Destroyer (Expansion Wars Trilogy, Book 3) Read online

  Destroyer

  Book Three of the Expansion Wars Trilogy

  Joshua Dalzele

  Contents

  Untitled

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Also by Joshua Dalzele

  Afterword

  Destroyer

  Book Three of the Expansion Wars Trilogy

  Joshua Dalzelle

  ©2017

  Kindle Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real persons, events, or places are purely coincidental; any references to actual places, people, or brands are fictitious. All rights reserved.

  Edited by Monique Happy Editorial Services

  http://www.moniquehappy.com

  Prologue

  "The provisioning ship is early."

  "It might not be a Logistics Command or Merchant Marine ship … it could be some asshole from Fleet coming out for another surprise inspection that will slow us down for at least a month."

  "An odd sentiment coming from a Starfleet captain."

  "My rank is just a formality, Mr. Seifert," Captain Ella Marcum said. "I'm no more a Fleet officer than you are."

  "Of course," Seifert agreed amicably though his tone indicated he believed otherwise. Ella didn't bother pursuing it. Her last name, while opening doors for her, was often a hindrance. People just assumed because her father was the CENTCOM Chief of Staff that she was a banner-waving, mindless patriot. The truth was that she was only interested in her research, and if the United Terran Federation military wanted to pay for it, she'd accept a commission from Fleet Research and Science Division and worry about looking like a hypocrite after she'd accomplished her goals.

  Her father was a soon-to-be-extinct species. Centuries of peace shattered because idiots like him and that half-wit Earther starship captain couldn't ask questions before opening fire. This latest tousle with yet another alien species would likely be found out to be another tragic misunderstanding … but at least something positive might come of it. Maybe the elected leadership might begin to realize that tighter oversight on the fleet was necessary.

  The Phage War, the Darshik conflict, the splintering off of the Eastern Star Alliance … they were all incidents that Ella knew could have been prevented if cooler, more rational people had been in key positions at the time. She knew for a fact that Jackson Wolfe had fired first on a Phage ship before even a cursory attempt at communication by someone qualified could be made. Celesta Wright and Ella's own father had dragged them into a conflict between the Darshik and the Ushin without fully understanding the dynamics. The needless death by the hands of a few trigger-happy officers was simply unacceptable.

  "They're not responding to the standard com laser request," Seifert said. "Shall I switch over to RF coms?"

  "Maintain com silence," Ella said after a moment. "They know the approach and they'll be within range of the visual docking beacons soon enough."

  "Captain, the procedure states that we must have confirmed identification of any inbound ship before allowing it to dock."

  "Spare me the lecture about tedious, paranoid Fleet procedure, Mr. Seifert." Ella sighed. This was why she hated bridge watch with a passion. Seifert was nice enough and he'd proven himself useful to her as a young, virile male on a station awash with pudgy, middle-aged academics … but the poor bastard was a slave to doctrine.

  "This facility's very existence is highly classified, much less its exact location. If we have a ship on direct approach it stands to reason they're authorized to be here. We'll follow procedure and maintain our own com silence and when they're within range we'll try the com laser again and attempt visual recognition of the ship type."

  "Aye aye, ma'am," Seifert said, squirming with discomfort.

  The Feynman Research Outpost had been in heliocentric orbit within an unpopulated star system for the better part of thirty years. They were tasked with pushing the boundaries of what humans knew of gravity manipulation. Much of Terran technology was based on found or recovered alien artifacts, at least the major advances like faster than light travel, and until recently had been a fairly stale field of study. Small advances were made as more powerful reactors were developed and more efficient field generators were designed, but there had been no major breakthroughs until the Phage War.

  Now, after being exposed to the Vruahn and their mastery of gravimetric forces, money and resources had been poured into the facility. The researchers at Feynman had quietly provided the Tsuyo Corporation the data and practical engineering necessary to implement the first reactionless drive, a system the all-powerful company then perfected and was now installing into a whole new generation of Terran starships.

  Since then, the scientists at Feynman had moved on and were pursuing a weapon the Vruahn had exposed them to: a deployable gravity bomb. The term was a complete misnomer, but the short of it was that Fleet had become obsessed with the small munitions that had so effectively nullified the Phage's own reactionless drives, leaving them as easy prey for Terran missiles. The human scientists understood the base principles involved; however, they simply had no means to power such a device once it was disconnected from a starship's powerplant.

  "These thermal signatures are all wrong," Seifert said with a frown. "This doesn't match up to any known ship class. I recommend we set Defense Condition Bravo, ma'am."

  "I think you're being just a little over-dramatic, Lieutenant," Ella said, pronouncing his rank as if it were an insult. "Calm yourself and allow them to—" Alarms began blaring and cut off the rest of Ella's admonishment. She'd seen this particular alert before during the readiness drills she hated so much, but had never expected to have it go off for a real-world contingency. The klaxons and flashing red lights meant only one thing: imminent attack.

  "Is it the ESA?" she shouted.

  "No!" Seifert said, frozen in horror over his console. "The computer is saying it's a match for a Darshik cruiser!"

  "Impossible," Ella breathed. "Nobody knows where we are."

  Before Seifert could answer her, the alarms cut out suddenly and the overhead lights began to flicker. On all the terminals there were warnings flashing about the loss of main power and the status of the backup systems as they came online. Already she could feel that the station's gravity was reducing under the emergency power system, and the bank of terminals that controlled the station's defensive systems winked out completely.

  "What was that?" she asked as the deck shuddered and loud clangs rang through the hull.

  "Another ship we didn't see has just clamped onto our docking arm," Seifert said. "We're being boarded."

  "Quick! Fire the drone!" Ella hissed.

  "Only you can—"

  "Right," she said, yanking out the key she wore around her neck on bridge watches. She ran to a small control panel near the hatch and lifted a protective cover so she could cram the key into the slot, her shaking hands making it necessary t
o try more than once. As soon as the key was turned, a large illuminated red button popped up from another access panel with the word LAUNCH flashing in white letters. Ella smacked the button and breathed a sigh of relief as she heard the point-to-point emergency com drone blast free from its cradle that was only one deck above the bridge. The drone was updated in real-time with backups of all research data as well as archives of the station's internal com system and telemetry feeds. It would make a direct-line flight back to CENTCOM HQ in the DeLonges System.

  She switched the key back the opposite direction and grabbed the corded microphone for the station's PA system.

  "This is Captain Ella Marcum. We're being boarded by hostile forces. I've unlocked all small arms caches on every deck … defend yourself as best you can."

  "Shouldn't we be getting to the lifeboats, ma'am?" Seifert asked as she tossed the microphone back onto the console.

  "There's nowhere to go, Lieutenant," she said. "Grab a weapon and get ready."

  1

  "Attention to orders!"

  The sound of hundreds of boot heels slamming together echoed through the chamber.

  "Effective immediately, Senior Captain Celesta Wright is promoted to the rank of Rear Admiral. Her selfless dedication and sacrifice to Starfleet, the United Terran Federation, and humanity as a whole is well-documented. Her heroism in the Phage War along with her quick thinking and decisive actions in the Battle for Juwel ensured the planet was not lost to the Darshik.

  "Admiral Wright will immediately assume the post of Chief of Operations, Seventh Fleet.

  "At ease."

  There was the rustle of clothing as everyone in the cargo bay relaxed from attention, most adopting a loose parade rest. The ceremony was as Celesta had wanted it; with only the people who had actually served with her and without the unnecessary pomp that she found so grating about most Fleet ceremonies.

  "Admiral?"

  "Thank you, Admiral Pitt," she said, the microphone hidden under the shirt collar of her dress blacks amplifying her voice.

  "I will keep my remarks brief so that we aren't standing in this cold cargo bay any longer than we have to." There was a dutiful spat of laughter from the crowd as she collected her thoughts. "As the old guard moves on and the leadership from the Phage War retires, it will be up to many of you to shape the future of Starfleet in such uncertain times.

  "We're in the midst of great political upheaval, divisions between the enclaves that may be irrevocable, and a new enemy at the gate. But amidst this darkness there are some points of light … Starfleet has been reinvigorated and given new purpose, something that was sorely lacking in the previous centuries. Advances are coming so quickly that new generations of starships are being designed before the previous even enters service. We will prevail. While the odds may seem long right now, have faith in your officers and in each other. I am honored to be given the opportunity to serve and help continue the work of transforming the Mighty Seventh—Black Fleet—into the Federation's premier fighting force. Let's get to work."

  With a nod she stepped away from the edge of the stage to a round of enthusiastic applause that went on even after she'd walked off the back of the platform and made her way to the hatchway. She'd taken the posting as Seventh Fleet's Chief of Operations under protest. The Icarus, a Starwolf-class destroyer and her first command, was being decommissioned after the last depot-level inspection showed that she had far too much structural damage from her many battles to safely be put back into active service.

  Celesta naturally assumed that she'd be given command of a newer class of destroyer or even moved up into one of the latest boomers that were being put through their paces in final flight testing. But while she sat in limbo on the New Sierra Platform, the new official headquarters of the Federation Starfleet, waiting for the Icarus to be fully decommissioned, the leadership structure of the organization was turned upside down.

  President Augustus Wellington, not a particularly healthy man when he assumed office, died unexpectedly from a massive heart attack just a month prior and the procedure for succession within the newly minted Federation was a bit muddy. It was assumed that the only recently appointed Vice President Nelson would step in, but more than a few PMs saw the sloppily worded order of succession as an opportunity. From what Celesta had been able to see in the media, however, Nelson was moving quickly to solidify support and cement his position as Chief Executive, even going so far as to begin making his own appointments.

  Wellington's death was only unexpected because even for someone who enjoyed excess as much as Wellington had, modern medicine had been able to all but eliminate heart disease. Suspicions of foul play weren't being seriously entertained, but it was still a hot topic of discussion down on the surface of New Sierra, the Federation's capital world. While the news personalities in the capital city ran with stories of intrigue surrounding the former President's death, Vice President Nelson was quietly using the emergency powers granted him in the Federation's charter to shuffle people around in key positions within the military. Some of those who were asked to leave came as a surprise to everyone.

  "Short and to the point. I'd have expected nothing else." Celesta turned at the familiar voice to see a well-groomed, middle-aged man leaning against the bulkhead in a civilian suit that looked brand new.

  "Admiral Marcum," she said with a polite nod.

  "It's just Joseph Marcum now," the former CENTCOM Chief of Staff said. "My retirement was made official as of 0500 this morning. I'm here on a day pass so that I can clean my office out and say goodbye. Do you have a minute?" When Celesta hesitated, he raised his hands in a placating gesture and stepped in closer to her.

  "I understand that you may be one of those celebrating my ouster," he went on. "But I think that I have some useful advice that a newly promoted admiral might need … especially one that has spent most of her career as a warrior and not a politician."

  "Very well, Admiral," Celesta said, refusing to call the man by his first name. It was partially out of respect for the rank he once held but also for the officer she had once thought him to be. Her mentor, legendary starship captain Jackson Wolfe, thought her to be laughably naïve when it came to the trust she put in flag officers. Now that she was one, and he was not, she wondered if his hard, fast rule regarding the admiralty applied to her.

  "My old office should give us a place to have a chat without being overheard," Marcum said. "And congratulations, Admiral. Despite the recent friction between us, I want you to know I consider you to be the best starship captain I had under my command … and that includes the other guy." Celesta could only shake her head at the reference to Captain Wolfe. If ever there was someone Marcum would have wanted to see booted out of the Fleet before his own retirement it would have been the maverick from Earth that had been a perpetual thorn in his side.

  "So what will happen to you now that Wellington is gone?" Celesta asked.

  "That's a really good question," Pike said, pulling his shirt all the way on and standing up from the bed. The pair had been circling each other for years, neither willing to sacrifice any aspect of their careers for a relationship or openly admit to the other how they really felt. With Celesta being stuck on the New Sierra Platform for months while the Icarus was dismantled and Pike hovering around after his boss's demise, there had been little for either to do but spend time with each other. Celesta had to admit privately that it may have been a mistake to keep things on hold for as long as they did.

  "I'm still assigned to the office of the Presidency, not the person holding it," Pike continued. "I'd imagine I'll be given the choice of retiring, continuing on under President Nelson, or going back to CIS. They're down to only a handful of agents right now so the last option is the most likely."

  "Weren't there more than a few connected people waiting to nail you to a wall once Wellington was no longer protecting you?" Celesta asked, reaching for the Fleet issue workout gear she used as sleepwear.

  "You paid at
tention to my whining," Pike said, placing both hands over his heart and fluttering his eyes. "This really is—"

  "Don't ruin things with that mouth of yours," Celesta warned. "And answer the question."

  "The person that most wanted my head on a platter was none other than Fleet Admiral Joseph Marcum," Pike said as he rummaged around in the small alcove that served as a kitchen in Celesta's temporary billeting. "We may need to go to the mess deck … there's nothing in here but some questionable-looking crackers and what appears to be a sort of fruit paste. Do they stock guest billeting with expired shit they pull out of lifeboats?"

  "So now that Marcum has been retired you're sure there's nobody else waiting to take out their frustrations with Wellington on you?"

  "Nobody that has the juice to touch a full agent," Pike said. "But to be honest … I've been doing this a long time and retiring on a full colonel's pension has a certain appeal right about now."

  Celesta didn't comment on what might have changed to make the squirrely CIS agent consider retiring when just a year ago he said he'd work until he died or they forced him out. She was afraid the answer would be that the time they'd spent together on the Platform had completely readjusted his life's priorities. While that would be flattering, it also carried a level of responsibility she wasn't sure she wanted to take on.

  "Let me clean up and put on some utilities; then we can head down to the flag officer's mess," she said.

  "Want me to sneak down there so you can just happen to bump into me?" Pike asked seriously.

  "Not this time," she said. "While it made sense to be discreet before, there's no longer the risk of a conflict of interest, or the appearance of one. Just toss on some civvies and give me about ten minutes."

  "Jillian!"

  Jillian Wolfe turned around to see a longtime friend she hadn't seen in years jogging up the corridor towards her.