Hegemony by Christopher Wittkugle - HTML preview

For Angel

Chapter 1 Citizen Lawless 25
Chapter 2 The Battlefield of Kazaar 35
Chapter 3 An Evening at Amyrica 44
Chapter 4 The Tale of the Amber Rose 57
Chapter 5 The Young Captain 67
Chapter 6 Waiting at Temple 75
Chapter 7 The Search of Orajeb 79
Chapter 8 Rotting on the Vine 86

Chapter 9 The Priorities of the Parallax 101 Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Aboard the Ghost Ship 106 Amber's Hospitality 114 Lament 124 The Testimony of Orli Noblessar 129 Revelation 135 A Rose by any Other Name... 145 Rahji Comes to Namarri 152 The Betrayal of Rahji 160

Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Deception of the Maduza 171 The Jaegernaut II 182 The Synchronicity at Kazaar 188 The Chaos of Battle 198 The End Draws Near 208 The Final Disposition of the I.N.V. Godiva 216 Legacies 223

Captain Rahji s footsteps echoed down the long, dimly lit corridor that bisected the Lucillia s oval shaped observation deck. His late night walks were a common occurrence, and the crew took little notice of his passage, other than to give a few quick salutes. He found the peacefulness of the "after hours" soothing. His footfalls were steady and rhythmic, which also helped to sooth his nerves. He would walk slowly, but with purpose, touring all the decks of the Delico Star-cruisers Unlimited deep space freighter. His arm came up in a motion made automatic by years of repetition, as he glanced at the antique timepiece he wore on his left wrist. Time always seemed to move so slowly these days.

Dr. Filippi, the personal physician that had been assigned to him by the company, had told him that his insomnia was incurable. The most likely cause of it was his lifetime of service in the Impyrial Navy. Always being awake, never able to relax and waiting for the next enemy to launch an attack had taken its toll on him. In forty-seven years of service, Omar Rahji had seen one hundred sixty-eight ship to ship battles with pirates, dissidents and various other non-conformists. He had survived them all without so much as a scratch or contusion.

Now, however, there was only the blasted insomnia to grapple with. Even though he did get the amount of sleep required by regulation in the hyper-sleep chamber, he rarely felt rested these days. This fact showed in his haggard and worn face.

He looked at the watch again; thirty-two seconds had passed since his last glance. He walked on.
As usual, he re-lived old battles in his mind as he walked. The events that happened in his life between those battles seemed almost trivial and useless to him. His marriages, and subsequent divorces, even the birth of his only son had paled when compared to the sense of purpose he had gotten from doing battle. Dr. Filippi had tried to explain this as Rahji s way of coping with the horrible things he had seen in the worst of those battles. But Rahji didn t want it explained, he was perfectly happy with his memories. He had always viewed himself as a born commander, and felt that his exemplary record attested to that fact.
But there were no more battles now. He had retired, or rather had been forced to retire, a little more than four orthodox years ago. He had received High Honors of the Impyre, but his age disqualified him from field command. Rather than enter the lower echelons of Impyrial Fleet Command, he opted for his retirement package and decided to travel the galaxy that he had spent so many years of his life defending. He even spent a little time on his home world of Akhara with his son, Vherjai.
But it wasn't long before he became restless and accepted command of the Lucillia.
The Lucillia was a mid-sized bulk cargo carrier, specially equipped with large fuel storage capabilities for making deep runs to far removed parts of the galaxy. Owned by the Far Star Carriers Company, she was a fast and nimble ship, especially for one of her size and intended purpose. Her firepower was above and beyond what most cargo ships carried, so Rahji liked her well enough, to be sure.
The Far Star Carriers Company, or FSCC, was a small corporation owned and operated by retired naval officers. They, in turn, only hired ex-Navy personnel. The fleet that they had amassed might have been small, but the number of skilled sailors aboard and the modifications that were made to the ships made them undesirable targets for pirates and brigands. This was necessity for the multitude of deep runs for which they took contracts.
The Lucillia was on one of these deep runs now. She was en route to some desolate, out of the way planet on the very frontier of the Southern Galactic Arm named Namarri. Her cargo was one hundred seventy thousand mega-grosses of medical supplies. It seemed that the residents of Namarri had accidentally released a vicious and virulent biological weapon. Rahji gave it little thought; it was just another drop-off for him, then he would be off to the next planet. Even though things like this happened quite regularly all over the galaxy, it was more common out here on the edge of the Impyre. Law and Order held little sway in these parts.
He detested that.
Even in a few of the core solar systems that mentality was showing through. The Seven Impyrial Fleets had their hands full dealing with the uprising. Several of the dissident noble houses had banded together and formed the Coalition of Houses Scorned. Conflicts were breaking out all over the civilized galaxy, almost on a daily basis. Of the three and a half thousand planets known to be colonized, the number the Impyre was in control of stayed right around two and a half thousand. This number fluctuated daily, for various reasons, but since the uprising, it had been slowly dropping.
Rahji saw the reports of the battles on the holo-casts whenever he would go ashore at any of the Lucillia s ports of call. These reports would trigger the memories of his own battles, long since past.
He was beginning to understand that he not only grown accustomed to the fighting, but had come to expect it. To live for it, really. He had realized one day that he missed it dearly, and somewhere deep down, he longed for it constantly. A part of him felt that he should die as he had lived; in battle with the evil of non-conformity.
He had never told Dr. Filippi about that, afraid that he might lose his command.
He reached the end of the corridor, and the doors of the personnel lift opened automatically when he approached. They closed behind him with a barely audible "thunk". The brain-wave sensor on the control panel sent out an invisible beam, and scanned this latest occupant. In a matter of microseconds, it had determined that Captain Omar E. Rahji, wished to return to his cabin on deck twenty-two, and the lift s motor engaged. With a movement that happened so quickly that he barely perceived it, the doors opened again and the main corridor of deck twenty-two lay before the Captain.
As he walked the few meters to the door of his cabin, he thought back on the battle of the Xidis Rift, and of how the explosions had looked spectacular against the backdrop of the rift, a huge gaping tear in space and time that sizzled with electrical and nuclear energy. He couldn t remember why there had even been a battle; just that he had helped win it. He had helped win them all. And that thought not only comforted him, it also was more or less how he defined himself.
In his cabin, he prepared a Tarkijuan cocktail and sipped it as he paced the floor. He was waiting for the alcohol to calm his nerves a little more. His walk had done little to quiet his thoughts this evening.
He stopped in front of the mirrored glazteel window that looked out over the hull of the Lucillia and stared at his reflection. His dark skin was creased with deep wrinkles, and heavy bags hung low under his eyes. His hair, silver and flowing, framed it all with an ironic perfection. His bright blue eyes, however, glinted with vitality, their brilliance could only be rivaled by the various medals and decorations he wore on his breast and lapels.
He hardly recognized that old man's face anymore and shook his head. The brain wave scanner in the window controls adjusted the tint, and the old man faded away, replaced by a splendid view of the cosmos.
He thought that the stars looked dim way out here on the frontier. Only one was shining brightly. It was the star that Namarri orbited, and it was growing brighter, if only ever so slightly, by the minute. His naked eye could barely discern this, but he knew it wouldn t be long until they reached their destination, only a few hours at the most. The navigator had shut down the star-drives a few minutes ago, and was slowing the ship for a standard approach to the temporary dock set up at the edge of the inner planetary ring. The quarantine on Namarri had yet to be lifted, and so all deliveries were to be dropped at a controlled and centralized location.
He stood at the window, engrossed in his memories for quite some time, until he was stirred by the soft but very noticeable beep of his comunit. He looked down to where it hung on his belt. The priority indicator light was flashing red.
Trouble.
He activated the comunit with a thought and it clicked on. As it hummed quietly, a life-sized hologram of his Executive Officer, Commander Francis Ralvekio appeared a few feet away from him. The holographic Commander saluted him. After the Captain returned the salute, Ralvekio began to speak.
Sir, our long range scans contain data that suggests that there may be a derelict vessel drifting in this sector. The data is not conclusive for a ship, it could be a small, heavy-metal asteroid. There is, however a small radiation source, which could be a depleted fuel cell. A probe has been launched, and we should have visual conformation in a few moments.
Put the coordinates on my screen, Rahji responded. As he spoke, the tint on the window turned silver, and then was replaced by a stellar chart of the local solar system. A green delta indicated the position of the Lucillia on the map, and then a red delta appeared, marking the location of the unknown object. It was far out, away from the inner ring of planets, and Rahji did not see a threat to their present course. If it was a ship, the Lucillia could easily avoid it.
Sir, the probe has confirmed that it is a ship, Ralvekio informed him. There is not enough power for life support, it is most likely an uncharted derelict. The identity broadcaster is not functioning, there is no way of identifying the ship without
Commander, Rahji interjected. Our present course shall not bring us into any range of threat from this derelict. If it were closer, I would say that it s pirates, with their life support down and using EVA-suits. I know there's still a few old buccaneers who still use that trick. He placed his hand to his chin as he considered the order he was about to give.
Continue to Namarri. When we arrive, we will inform the local garrison commander about the ship. It s none of our concern. If there is any change, notify me at once. Rahji started to turn away from the display, but stopped when Ralvekio spoke again.
Sir, we have a visual of the vessel now, he said, and the stellar chart disappeared, and was replaced by an image of a darkened ship floating in space.
Rahji s blood ran cold for the first time in years as he recognized the retired battleship on the display screen. Its long sweeping bow and narrow aft were unique to the Diable de Mer battleship design. And the dark red hull told Rahji exactly what ship he was looking at.
By the Cosmos, he whispered. It can t be.
He could see no damage to her, and her engines, although without power, showed no signs of failure. Belay that last order, Commander, he spoke quickly. Set a course to bring us within shuttle range of that ship, he said as he turned to the door of his personal lift to the command deck.
And, he added, get those two Impyrial merc fighters out. Now!
Aye, aye Ralvekio responded, but Rahji did not hear it. He was already in the lift and within moments, he was stepping onto the command deck. Everyone here was in a flurry of movement that appeared chaotic to the untrained eye. But Rahji knew that his crew was preparing for the orders that they expected their captain would soon give. They all stopped momentarily and saluted him when the Weapons Engineer announced his arrival. He returned the salute and they all went back to their duties. Rahji s faith in his crew was great. They knew it, and took pride in it. Alert status Three, Commander. I want reports from all shipboard systems immediately. Navigator, make sure you approach that ship with extreme caution. CommOff, get the garrison commander on a secured channel, and brief him to our situation. Also, have them bounce that report to Far Star dispatch, if their GalCom station is functioning. Rahji stopped speaking, and began listening to the reports that began to come to him from all the system engineers on the Lucillia.
Ralvekio watched in reserved silence as Rahji and the crew exchanged information for orders. He was slightly confused as to what his captain was doing. In the past two and a half orthodox years serving under this captain, Ralvekio had never seen him do anything brash, unconventional or without direct orders. This sudden preparation for joining, or possibly starting, a battle was highly irregular. When the tumult of the change in alert status dwindled down somewhat, he leaned in close to the Captain s ear and spoke quietly.
With all due respect Sir, may I inquire as to what our objective here is?
Rahji smiled and said You mean to ask, of course, what in Hell we are doing, correct? Ralvekio s face reddened slightly from embarrassment only for a moment then he brought his emotions under control with a quick and silent Huy-Tan chant he learned in the Academy. Rahji clapped his hand on his subordinate s shoulder. It s all right, Commander. I realize that I am acting in a fashion you are not accustomed to. But, it is simply explained, you see. I know that ship. He paused for a moment.
She s the I.N.V. Godiva he finished.
When Rahji spoke the name, the command crew fell silent, and slowly all turned to face him.
The Godiva? Are you sure, Sir? Ralvekio s voice was almost a whisper when he asked.
I was her Gunnery Commander twenty years ago, I would know her anywhere. She s the 'Diva, to be sure. Rahji was staring, appearing almost entranced, at the visual display of the old battleship.
The Godiva isn t a large ship, Rahji informed the crew. But she is big enough to put a serious hurt on the Lucillia, if it comes to a firefight. Extensive automation and superior cannons compensate for her lack of size. But we have no way of knowing what sort of modifications may have been made over the past few years. I m sure that some of you are aware of this already, but that ship went missing a few years ago, shortly after being de-commissioned. I do believe that this is the first credible sighting of her since that time.
The two Dauphin Mark VII heavy fighters that were on hired combat duty from the Impyrial Navy streaked by the view screen. They completed their fly-by and then proceeded to approach the supposedly derelict ship. When they got into close range with it, they flew in a methodic and pre-planned surveying pattern around it.
This is Alpha Wing One, the wing leader called in his report. There is no power to any of the main systems, only a faint radiation signature, source unknown. And no signs of life. There wouldn t be any on a ghost ship, now would there? the wingman cut in.
Stow it, Lieutenant ordered Rahji in a harsh tone. Are you sure there s no signs of life, Alpha One? He leaned forward, one hand on his knee.
Positive, Sir. She s dead. Going to a holding pattern to await your orders, Captain. The two fighters of Alpha Wing then formed up and slowly circled the crimson-hulled derelict. As they circled, no change could be seen in the state of the Godiva by any of the probes and scans that were continually monitoring her.
Rahji stood, and looked around the command bridge at every crewman and officer. They all appeared to be ready for action.
All right, let s get to work, he said with a nod to everyone in general. We are going to tow her into Namarri, and with any luck, collect a nice bounty or reward, which will be split evenly amongst the crew.
The Lucillia slowly edged closer to the Godiva, with Alpha Wing giving regular reports on the condition of the target. Finally, the navigator announced that they were within towing range and that all systems were ready for contact. Rahji nodded to him and gave the order.
Latch on to her.
Within a only a few seconds, four red beams of light shot out from the underside of the Lucillia and converged on the Godiva, enveloping the battleship in a glowing red field. The holding-field flickered once, then turned green, signifying that towing operations could now commence. And it was in that very instant when Captain Rahji s rather hastily made plan fell apart.
The engines of the I.N.V. Godiva came online, filling the space around them with a brilliant yellow flash. Without hesitation, Rahji gave the order to engage.
Fire! he yelled, his eyes ablaze with intensity. All fore and dorsal ballistic stations fire! Alpha Wing, time to earn your money, take out her engines!
For only an instant, something deep down inside him stirred, and thanked the Cosmos for this opportunity. Then in the next instant, he wondered if perhaps he should have told Dr. Filippi that thing about needing to die in battle. No matter, his subconscious decided in the next instant, it is too late now.
The four turrets on the forecastles of the Lucillia and the six that sprouted from her dorsal hull opened their hatches and rained a hailstorm of titanium slugs into the Godiva s hull. They ripped through the crimson metal like it was nothing. The cannons of the Lucillia, as well as those of every ship in the Far Star fleet had been modified beyond standard design, firing more rapidly and with more intensity and using a larger bore.
The two fighters of Alpha Wing swooped low over the Godiva s bow, attempting to target active gun mounts. When they realized no cannons were operating, they veered off and set up to make a run at her engine exhausts. As they came back around, the retired Navy ship s shields came online and their plasma cannons would do no good. They would have to wait for the ballistics to open a tear in the protective energy shield. They moved off to a reasonably safe distance, to await an opening.
Captain, Ralvekio was standing over the console of the Recon Officer s station. There seems to be a large energy build up in the main power plant. Possibly a weapon charging up.
Rahji watched the cannons of the Lucillia tearing into the shields of the Godiva. He looked at the recon readings on his own display. A dark, cold feeling crept into the pit of his stomach.
Of course it is, was all he said.
A brilliantly bright beam of white light shot from the Godiva s bow, followed immediately by an immense and intense beam of red energy. The green field of the tow-beams evaporated as the second beam passed through it.
So did the Lucillia when it was struck by that second, red beam. In an instant, the powerful cargo carrier had been obliterated with only a single shot.
The star-drives of the Godiva were fully powered now, and with a bright flash of yellow light, they tore open the interstellar rift they were designed to create.
The Godiva entered the warp tunnel and disappeared.
All that remained were the two Dauphin Mark VII fighters of Alpha Wing. They were not equipped with star-drives, so they sent out distress calls and pointed their noses toward the temporary docking station and headed in.
Only a faint cloud of minute and slowly dispersing metallic particles was left to mark the spot that the Lucillia and her crew had occupied only moments before.

The sun s rays warmed Drake s tanned and chiseled face. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was deep and rhythmic as he performed the Exercise of Anticipation, as taught to him by his friend and cell-mate, Shonu. Drake had been waiting here by the trees at the edge of the meadow for quite a long time now, and his patience was wearing down a little. Shonu had agreed to meet him here at midday, which had already come and gone. Drake opened his eyes slightly and took a quick look around.

Drake was standing near the south perimeter gate of Camp Eleven on Impyrial Penal Colony Seven, or as it was called by the inmates here, Cayge. His muscular frame was no longer clad in the standard issue dark gray inmate s uniform, but in his old blue pilots EVA-suit. The pressurized suit kept his body temperature at a comfortable level, whether he was in deep space or standing in the sunlight of this meadow. It still fit him well, even though he hadn't worn it in over five years. He held the lightweight helmet under his left arm in a fashion that was very similar to the pilot that graced the recruiting posters that were commonplace all over the Impyre.

He took a deep breath and looked at his chronometer. He was being released today; he was only waiting to hear something from, or about, Shonu. His brown eyes surveyed the countryside beyond the fence.

For the most part, Cayge was very pleasant world. Clear blue skies hung over vast fields of green grasses and trees. Wild flowers of all colors could be found everywhere, even at the various camps scattered over the planet s surface. Drake had only ever been in Camp Eleven, but he had been told that the other three hundred fifty camps were just as nice. If one happened to be going to prison, Cayge was the world of choice. The inmates had given IPC7 the misnomer of Cayge as a joke. It was by far no place for hardened criminals, and those sent there would rarely be able to survive a real prison colony. The name caught on, and most everyone in the galaxy had heard of the posh, resort-like prison world.

IPC7 had been established in order to lessen the punishment for those criminals whose crimes were non-violent in nature. An intense screening process had been created to keep maniacs, sadists and other dangerous deviants out of the population. On occasion, however, special cases were made. These special cases were generally made for influential politicians or popular citizens of the Impyre.

One such case had been made for a young inmate named Andy LaCroiux. He, unlike most of the convicts here, would be spending the remainder of his life on this colony. His father was an affluent member of the Bureau of Science and Religion and Andy was a lunatic, pre-disposed to murder. He had been convicted of killing one of his professors at the University of Ciripico.

Andy had written an essay titled Gravity: The Universal Conspiracy to Hold You Down for his planetary science class. Upon receiving it, Professor Fulinar thought it was a witty title, and hoped that the paper might be more of a pleasure to read than most of the work given to him by typical science students.

After reading it, however, he realized that the work had been that of an extremely disturbed mind and the author really did hold to the idea that the concept of gravity had been invented to facilitate some sort of scheme of domination and conquest over humanity. He felt that he had no choice but to alert the Dean of Mental Wellness that Andy may have suffered a psychotic break.

Andy had felt that he had no choice but to then bludgeon Professor Fulinar to death with his own hover chair, screaming the whole time: You re in on it! You re in on it!

Andy LaCroiux was a lunatic, and everyone on Cayge knew it, and stayed clear of him whenever possible.
Drake s conviction for kidnapping with intent to extort placed him among the more violent offenders on Cayge. Not on the same level as Andy, but he had some notoriety, given his crime and his former profession as a fighter pilot in the Impyrial Navy. It was that service in the Navy that had swung the Penal Board in favor of allowing his application to IPC7 to be accepted. The Judge s recommendation had helped as well. He had said that in light of this being Drake s first conviction and certain mitigating circumstances that had not been allowed in to evidence that he did not feel Drake was a danger to society. He also went on record as recommending Drake should be allowed to serve his minimum term of five years in the relative safety of Cayge.
From where he now stood, Drake could hear the gill-birds singing in the bushes down by the little stream that flowed just outside the camp s perimeter fence. A slight wind blew through his shoulder length black hair. His mouth curled up in a smile as the smell of hosita grass caressed his nostrils. He was standing with his back to the guardhouse, facing the landing pad where his most prized possession awaited him.
His ship, the Maduza, was resting on the square concrete pad. Her hull was painted a dark green and blended into the foliage that surrounded the camp almost perfectly.
Quite odd for a spacecraft, Drake noted to himself.

The Maduza was, in fact, an odd and unique craft. Designed and built by Drake and his old Navy buddy and business partner, Johnny Hiro, she was a conglomeration of salvaged parts, but was a very attractive ship nevertheless. Her bow sloped forward, coming to a triangular point. Her navigation instruments were packed away in her stern, in a boxy fuselage. The pilot sat in a capsule-shaped cockpit that was separated from the main hull on a pylon on the port side of the ship. The cockpit doubled as living quarters and lifeboat. Her massive fuel cell storage unit was located on another pylon on the starboard side.

But it was her engine that made her special. Running under her entire length was an old Sinoram Shipyards star-drive taken from a wrecked Galactic Transit Group luxury cruiser. Not many ships that were small enough to be crewed by one person could travel between stars under their own engine power. Most had to use chartered carriers, Galactic Transit Group being one of the companies offering that service.

And that big engine also allowed her to carry a weapon turret that was almost unheard of on a craft that small. A ten barrelled Plaztech plasma cannon hung from under her nose, and much to the chagrin of several pirates who had crossed Drake, all ten barrels could fire simultaneously. One hit on an unshielded hull would be disastrous. Most fighter craft carried a single plasma cannon, and possibly a ballistic cannon with limited ammo. The Maduza carried two one hundred twenty-five mil slug-guns, with a typical Navy payload of five tons of ammo. Drake could see the muzzles of those cannons peeking out from under their protective hoods on her nose.

He could also see that Grant, the old off-world mechanic that he had hired to look after the Maduza, had made the modifications that Drake had ordered to be done during his incarceration. The new projection unit sticking out from the navigation array would go unnoticed unless some one was looking for it, like Drake was now.

He turned back to look at the guardhouse. The little gray building squatted close to the ground, windowless and drab. The two Impyrial soldiers that stood on either side of the titanium door were armed with Grimn automatic plasma rifles and covered by protective nylar body a