Constitution: Book 1 of the Legacy Fleet Trilogy (6 page)

“Strip? No, sir. We need that shielding around the reactor core to—”

“I know your reasoning, Commander!” He spoke more loudly than he meant to, and he could see the corner of her mouth tug higher.

“Sir, need I remind you that this ship is due to stand down in less than a week? Your engines are useless. They simply won’t be needed during her next mission.”

“That may be.” He swiveled his chair around and sat, still staring at her. “But we still need to make the trip to Lunar Base, and for that we need our engines.”

“Correction, sir. We need one of our engines. Not all six. The thrust of one of them will be more than sufficient to get us to—”

“You’re betraying your ignorance of the capabilities of my ship, Commander. On paper, one of those engines can produce just enough thrust to get us to Lunar Base within the week. But she’s old, Proctor. She hasn’t operated above sixty percent thrust for well over twenty years.” He glanced down and picked up a datapad, handing it to her. “I’ve temporarily denied your request for the lead shielding. It’ll have to wait.”

“But sir! I’m under a tight schedule here! I can’t have you interfering—”

“I’LL INTERFERE WITH WHATEVER I DAMN WELL PLEASE ON MY SHIP, COMMANDER!”

His fist was clenched, and he felt his face grow hot. He knew he shouldn’t have lost control. And that was confirmed as Proctor’s face broadened into a full smile. From her pocket she produced her own datapad and tossed it on the desk towards him.

“There. Have a look. You’ll find Admiral Yarbrough has given me the authority to do just about whatever I want, up to and including going over your wishes,
Captain
.” She said that last word with a wink.

He scanned the orders, and sure enough, Yarbrough had indicated that Proctor was to have all command authority necessary for her to complete her work.

Dammit.

He studied the wording of the orders as she droned on about the importance of her mission, how securing the legacy of the
Constitution
was vital for the education of future generations, and for the Old Bird to serve as an ambassador from the fleet to civilians, creating good will and yada yada yada....

“Commander Proctor,” he interrupted, his eyes glazing over a phrase within the orders, “my orders stand.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Yarbrough was clear that your authority over my ship only extends to your mission. She explicitly left line management to me. And part of line management includes ensuring the safety of my crew.”

“I assure you, Captain, I’m being completely safe—”

“I’m sure you are. However, I disagree about the safety of removing the ballast from the engines. You see, should the remaining engine fail en route to Lunar Base, we’d sail right by it, or worse—get pulled into the moon’s gravity well.” It was his turn to smile at her. And he did.

“The chances of that happening are about a billion to—” she began to protest, but he interrupted her again.

“Regardless, I am responsible for safety, and in my judgement, that is far too high a risk. My order stands. You’re dismissed, Commander,” he added, before she could protest again.

She furrowed her brow and stormed out the door. “We’ll see about that, Captain.”

Still smiling, he followed her out a few minutes later and made his way down to the bridge, saluting the two marines posted outside the doors.

The regular day shift was just settling in, relieving the night crew and transferring console access and control to the new operators. He noticed they were more sluggish and informal than usual—he should really run a readiness drill to keep them on their toes. He shook his head. What was the point? They were due at Lunar Base in less than a week.

Granger glanced around the bridge for his XO, Commander Haws. But he knew exactly where he was. Probably hungover, staring at himself in his bathroom mirror, unkempt and unshaven.

To his surprise, the old man strode through the doors to the bridge, grumbling greetings to a few of the departing crew members. He may have been unkempt and unshaven, but at least he was awake and alert. Granger called that a win for the day.

“Commander, time to get under way to our final destination, wouldn’t you say?” Granger leaned onto the main command console, looking up at his old friend.

Haws grumbled something under his breath. “If you say so, Tim.”

“I do. Take us out.”

Haws barked orders to the navigation and engineering crew, working them through the process of spinning up the remaining engines, checking safety interlocks, securing decks for inertial transport, and marking off the checklists for departure from the Lagrange point. Granger nodded approvingly whenever a department chief called out for his final authorization, but otherwise stood back and let Haws handle the affair. It would be his final command, after all. His old friend deserved to go out with dignity.

Within the hour, Haws barked from across the bridge, “She’s all ready, Captain.”

Granger nodded slowly, and walked to the center of the bridge, glancing around at all of the crew. A hush fell over everyone as they realized he was about to speak.

“I’m not one for speeches.” He glanced up at the ceiling with a frown, and turned to look at all the various departments scattered around the command center. “She’s a good ship. The best. It’s been the highest honor serving with you all.” He turned to navigation. “Time to Lunar Base at fifty percent drive?”

The answer came without a pause—they’d already made the calculations. “Three days with a two-hour acceleration burn and a four-hour decel burn on final approach.”

“Very well.” He glanced back at Haws, who kept his face stiff and frowning. “Let’s take her home.”

Chapter Fourteen

Veracruz Sector, Leon System

IDF Intelligence Ship ISS Tirian

“Sir, we’re approaching the other southern continent. ETA is three minutes.”

LaPlace glanced at his readout. “Major cities down there?”

“Just one, with several outlying towns and settlements. All orbital traffic is silent on this side of the planet as well.”

Minutes ticked by, and the ocean passed underneath them, peaceful, unaware and uncaring of the devastation on the land nearby. Soon their orbit brought them over another brown and green landmass, and before the sensor officer announced anything, LaPlace saw it.

Distant flashes of light, like lightning from a massive thundercloud, and a clutter of objects in the lower atmosphere, just at the edge of sight.

LaPlace jumped to his feet, still staring at the scene. “Report.”

The sensor officer shook his head. “Lots of ships out there. Unknown identification. Unknown design and configuration. They’re....” The officer swore and pounded the console. “Looks like the surface is under attack. There are a few orbital defense ships nearby, but they’re mostly destroyed. The city is a sitting duck, sir, and they’re getting pounded.”

“Any indication we’ve been detected?”

“No, sir. All ships have maintained their attitude and orbit.”

And then it came time for a decision. Get away while they could, or linger for a few more minutes to record more data? If this was the beginning of a full-scale Swarm invasion then they would need all the intel they could get. It was also imperative that they determine the attacker’s identity. For all they knew, this could be a Russian Confederation force.

“Keep sensors on passive scan only. Zoom in with the cameras, all wavelengths. Let’s get a closer look.”

Chapter Fifteen

Halfway between L2 and Lunar Base

Sickbay, ISS Constitution

“How long do I have, Doc?”

Granger braced for the reply. He knew what was coming. He’d put off the appointment far too long. He’d managed to avoid his chief medical officer, Doctor Wyatt, for months now—ever since the lumps and pain returned.

“It’s hard to say, Tim. Two months. Three. Four, if you’re lucky.”

“
Months?
” That took him by surprise. He’d assumed a few years. “What about Hitraxin? Won’t that knock the tumors out for another few years?”

The doctor scowled at him. “Well sure, it
would
have done that, had you come to see me at your regularly scheduled appointment
six months ago
. Hell, Tim, what did you think would happen? Did you really think ignoring it would make it go away?”

“I’ve been busy,” Granger demurred.

“Bullshit. You’ve been irresponsible. Now it’s metastasized and soon your lymph nodes will be fatter than your damn head.”

Shit.
He didn’t need this right now. First they take away the Old Bird from him, and now he gets his life taken away too? He shifted uncomfortably on the examination table, studying the scans Doc Wyatt had given him. The tumors were unmistakable: white, black, and dark red blobs interspersed all throughout his midsection, some larger, some smaller, but each deadly.

“Look, I can give you Metastacin—that should stabilize them for a month or so. And Flaginox will keep the pain and tissue inflammation at bay....”

Doctor Wyatt was fiddling with his handheld medical scanner, avoiding eye contact. They’d served nearly a decade together, and he counted him as one of his best friends on board—and Captain Granger didn’t make friends easily. Why make friends when they’ll inevitably disappoint you?

“It’s ok, Doc. It’s my time.” He said the words, but they rang hollow in his own ears. “Look, I’ve got to do a walkdown of the ship one last time before we arrive at Lunar Base. Make sure our new guest hasn’t mothballed the whole place before she’s supposed to.” He stood up to leave.

“Are you going to tell the crew?”

Granger walked to the door. “Now why the hell would I do that, Doc?”

“Are you at least going to tell your—” began Doctor Wyatt, but the doors sliding shut cut him off.

Granger stalked the halls, aiming vaguely towards engineering, nodding at crew members as they passed. When he reached the only elevator that would take him down to engineering, the door didn’t even open—the mechanism merely groaned in protest as the gears ground unfruitfully against each other.

Damn, she’s as sick as I am.

Digging his fingertips into the joint between the sliding door sections, he grunted as he struggled to pull them apart. When a two-inch space appeared, the mechanism finally caught and the doors sprung open.

“Engineering,” he grumbled to the empty air inside the lift.

A soft beep indicated the computer’s acknowledgement, and the lift moved. Momentarily, the speaker announced, with a fair amount of distortion, “Engineering.” Hell, even the speakers were going out. Maybe it really was time to just pull the plug on the whole ship.

“Sir, glad you’re here,” began a frazzled Commander Scott before he could even get a word in, “I tried contacting you before about this but couldn’t find you. She’s gone too far this time, Cap’n.”

Somehow, he knew exactly which
she
his chief engineer was referring to.

“What is it this time, Rayna?”

She led him to one of the vast engine bays that housed one of the six main drive units, and pointed. “Look. I go to bed last night with engine four
not
disassembled, and when I wake up this morning, it
is
disassembled. Anything wrong with that picture, Cap’n?”

Granger ground his teeth together. The entire unit was taken apart, and the lead ballast was clearly gone. “Where’s the ballast?”

“Where do you think, sir?”

Granger spun around and strode back toward the lift. “Prepare a launch tube, Commander.”

“Sir?”

“A launch tube. We’re going to need it to aid the disembarking of our guest.”

He didn’t stop to look, but he could almost feel the broad smile cross Rayna’s face. Hell, he’d love to press the launch button himself if it meant he could be rid of Shelby Proctor a few days early.

Chapter Sixteen

Veracruz Sector, Leon System

IDF Intelligence Ship ISS Tirian

Commander LaPlace peered at the screen, trying to see the ships firing down at the surface. The sensors were recording every last detail, but he wanted to visually verify the identity of the attackers. He knew, from years of military and intel training, what the Swarm ships should look like. At least the ones that attacked Earth seventy-five years ago. They were quite literally a swarm. A few central carriers acting as bases for thousands, tens of thousands of fighters. Earth’s defenders were simply overwhelmed by the sheer numbers, not to mention the superior technology and firepower.

“Comm, have a q-jump data pod ready to go. I want to have something ready to send just in case....” He let the words hang in the air—his bridge crew would know exactly what he left unsaid.

“Aye, sir. Data pod loaded and currently downloading all available telemetry.”

LaPlace nodded. “Good. Append the bridge’s audio recording as well. They may as well hear what we’re talking about.” He turned to his nav officer. “Ensign, I want q-jump coordinates laid in and your finger hovering over the initiate button. Understood? We’re talking hair-trigger here.”

Satisfied that the ensign was ready to hightail them out of there, he redirected his attention back to the sensor log.

“Ops, am I seeing this right? Those are not Swarm fighters. At least, not according to our historical data.”

“You’re right, sir. These are slightly larger. We’re detecting around two hundred of them, all around the size of one of our V-wing fighters. Maybe double the size of an X-25.”

A Swarm fleet from seventy years ago would have sported many times that number of fighters. And the central carrier in the middle of the screen was possibly even more massive than the old Swarm carriers. But the design—it looked vaguely ... human? Nothing like the Swarm cruisers from the history books, with their dozens of nacelle arms and vast jagged pylons that presumably acted as fighter bays.

As LaPlace watched, about three dozen of them broke off from the main engagement over the city and moved sharply towards one of the partially destroyed IDF cruisers.

“Captain, I’ve got power readings from that Zafano class cruiser. Transponder signal is that of the
ISS Vallarta.
Their main reactor has restarted and several of their mag-rails are energizing.” The officer looked up at the screen to watch. “They’re firing at the incoming ships, sir.”