Keeper of the Sun (Starhold Series Book 3) Read online

  Walking through the spaceport’s expansive corridors, they slowly made their way toward the boarding area. Gold and blue banners displaying the national emblem, the Sarissan Sun, were draped high on the walls in a show of wartime patriotism. As they entered the large central foyer however, the gold and blue flags gave way to the orange and red standards of Channa Maxon, Supreme Commander of the Sarissan military. Sarissa was controlled by Maxon and her admirals. The military had run the starhold for years now, but for the most part it had remained in the background. Now, through the dubiously named Ministry of Culture, Maxon and her supporters were directly trying to shape the society—people’s thoughts and behaviors. Just another reason to leave this world behind.

  Neither Carr nor Sanchez had ever been particularly political, but lately they had started to pay more attention. It was partly because Etta’s uncle, Leonardo Sanchez, was currently leading the Reform Party, the group most actively opposed to the current administration. There was more to it than that, however. Sarissa had become suffocating, and Carr increasingly regretted being a part of the apparatus that made it so. On Earth, there was a vast new frontier. For him, there were hidden treasures to discover, and for his wife, there were open skies to fly. Most importantly, they would be together. No more missions, no more long periods of separation, no more secrets.

  Arriving at the Departures Gate, Carr put down his travel case and wrapped his arms around his wife. Holding each other, she whispered into his ear. “I don’t know where you’re off to, but be safe. Those Earth treasures aren’t going to discover themselves.”

  He hugged her hard, an embrace meant to say, ‘I’ll be fine.’

  As they separated, both of them noticed two familiar faces in the crush of spaceport travelers. A tall, lean man and his purple-haired female companion each made eye contact with Carr and Sanchez, the man giving a subtle nod in Carr’s direction. Even though an increasing number of Sarissans were using gene therapy to alter their hair color, the woman’s purple hair stood out in the crowd.

  “Simmons and Swain,” mumbled Sanchez, recognizing her former OMI colleagues just before they mixed back into the throng of business travelers and holidaymakers. “You working with them?”

  He wasn’t, but Carr couldn’t tell her that, so he just shrugged his shoulders. “You know, they could be going anywhere. This is the largest spaceport in the largest city on the planet. Thousands of people pass through here every day.”

  “Mmmm,” Sanchez said dubiously. “Thousands of people aren’t OMI operatives. By the way, FYI, they’re sleeping together.” Her eyes searched for the couple in vain—they had disappeared. “At least they used to be. Did you know that?”

  His expression must have revealed that, in fact, he did not know. “You’ve been out of the loop for a while,” he said. Odd. If what Etta says is true, the Director must never have objected to Simmons and Swain’s relationship. Maybe he didn’t know as much about what was happening in-house as he pretended to.

  “I still have my sources,” Sanchez said. “Just thought I’d let you know, in case you’re working with them. I have to admit that even with the purple hair, Eva Swain is a looker. You’d sleep with her, wouldn’t you?” she asked playfully.

  “What makes you think I haven’t already,” Carr shot back.

  Sanchez rolled her eyes. “Gods, what did I ever do to deserve you? I think while you’re out of town, I just might shop around for a new man,” she teased.

  A broad smile came to Carr’s face. “Well, just make sure he’s a good one.”

  4: Mission

  Presidio Space Fortress

  Orbiting Sarissa

  Pettigrew sat in the admiral’s office, browsing through the classified documents and images. “I’m still not exactly sure what to make of it,” he admitted.

  Nathari Tovar laughed. “Oh, Chaz, you should have been on the command deck that day. One minute I was talking with long-lost colonists from Beta Corvi, and the next I was staring at that,” she said, gazing with Pettigrew at an image of the orange-faced alien on the briefing screen.

  He switched the display off and swiveled in his chair to face the admiral. “It’s all… well, somewhat overwhelming, isn’t it?” he said, knowing the comment sounded trite. “I still can’t quite wrap my mind around it.”

  The instant Tempest arrived at the Artemis system’s Hodiak Spacedock, Pettigrew boarded a shuttle to Presidio Station. His original intent was to protest being pulled out of battle in the Mannerheim system, but that had fallen by the wayside once he arrived at the space fortress. Greeted there by a delegation of junior staff officers, he had been immediately hustled into briefings on the still top-secret alien incursion.

  “By the way, what’s the latest word on Tenth Fleet and Mannerheim?”

  A smile spread across the admiral’s face. “The Ministry of Culture will be releasing the news to the general public later today. Mannerheim was a great victory, Chaz. That battleship you engaged was boarded and captured. Excellent work by you and your people. Wallenstein and the Tenth are moving on to the Hellespont system.”

  “And I take it I’m not.”

  “That is correct, Commodore—you are not.”

  “Then—with respect, ma’am—just exactly why am I here?”

  A male voice answered. “You are here because we need you,” said the man, materializing in a seated position to the left of Tovar. It was a hologram of Admiral Schooler, Chief of Space Operations. As always, his trademark white beard was immaculately trimmed, but the admiral’s face wore fresh age-lines and worried eyes. Two wars in as many years had taken a toll on Schooler, a man Pettigrew had always liked but never quite understood. The Old Man seemed to be more politician than career military, and not particularly enthusiastic about either endeavor. It was as if he was just along for the ride, being pulled forward by others—first Victor Polanco and now Channa Maxon.

  Pettigrew started to rise, but was waved back into his seat by Schooler. “We can dispense with the usual pleasantries, Commodore. Have you been briefed?”

  “I’ve been briefed plenty, sir, but my question still stands—why am I’m here?”

  Schooler nodded to Tovar, who leaned forward to the edge of her desk, folding one hand into the other. “It appears that our alien friends stumbled upon Beta Corvi Three just as the colony was under some sort of attack.”

  “Attack? By whom?”

  “Unknown. It could have been other humans or even other aliens—we just don’t know. The attackers destroyed the colony’s two military vessels, their satellites, and other spaceborn assets, leaving them stranded and helpless.”

  “It could be that our new friends were in a battle with other aliens and the human colonists were collateral damage,” added Schooler. “Our visitors didn’t give us an explanation, so we’re left guessing.”

  “However it happened,” Tovar continued, “the aliens conducted a rescue of the remaining Beta Corvi colonists and returned them here to Artemis. They brought our people home.”

  “Wasn’t there any contact with these—‘people?’ Anything at all?”

  “They weren’t exactly the chatty type,” answered Tovar. “Granted, I did have a dozen warships moving in their direction. Thank the Many Gods they didn’t jump in close to Sarissa. Since the incident occurred in the outer part of the system, we’ve been able to contain most of the rumors to just that—rumors.”

  “How much of this has made its way onto the Nets?” Pettigrew asked.

  “The Ministry of Culture is deleting things as fast as people can post them,” said Schooler. “We’ve implemented security protocols to try to keep a lid on it, but that won’t last long. You know how it is.”

  Pettigrew nodded slowly. “Admiral, could these aliens be the Adversary? The beings in the New Earther prophecy.” Humanity had abandoned Earth three centuries ago, only to recently discover that it had been colonized by humans from another universe as they fled an alien threat in their own dimension. The New
Earthers feared that if their enemy, the so-called Adversary, existed in the Otherverse, there might be some version of them in this universe as well. Empress Renata, along with the Earth government, had tried to raise the alarm to the other starholds over a year ago, but to no avail. Humans were too busy fighting among themselves to take the warnings seriously.

  Schooler shifted in his seat. “Well, if this is the Adversary, they sure didn’t act very… adversarial, saving our people on Beta Corvi Three and all.”

  “Still, sir,” said Tovar in a thoughtful tone, “I respectfully submit that we should share what we know with the EarthFed government.”

  Schooler made a sour face. “Only when Fleet Admiral Maxon gives her approval and not before. The Supreme Commander is concerned that this news could spread panic.”

  Panic—and a call for an end to the war against the Jangsuvians. Maxon doesn’t want that, Pettigrew silently reminded himself. “What about the Beta Corvi survivors?” he asked. “What were their impressions of the aliens?”

  Tovar answered. “The colonists are being held in isolation and debriefed at Camp Monteso. Truth is, none of the survivors seem to have had much contact with the aliens except for Thomas Hoyt and the other man you saw on that video, a man named…” Her voice trailed off as she consulted a datapad. “Garreau, Dion Garreau. He was Hoyt’s second-in-command.”

  “The guys on the transmission recording—the yellowish men. What’s up with that?”

  Schooler’s face knotted into revulsion. “Disgusting business. Apparently, the aliens experimented on the poor devils by injecting them with some sort of nanites. Our doctor’s found the little buggers in the blood and organs of both men.”

  “We think it may have been some sort of attempt to alter Hoyt and Garreau’s physiology so that the aliens could communicate with them,” said Tovar. “Or maybe they were trying to administer medical attention—we just don’t know. Whatever they were trying to do, it didn’t work. The nanites screwed up both men’s bodies, in particular their livers—that’s why they were jaundiced.”

  “Sounds like a nightmare,” said Pettigrew. “So what can Hoyt tell us about his rescuers?”

  “Nothing, I’m afraid,” said Schooler. “Both he and his assistant died several days ago.”

  “A real, bloody nightmare,” Pettigrew muttered, closing his eyes for a moment. A dozen thoughts raced through his mind. Humankind’s long awaited First Contact had come in odd fashion. The rescue of a distressed human colony, but also experimentation and death at the hands of their saviors. What’s more, humanity might never know the alien’s motives.

  “So, sir,” Pettigrew addressed Schooler trying to get to the point of the meeting. “You said Tempest is needed. A redeployment of some sort?”

  The two admirals gave each other a look, the kind of conspiratorial glance that always preceded bad news. Before Pettigrew could say anything further, the projection of a starmap activated, floating in midair to his right.

  Tovar sat up straighter and shifted into a more formal tone. “Before the aliens jumped out of the system, they left a datachip with Thomas Hoyt, one packed with information. We are still trying to make sense of it—it’s written in some sort of alien glyphs. One thing on the chip is crystal clear, however—a set of coordinates pointing to a particular star system. It’s one-hundred forty-six light-years from here in the Hydra constellation.” The holographic starmap zoomed in on a particular point of light. “Epsilon Hydrae,” Tovar went on. “For simplicity’s sake, we’re going to ID this system with the code name ‘Summit.’”

  “What do you think it is?” Pettigrew asked. “Their home system? An invitation to visit? A warning to stay away?”

  “You tell us, Chaz,” said Tovar.

  “Well, I’m obviously guessing here, but—”

  “No, Commodore, you misunderstand,” interrupted Schooler. “She meant that you are going to take Tempest to Summit and investigate.”

  Pettigrew stared at his superiors, waiting for smiles to appear. He quickly remembered that admirals weren’t generally known as practical jokers.

  “You’re actually serious.”

  “We are,” said Schooler. “As of now, both you and Tempest are on detached service from Tenth Fleet. It will be a six-month journey each way. We are reducing your crew compliment by half, down to one-hundred seventy. That will make you leaner and allow you to stretch ship’s resources. Tempest will be refitted at Hodiak with hypersleep chambers to accommodate around ninety crewmembers during the trip. Half the crew will be in stasis going out, with the other half sleeping as you come home. You’ll lose a couple of shuttles—the engineers are going to partition off part of the main shuttlebay for the hypersleep modules.”

  Before Pettigrew could open his mouth to protest, Tovar pressed on.

  “Chaz, you are to travel to Summit and make contact with these aliens.”

  “Admiral, please, hold up. Make contact? How? Even if we find them, there is almost no chance we can actually communicate with them.”

  Schooler responded. “We are sending a team of experts in xenolinguistics from Gaspar Glade with you.” Gaspar Glade was a Space Force special projects base on Arethusa. “Granted, their work is almost all theory, but they should be of some help.”

  “Find out who these people are and what they want,” Tovar continued. “Most importantly, determine if they are a threat to the Sarissan Empire.”

  “Warships aren’t made for deep space deployments,” Pettigrew said thinking aloud. Come to think of it, nothing much was these days. Humanity had now spread across forty-two settled worlds in the Renaissance Sector. There was more than enough land for the 650 million human survivors of the Diaspora. Deep-space explorations had stopped years ago.

  “It will work, Commodore,” Schooler said, adding in a firm voice, “You will make it work.”

  It’s a briefing, not a discussion, Pettigrew reminded himself. He’d been in the military long enough to recognize the voice of inevitability when he heard it, especially when it came from the mouth of the Chief of Space Operations.

  “Aside from the linguistic experts, what about other civilians? I assume we are taking along a diplomatic team from the Foreign Ministry.”

  Schooler smiled. “Fleet Admiral Maxon trusts you, Chaz, not a bunch of civilian bureaucrats. You are our diplomat, Commodore. Your experience negotiating with the New Earthers three years ago renders you uniquely qualified to lead this mission.”

  Pettigrew shook his head. The New Earthers were human beings from an alternate universe, not real aliens. Besides, just getting to the Summit system presented more serious problems than dealing with aliens. “In the Black for over a solid year. It’s not something that’s done these days, let alone with only half a crew. Can we even operate Tempest with half a crew? And what about rations? Air?”

  “Our simulations say it can work,” said Tovar confidently. “Extra scrubbers and Sabatier units are being installed aboard Tempest. Rations won’t be a major problem since half the crew will be asleep during transit. Also, the ship’s AI is being enhanced to carry out the workload ordinarily handled by the absentee crewmembers.”

  “And fuel? We can’t carry enough fuel for a mission that lasts this long.”

  “Tempest won’t be traveling alone,” said Tovar. “You will be accompanied by a gas miner. The miner will harvest gas giants along the way for hydrogen and process it into fuel as needed, storing the reserve. In addition, we’re sending a trailing destroyer, the Warlock.”

  “What do you mean, trailing?”

  “Warlock will drop FTL satellites at intervals along the route.”

  “Just like Hansel and Gretel,” mused Pettigrew, but neither of the admirals seemed to understand the reference as Tovar continued.

  “Warlock and her miner will arrive at Summit about a week after Tempest. When they do, you will be able to report home via the FTL network they’ve set up.”

  Pettigrew was still suspicious of the plan, b
ut as he listened, he had to admit that the whole thing was intriguing. “Warlock, huh? Is Miles Ross still in command?”

  Tovar nodded.

  “Good. Miles has been through two wars and three marriages. He’s tough and knows how to handle his ship.”

  Schooler and Tovar were sitting silently, waiting for him to accept the mission—as if he had a choice. If he had further reservations, now was the time to voice them.

  “Why Tempest? If we want to impress the aliens, why not send a battleship?”

  “Frankly, we can’t spare one,” said Tovar in a bitter voice. “We need all the heavy ships we can mobilize against the Jangsuvians. Despite the victory at Mannerheim, they’re still kicking our asses.”

  “Admiral, that will be enough,” snapped Schooler.

  Tovar was defiant. “He deserves to know.”

  “I already know,” Pettigrew cut in. “I’m out there, remember.”

  “Enough, both of you,” said Schooler in a stern but fatigued voice. It was obvious that the Chief of Space Operations knew the war situation, and equally obvious he wasn’t in the mood to discuss it. “Any other questions, Commodore?”

  “No, sir. I will brief Captain Swoboda as soon as I return to Tempest.” Another one of those ‘looks’ passed between the admirals. What now…?

  Tovar spoke up. “Commodore, there’s a bit of bad news for you there, I’m afraid. Captain Swoboda is being reassigned. He’s being given command of Typhoon.”

  Schooler quickly added, “Almost unbelievably, a First Contact mission is secondary to the war. We need good commanders here, and we need them now.”

  Bad enough Tempest was being dispatched on an unprecedented mission, it would have to sail with a new captain. On the bright side, it was a great opportunity for Swoboda. “Battleship, huh? Good for David,” Pettigrew smiled, trying to make the best of it. “In that case, I request that his XO, Commander Nyondo, be promoted to captain and given command of Tempest.”