Trial by leviathan, p.1
Trial by Leviathan, page 1
TRIAL BY LEVIATHAN
OPERATION MARRAKESH
BOOK 1
BLAZE WARD
KNOTTED ROAD PRESS
for Gari, Phil, and Scott: Thanks for making it better
CONTENTS
Preface
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
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Read More
About the Author
Also by Blaze Ward
About Knotted Road Press
PREFACE
Log: Directorate Cruiser, Tactical Transport Marrakesh (CTT)
Station: Albany, Belmark Region
Attached Special Mission Modules:
A) Advanced Weapons Testing
B) Survey, Type 2
Mission: Testing Borsheva Upgrades to Hv Particle Cannon System
Project: W93-O8F77R81
Security Clearance: 3+
1
“Weapons module, this is the Bridge,” Captain Padraig Boru said into the open comm line as the second—and supposedly final—shot impacted on the distant asteroid. “Secure from firing while we evaluate your success.”
“Understood, Captain,” Dr. Borsheva replied coolly on the line.
That woman did everything coolly, which was fine. Padraig preferred it quiet and nerdy when playing with advanced new weapons technologies. Especially when blowing up random asteroids. Even in the middle of nowhere.
Padraig looked around his bridge. DC Marrakesh was an old ship. The Cruiser, Tactical Transport was older than most of its crew, pressed back into duty right at the moment it had been scheduled to be demobilized and retired to the Reserve Fleet. Maybe scrapped.
A new coat of paint, a new crew—most of whom were still kids, including him on some days—and the ship had been thrust back into service.
At least their first mission was something easy. He’d barely had time to take them out and do enough of a shakedown tour to make sure everything still worked before being called into dock and having those two modules plugged in.
Advanced Weapons Testing module for a new, experimental heavy particle cannon design. Survey module to make sure everything was working, with resolution of extremely fine detail at the sorts of long ranges that Dr. Borsheva’s new invention promised.
Certainly, they’d come to rest one hell of a long ways out from that asteroid. And still blown it into three big pieces and a huge puff of plasma and fragments.
“Radio, what’s it look like in the vicinity of the target?” Padraig called now.
Communications Officer Nyssa Taggart. Squire, or the A’Zedi Fleet’s lowest commissioned officer rank. And one commissioned directly from her former rank as an enlisted Specialist, when someone had figured out how smart the young woman was. At nineteen, his youngest officer by several years, and his third youngest crew member.
Nyssa was a compact woman. Narrow shoulders, slender build, though still of medium height. Like everything had been squished inward. Incredibly smart, but not necessarily possessed of the sort of killer instinct that would put her in command of her own ship one of these days.
She looked up from her screen. Dark brown eyes in a face a shade darker than even the average for his crew. Brown hair always kept buzzed as short as regulations would allow.
If he’d permitted it, Padraig had no doubt Nyssa would get up every morning and shave her head like he shaved his whiskers. Might have to let her, one of these days, just to see.
Her face held confusion when she zeroed in on a feeling.
“Squire?” Padraig asked.
Grimace. Scowl. Something wasn’t right, but Nyssa couldn’t explain it.
But then, she possessed an esoteric magic when it came to sensors and communications. That was why she was Radio Officer.
Padraig played a hunch.
“Should I come over there to see?” he asked.
Nyssa lit up.
“Aye, sir!”
He rose and crossed. All his bridge officers and crew faced inward toward each other, with him at the center of the room. Made non-verbal communications better than having everyone lined up in rows facing forward, like the United Technocracy of Wronlori did it.
However, they were the enemy. Culturally as well as militarily.
Their sneak attack at Eworn two years ago had turned a hot peace into another conflict. The War of the Fourth Alliance. The Sovereign Collective Directorate of A’Zedi—his home—this time siding with the Holy Imperium of Copez, against Wronlori, with the Enlightened Tyranny of Traisa neutral at the moment and others on the sidelines hoping the storm blew a different direction.
Padraig moved to look over Nyssa’s shoulder.
Two-dimensional screen plot, with colors and patterns indicating the third dimension and allowing her to rotate things with a trackball to shift her point of view.
Nyssa’s finger came down on a point, clear at the edge of her screen. Almost a shadow, but closing, even if it was out more than three light-years yet.
“What is it?” he asked.
Padraig had his guesses, but it was her board.
“Inbound backtrack suggests a Wronlori origin, sir,” Nyssa said quietly. “Nothing important back that direction, but if I wanted to slip into the Albany system at high speed, this is where I’d come from. Plus, we’re out a ways from the planet Albany itself, and nobody normally sits at rest like this using Aetherial Sensors.”
Padraig had to agree. The Aetherials were for navigation when you went to warp, bringing up the Ghostdrive to propel the ship to fast FTL.
But he’d ordered his Radio Officer to scan everything. Not her fault she’d taken him at his word. Whoever that was might have gotten almost on top of them before Marrakesh saw them.
“Have they picked us up yet?” he asked.
“Stand by,” Nyssa replied.
He watched her work some more magic, typing in a quick formula and reading the results.
“Affirmative, Captain,” Nyssa said firmly. “Target has deviated from their original flight plan that would have brought them out of warp close to Albany and are instead closing on Marrakesh at high FTL speed. Further, their Aetherial Sensor radiation suggests that the vessel is indeed of Wronlori manufacture.”
Padraig studied the woman more than the message. Young, oh, so very young. Enlisted at seventeen. Commissioned as soon as she finished Radio School because everyone agreed she was by far the smartest student in her class. And the Directorate needed officers badly, still madly attempting to build up the fleet after the peace treaty negotiated eight years past had failed so badly two years ago.
Time wasted by politicians who had been convinced that Wronlori had finally seen the error of their ways. Hadn’t helped when a new Archbishop had been proclaimed by the Holy Imperium, who then broke their previous treaty with Wronlori to join A’Zedi in an alliance. The Fourth Alliance, now that it was war again with Wronlori.
Nyssa Taggart was certain of her finding. Her eyes told him as much.
Padraig nodded and returned to his station, flipping up the little cover on his right-hand side to reveal the big red button underneath.
He slammed a fist into it and took a breath.
“All hands, this is Captain Boru,” Padraig announced. “Stand by to receive enemy warship incursion.”
2
Padraig reached under his station and pulled out the lifesuit he kept there. The bridge was at the core of Marrakesh, but it could still be hit by missile chunks or a particle cannon. Best to be prepared to lose atmosphere, even this deep inside.
Overhead, the lights took on a reddish tinge and an alarm siren wound up three times, paused, then sounded three more times. Sufficient to wake the dead.
“Bridge, this is Dr. Borsheva,” she called from the module aft. “What should we do?”
Padraig nodded with a grimace, mostly to himself.
“Stand by your weapons, Doctor,” he replied. “I may be calling on you to fire on an enemy vessel, in spite of our supposed secret mission to Albany to test your latest invention.”
There was a pause before the woman spoke.
“Understood, Bridge,” she said and then cut the line from her end.
Padraig opened the keypad and dialed the number for his Stevedore.
Kaitlin Lynch was the oldest crew member. After thirty years as an enlisted cargo spe
“What’s up, Padraig?” Kaitlin asked as she came on the line.
Informal. But she’d been enlisted crew for all her time, and was a retired—CIVILIAN—consultant today. She liked to remind everyone of that, in spite of her position as ship’s Stevedore. Cargo controller for Marrakesh. Probably at least as important to him and his crew as his First Officer, Chance Messier.
However, she didn’t do spit and polish anymore. If she ever had.
“Nyssa thinks it’s a Wronlori incursion,” Padraig replied simply. “I agree, so we’re going to combat footing. You get to babysit the civilians—the other civilians—and help them deal with firing that big turret if we have to.”
He could hear the smile in her voice when she replied.
“Already on station,” Kaitlin replied. “Got my people shadowing hers. Figure we should swap crews out?”
“Your call, Kaitlin,” Padraig said. “If it gets hot and heavy, a pair of extreme range, experimental heavy particle cannons would be a nice surprise. I can’t imagine someone racing madly over here if they didn’t know where we were already. And who they were looking for.”
“Someone big enough to threaten Marrakesh?” she asked.
“Always err short of the cliff, woman,” he replied with a laugh, throwing her own favorite quote back in her face. “I seem to remember someone telling me that a time or two.”
As Stevedore, she was responsible for getting special mission modules installed and removed, then making sure they synchronized with the ship, both physically as well as socially, since most of them came with their own crews who might not be military folks used to life on a warship.
Like Dr. Borsheva and her team.
Academics, the lot of them. Nice folks. Probably never been shot at. Stevedores had to move with patience.
Kaitlin laughed back and cut the line.
“Nyssa, time to intercept?” Padraig asked, looking around to see that folks had their own lifesuits out and handy.
“Estimate six minutes, Captain,” she replied.
“Everyone take thirty seconds and suit up,” Padraig ordered.
He had mostly officers and senior enlisted with him right now. Luck of timing, as he’d wanted his experts keeping track of Borsheva’s test. Normally, it would be about half and half.
If trouble was coming, this timing had saved him several minutes of mental adjustment for folks. otherwise
Padraig decided to play another hunch. He keyed in a different number on the keypad.
“Engineering. Ahearn.”
Knight Jareth Ahearn. Senior officer back there, in charge of the Ghostdrives, the rotary thrusters, and all his power systems. A good, calm man at the best of times, as well as the worst of times.
Today might be either.
“This is Boru,” Padraig replied. “Go ahead and reconfigure the Ghostdrive for operation. Might be needing it shortly.”
“Is he running or us?” Ahearn asked with a sharp, interested voice.
“I’ll let you know as soon as he arrives,” Padraig replied with a lilt. “Got a party crasher right now.”
“Understood, sir,” Ahearn replied. “Bringing some generators online now. Give me…eight minutes to stabilize.”
Padraig nodded and cut the line. Ghostdrives took a little time to warm up when you hadn’t been using them. Still, they could safely throw you up into a slightly different plane of existence where distances were somehow closer together, letting you fly at a fast FTL while still being able to see the normal space you fell out from. Aetherial Sensors let you look across that boundary as well. Weapons could even be used, if you got right on top of the other vessel, but Ghost-space made the effects wonky at the best of times.
It was even possible to send ultra-high-speed messages home, but they would take hours or days to get there.
Marrakesh was on its own today.
And trouble was coming.
Padraig looked to his Weapons Officer, Armiger Maddox Nevin. Fourth generation sailor, but first generation as an officer.
“Nevin, are your gun crews ready?” Padraig asked.
“Affirmative, sir,” Nevin replied with a nod. “I had them all on duty already, in case we needed to blow up any stray rubble that threatened the ship. Or if I could convince you to close with the asteroid for a firing drill.”
Padraig nodded and smiled. The job of handling the big guns was always for someone aggressive, but Nevin tempered it well. Always training. Always thinking ahead. Always prepared. Reminded Padraig of his own days as Gunner, back on Nemesis.
Padraig started slipping the lifesuit over his uniform, leaving the helmet hung over the side of his chair by the lanyard. A light on his panel told him that his First Officer was on station in the Secondary Bridge.
There wasn’t much left to do but be prepared. He’d gotten a pretty good crew from the Bureau of Personnel, but they’d only been together for six months now, loading and testing the ship before a first shakedown cruise. Then a quick hop to load modules before flying out to Albany in the middle of nowhere.
They would normally need more time to gel, but he’d just run out of everything.
Nyssa’s countdown clock clicked over to one minute to incursion.
3
Padraig had a small screen on his left-hand side echoing the feed from Nyssa Taggart. She was doing an excellent job of tracking the bogey inbound, then caught it with a sensor ping as soon as they dropped into real space.
“Crap, that’s a Leviathan,” somebody muttered in the suddenly silent bridge.
Padraig had to agree with that sentiment. Marrakesh was built on a cruiser hull, though without that weapons module aft they were normally hardly more armed than a frigate. Tactical Transports had a different job in the fleet than fighting.
With the module, they were comparable to most cruisers, though still on the lower end.
But most cruisers still wouldn’t stand a chance against a Wronlori Leviathan. Capital ship. Mothership, at that, with four gunboats carried parasite-style inside. The Leviathan’s wolfpack could probably take Marrakesh by themselves.
The Leviathan wouldn’t really need help.
“Gun teams, open up with the heavy particle cannons, but hold the missiles in the launch tubes,” Padraig ordered. “Weapons module, fire as you bear. Engineering, we need to run. Helm, ahead full on this heading with everything you’ve got, then prepare for transition to Ghostdrive as soon as Ahearn gives you the clearance.”
Zarah Halloran, Squire, had the helm. Young officer. Three days out of Uni was her running joke, but she had really only been commissioned barely in time to join Marrakesh’s crew for this shakedown cruise, so it wasn’t entirely a joke.
Everyone was stretching themselves into new jobs. Padraig hadn’t expected to be promoted to Captain for several more years. But the war had come, and the fleet suddenly needed people and hulls. Anybody and anything they could get.
Padraig had too many ninety-day-wonders among his officers for his own comfort. Civilians with degrees put into a high-pressure training environment when they enlisted to give them the tools they needed to survive. Halloran had at least come out of Fleet University, so she had one step up on them.
She nodded to herself and began to toggle keys like a concert pianist.
