours. Shake a few hands. Get a little drunk. Then, when it’s over, we can discuss your next assignment.”

“I hate speeches.”

“I’ll write it for you, then. Dismissed.”

“Sir.” He nodded a casual salute, and stepped toward the door.

“Tim?” She called out to him as he passed the threshold, and he glanced back. “It won’t be so bad. You’ll like one of the newer frigates the shipyards are putting out. They’re faster than any old clunker from last century.”

He nodded with a thin-lipped smile. It was all he could do.
 

If he spoke again he knew he’d regret it.

Chapter Four

Veracruz Sector

Starbase Heroic

Starbase
Heroic
was built with one thing in mind: rock solid defense. In the aftermath of the Swarm War, the newly united Earth governments vowed to never be caught unawares again and undertook a massive building program, in parallel with Earth’s reconstruction. At the forefront were a series of defensive outposts at the edge of United Earth space, scattered in the direction of space the Swarm had come from, and among these was Starbase
Heroic
.

Admiral Ryten stalked the labyrinthine web of corridors long after the nighttime shift had started, running his hands along the hard steel walls, feeling every pulse, tremor, and vibration from the various ships docking and undocking, the shudder of the power plants deep in the core, the pounding of the marines’ feet as they played basketball on the court two decks above.
 

It was like a small city, but one armed with several dozen multi-megaton tactical nuclear torpedoes and hundreds of mag-rail guns and laser turrets. No Swarm fleet would ever make it past the Veracruz Sector. At least, not without paying a heavy penalty.

He paced the halls because he was worried. The scout ship had left over twenty-four hours earlier, and had not returned. No sign of any report, either. It was damn peculiar—the ship was small and fast enough that if there was any trouble on the other end it shouldn’t have had any problems immediately q-jumping right back to
Heroic
to raise the alarm.

Something was wrong. But what could he do, send another scout ship? Lose another dozen crew members?

The Swarm was gone—he’d been one of the few flag officers entrusted with the top-secret report from IDF intel five years ago. That report formed the basis of the decision by the Eagleton Commission to heavily cut back on military spending. The evidence was incontrovertible—all the Swarm’s former haunts deep within their space were completely and utterly deserted. Entire underground cities left uninhabited. Desolate.

The top brass at IDF intel assumed they’d all been killed off in some kind of plague or infestation, though the lack of bodies made that hard to prove. But the fact remained that they were gone.

Ryten continued down the hall, feeling the rising vibration of the power plant as he neared the core of the station, and turned the corner into the Operations Center, saluting the two marines stationed at the entrance.

“Anything yet, Ensign Taylor?” he asked the woman at communications.
 

“No, sir. Nothing from the scout ship, and nothing from the
Kerouac
.”

Ryten drummed his fingers on his desk before coming to a decision. “Very well. Prepare a report for IDF CENTCOM. Tell them the details of the situation and ask for guidance.”

“You think it’s the Swarm?”

He shook his head. “No. We have reason to believe they no longer pose a threat. But the Russian Confederation?”

“You don’t really think....” Ensign Taylor trailed off, but Ryten finished her thought.

“That the Russians would dare start anything? They’ve been blocking our expansion plans for decades now. Every time we bring up the idea of new settlements in the United Earth Council, they veto. I’m starting to wonder if maybe the bastards have got plans of their own out in the border sectors—there’s plenty of habitable planets out there. Plenty of resource-rich territory to exploit and settle. Something tells me that the
Kerouac
may have stumbled onto one of their secret projects.”

Taylor bit her lip. “After all this time? I can’t believe they’d risk starting a war over something so petty as resources and territory.”

“They’ve been doing it for years—undermining the United Earth government, throwing up extra red-tape and bureaucratic nonsense while they go out, establish new colonies and build up their own fleet, separate from IDF. Really, it’s the same pattern over centuries. They never change.”

Ryten paused, reaching over to check the status of the power plant. As if reading his mind, Ensign Taylor asked, “Are they doing maintenance in engineering tonight?”

“Not that I know of. So I’m not crazy then? You feel it too?” The throbbing had intensified. It felt just like the customary faint hum of the engines, only magnified slightly, almost imperceptibly.

He raised his head to speak through the comm. “Engineering, something wrong with the plant?”

A voice rang out of the speaker. “No, sir. There seems to be an imbalance in the phase of the generator. That might be why we’re feeling the shudder. I’ll see if we can’t lock down the source of the problem.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Ryten out.” He turned to Ensign Taylor. “Wake up the chief engineer. Have him report to engineering.”

“Aye, sir.” She busied herself with the command. “You think this is related to the missing ships?”

The rumbling in the deckplate was now intense enough to hear. “I don’t know. But if it is I want to be ready.”

Chapter Five

L-2 Lagrange point, Earth

Conference room, ISS Constitution

Captain Granger looked up and down the conference table and around the room, trying hard to hide his anger from the equally angry faces of his senior staff.

“Sir, it’s outrageous. Why now? Why not just wait until our scheduled decommission date?” His XO, Commander Haws, a grizzled old man from whom drifted the distinct odor of the previous night’s self-medicating, pounded a fist half-heartedly on the table. His frayed uniform was slightly disheveled, but at least he hadn’t brought a bottle to the meeting.