Spacehawks, p.1
Spacehawks, page 1
part #1 of Operation Star Hawks Series
Follow the galactic adventures of Sean Dalton’s special operations team:
SPACEHAWKS
CODE NAME PEREGRINE
BEYOND THE VOID
THE ROSTMA LURE
DESTINATION MUTINY
THE SALUKAN GAMBIT
Meet the commander and crew of the Valiant.
The elite intelligence force known as…
SPACEHAWKS
COMMANDER BRYAN KELLY. The Admiral’s son whose early mission ended in disaster. Valiant is his chance to redeem himself.
DR. ANTOINETTE BEAULIEU. The brilliant but disillusioned ship’s medic, she’s already been forced out of the service once. She has a lot to prove.
CAESAR SAMMS. The only surviving member of Kelly’s first command, he’s tough, loyal, and battle-hardened—but his carefree lack of caution can ruin them all.
PHILA MOHATSA. The volatile junior operative whose secret past on a frontier planet has trained her in the use of exotic—and illegal—killing tools.
OLAF SIGGERSON. An older, more experienced civilian pilot, pressed into service, who rarely agrees with Commander Kelly’s judgment.
LOUIS BAKER. An operative in disgrace sprung from the brig for the mission to Chealda. But can he be trusted?
FULL SPEED AHEAD—ADVENTURE AWAITS!
SPACEHAWKS
Sean Dalton
Printing History
1990 © Deborah Chester
Published by Ace Books, New York 1990
Published as an e-book through Amazon Digital Services, 2014
Cover art original images are in the public domain. Credit for public domain images belongs to the U.S. Navy Seals and NASA, James Bell (Cornell University), Michael Wolff (Space Science Institute), and The Hubble Heritage Team (STScl/AURA).
Cover design by Steven Thorn.
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by any means, without permission.
Chapter 1
Commander Bryan Kelly inserted his AIA identity badge into the door slot and waited impatiently for the lock code to cycle through. With a click, the door opened and he limped hurriedly into the box-sized quarters that were his for the duration of his leave on Station 4. Tugging at the fastenings of his casual off-duty coveralls, he programmed a three-minute hard shower and dry. Five minutes later, swearing at the time, he emerged freshly shaven and clean with his sore muscles pounded into something resembling recovery.
Gerda, the therapy drone in the rehab center, was getting rougher every day. If he could just get past that eagle-eyed but pretty med-tech for a couple of seconds, he meant to program Gerda to ease up a bit.
Stretching to the full extent of his six-foot height, Kelly winced and shook out his dress uniform. If he didn’t hurry he was going to be late for Tso’s dinner party up in the officers’ club. Years ago, when Kelly was fresh out of the Academy and on his first fleet assignment, he’d served with Ensign Tso Marks aboard the ESS Wellington. Tso was now first officer of the Wellington, and Kelly…
He smiled ruefully at his reflection in the mirror and shook his head. Shoving his hand quickly through his black hair to comb it, he straightened the set of his dress tunic across his broad shoulders. For once it was easy to fasten the stiff collar with its silver braid. Kelly frowned. He’d forgotten how much weight he’d lost.
But his tunic was cut well enough to hide that. He swept his hand across his torso, smoothing the cloth. Black and silver, with an emblem of outstretched talons on the left shoulder, the dress uniform of Special Operations was bold and distinctive. He fastened on the best of his medals: the Minzanese Silver Cross, Antares Medal of Honor, and Lexington Star Cluster.
Stepping back to study his reflection, he felt a touch of embarrassment at how resplendent he looked. As the middle son in a far from ordinary family, he’d learned early to downplay the superb Kelly abilities. To his talented family, boasting was in poor taste.
But Tso—eager to share old times—was throwing this party in honor of his wife’s birthday. The price of Della’s fare out here to Station 4 to share her husband’s leave must have cost him a year’s salary. Such an occasion called for the full effect. Kelly just hoped he could get to the officers’ club without running into a lot of people.
As he headed out the door, an incoming message chime stopped him. He glanced back at the winking light and hesitated, tempted to ignore it. The chime came again.
It was probably Tso calling to tell him hurry up. Swearing, Kelly stepped back inside and snapped on the comm. “Kelly here.”
“Compliments of Commodore West,” said a live Minzanese voice over the line. “Please report to Commodore’s office immediately.”
Kelly frowned. For an instant the old eagerness stirred inside him, but he shook it down. They weren’t due to ship out on a new mission for another two weeks. It was probably one of his squad infringing a station rule.
“Acknowledged,” he said rather curtly. “Will comply.”
As soon as the line cleared, he called the officers’ club. “This is Commander Kelly,” he said. “Please inform Lieutenant Commander Marks that I have been unavoidably delayed but will join him as soon as I can.”
Hurrying out, he glimpsed his reflection as he passed and threw it a horrible grimace. What West would think of him turning up in this monkey suit didn’t bear thinking about.
Halsey West’s office on the uppermost level of Station 4 had the plush opulence of most deskbound brass. But West was no mere bureaucrat stuffed into a uniform. He’d served ably in the fleet for twenty years before losing a leg and arm in a Jostic ambush that shot his ship to pieces and took the lives of two-thirds of his crew. Fitted with superb bionic prosthesis limbs, the commodore nodded politely to Kelly as he came inside, slightly breathless and trying his best to cover his limp.
West was pure earth stock with his gray hair clipped so closely pink scalp gleamed through. He took in Kelly’s appearance with no more than a blink.
“We appear to have interrupted your social duties, Mr. Kelly,” he said in the dry, caustic tones that had cut many an erring crewman down to size. “May I introduce Fydor Ornov of the Satter Mining Consortium? Station Manager Lu’hoshoi. “
Ornov and Lu’hoshoi both rose to shake hands with Kelly.
The latter, wearing a traditional haircrest and colored tassels in front of his ears, clasped Kelly’s fingers in the Minzanese way and bowed.
“Commander wears our warrior cross. Impressive,” he said. He glanced at Ornov. “No question problem can be solved quickly.”
“I’m glad you’re convinced,” Ornov said irritably. “I just want some action taken, gentlemen.”
“Yes. Please sit down, Commander,” West said. “How’s the leg?”
“Rehabbing quickly, sir,” Kelly replied, ignoring Ornov’s snort of impatience. “What seems to be the problem?”
Ornov leaned forward. “Chealda! No communications with them in the last four weeks. “
Kelly dropped the last inch into his chair and sat there feeling as though he’d been socked in the solar plexus. Chealda in trouble…but it was an outer planet in an unimportant sector, with a climate unfriendly enough to keep most visitors away. Dear little bro, the message had cheerfully said six months ago. Don’t tell the family but I’m quitting my job at the lab and going out to a rotten little mining world called Chealda to do research on stress fractures. It’ll keep my mind off the divorce and you know who….
“Chealda is a source of pyrillium,” West explained calmly. “Located in Quadrant 3, out past—”
“The source,” broke in Ornov curtly. “The only source worth exploiting right now. I need not remind you, Commodore, how valuable that metal is.”
“No, you needn’t,” West answered. His gaze swung to Kelly, who still hadn’t gotten his breath back. “There could be several explanations for communications silence. Power failures, ion disturbances that scramble signals—”
“Invasion, piracy, and theft!” snapped Ornov, jumping to his feet. “We must assume the worst. Our freighters will be launched as per schedule within three weeks to pick up this quarter’s shipment stockpiled there. Chealda is ripe for robbery this time of year. “
“Excuse me, Mr. Ornov,” said Kelly, frowning. “But if it’s been a month, why—”
“Red tape.” Ornov scowled, turning crimson. “Naturally we dispatched our own investigators, but they were turned back—”
“Tried to go through restricted territory,” West said.
Kelly met his eyes and nodded. Nielson’s Void lay across the shortest route between Quadrants 0 and 3. The fleet did secret weapons testing in that uninhabited section of space. It was strictly no access, even during times of emergency. Kevalyn, he thought, trying to hold down his alarm, what have you gotten yourself into?
“It’s that stupid fleet mentality which has cost us time,” Ornov was saying as he paced about West’s office. “Do you know how many litigations we’ve gone through to get our men and ships back from military impoundment? It’s ridiculous! You people are supposed to protect us, not treat us like the enemy. And all the while Chealda is being bled dry.’
“By whom?” ventured Lu’hoshoi unwisely.
Ornov turned on him. “Who the hell do you think? Salukans, private raiders, who the hell cares?”
“Please, Mr. Ornov,” West said, lifting his hand. “No one denies that the matter must be investigated—”
“Damned right it’ll be investigated,” Ornov insisted. “I’ve gone through every channel from the fleet admiral on down. The m ilitary is our biggest purchaser of pyrillium. You can’t build good ships’ hulls without it. If those mines have been compromised—”
Kelly sat forward on the edge of his chair and met the commodore’s gaze. “You want us to go, sir?” he asked quietly.
West nodded. “I’m afraid you must. It’s a job for the Wellington if there’s real trouble—”
“There is,” said Ornov. “You can be sure of that.”
“—but she’s been stripped down for a complete refit. Manager Lu’hoshoi has spoken with the hangar chief, who says it will be eleven days until she’s ready.”
“And the closest active cruiser?” asked Kelly, hiding his clenched fists at his sides.
“MSS Omu Donde. She’s out on fleet maneuvers. Even at maximum speed, it will take her six days to arrive here.”
“Then we’ll have to go, sir,” Kelly said, rising to his feet. He glanced at the station manager. “What about the Valiant? She can be readied fairly quickly.”
Lu’hoshoi frowned in puzzlement. “Valiant? Not recognize name of—”
“MSS Omu Squosa,” said West impatiently. “She’s being renamed for service with Special Operations.”
“Spacehawks,” said Ornov, glaring at Kelly. “You boys have quite a reputation. You’d better live up to it. A lot depends on—”
“Excuse me, sir,” Kelly said, glaring back. “I’m well aware of what depends—”
“Kelly,” West said, and with a sharp breath Kelly pulled himself back under control.
West rose to his feet and ushered Ornov and Lu’hoshoi out, muttering assurances. Kelly remained on his feet, trying not to fidget. He’d ship out tonight if he could.
“Sir,” he said as soon as West returned to his desk. “With an A priority, we can get our supplies requisitioned from Stores and loaded. I’ll discharge myself from rehab—”
“I’ve already spoken to the medic in charge of your case,” West said dryly, staring deep into Kelly’s eyes. “He says you’re not ready.”
Kelly frowned. “He’s wrong. The leg’s still sore, but—”
“Mentally, Kelly,” broke in West. “Emotionally. You lost a ship six weeks ago. You lost three operatives. I’ve been there myself, boy. I know what that kind of setback takes out of a man.”
Kelly glanced away, unwilling to have layers of himself peeled back for West’s scrutiny. And he sure wasn’t going to tell West that Kevalyn was on Chealda. That would park him on this station for the duration of the problem.
He searched a moment for the right thing to say. Finally he met West’s gaze. “Work helps, sir.”
West lifted his brows. “Perhaps, but what about your squad? Two of the transferees you requested haven’t arrived yet. You can’t go out without a pilot. This new ship’s hot with advancements in automateds, but even so I—”
“Surely there are some pilots hanging about the station.” Kelly thought quickly. “I could go through their qualifications. If one checks out, then—”
“Civilian pilots?” West said in astonishment. “Kelly, you’re mad. I can’t classify a civilian for Intelligence operations.”
“You can if that pilot is sworn into the Spacehawks,” said Kelly. “There’s a man here, Siggerson’s his name. I hear he’s got quite a touch—”
“You won’t get a civie to join up.” West shook his head although he was already reaching for his comm. “Husho, ask Station Manager Lu’hoshoi to page all licensed pilots on the station. That’s right. Priority.”
West glanced at Kelly. “You still lack an operative and a medic. Ramsey’s retiring. You won’t get him back out on another mission. Not after that last one. He hasn’t been sober in a month. “
“May I see the roster, sir?”
West stared at him a moment, then put a disk in his viewer and scrolled up a list of names. “Didn’t realize you were so eager to get back in harness, Kelly.”
Kelly flushed and hid it by swiveling the viewer around where he could look at the roster. “I told you, sir. Work helps. “
West grunted and Kelly hastily scanned through the names.
“Here’s a medic, sir. Antoinette Beaulieu. Assigned to Harrier Division, squad delta. She’s here awaiting their next check-in. How long to process a transfer?”
West reached for his comm. “Husho, I need a transfer request filled out on one Dr. A. Beaulieu. Yes. Put her in squad alpha, Peregrine Division.” He glanced at Kelly.
“That’s one. Marco will have your butt when he comes in and finds his medic taken.”
Kelly grinned. “He’ll have to catch me first.”
“There aren’t any spare operatives,” West said. “I’ve already checked. And somehow I doubt the captain of the Wellington will stand by while you press gang his crew.”
“What about this one? Louis Baker?’“ asked Kelly. “There’s a notation by his name.”
West glanced at the viewer and frowned. “In the brig. He’s no good. Already stripped of rank and privilege.”
“What are the charges?” asked Kelly.
“Grand theft.” West shook his head. “No, Kelly. I won’t release him. He’s a disgrace to the service and a security risk besides. He’s awaiting court-martial.”
“Then I have to go shorthanded.”
“Against regs.”
Kelly snapped off the viewer angrily. “Excuse me, sir. But do you want Chealda checked out or not? Our duty is to colonists first, not—”
“That’s enough, Commander! Don’t spout duty at me! What good will an injured, shorthanded Space Hawk do those miners? You could go into real trouble, Kelly, and saddle us with your rescue besides—”
“No, sir,” said Kelly firmly. He made up his mind to go whether West gave him authority or not. He wasn’t going to sit on his thumbs and wait for a battlecruiser when Kevalyn was in trouble out there. Kelly met West’s gaze. “We can do the job. We have to. You know that.”
“Damn it, there’s no choice,” said West. He nodded reluctantly. “Consider yourself under go light, Commander.”
Kelly pulled himself to attention. “Thank you, sir. And Baker?”
West scowled. “Very well. But he remains a prisoner. You watch him, Commander, and you watch your back. I don’t want to hear some feeble report about how he stole your ship and left the rest of you sitting on your butts on some asteroid.”
“No, sir,” Kelly said. “Is that all?”
West gestured, and Kelly headed for the door. Before he reached it, however, West spoke up, “By the way, Commander.”
Kelly glanced back. “Yes?”
West’s eyes were like pebbles. “I know your sister’s on Chealda. Make sure you keep your head with your assignment.”
Kelly found an unexpected lump in his throat. Swallowing it, he said gruffly, “Thank you, sir. Would you ... would you please send a code nine message to my father? He’s on maneuvers with the 5th Earth Fleet.”
West lifted his thumb in the centuries’ old gesture of good luck, and Kelly hurried out.
Chapter 2
A maintenance crew of mostly Minzanese all talking at once crowded the quarterdeck of the Valiant, pulling down panels, chattering into communicators, and heaping a myriad of complicated instructions onto Siggerson as the minutes counted down to cast off.
The quarterdeck itself, gleaming with pristine newness, formed a U with six station seats arranged around a large, rectangular astrogation board currently lit a soft green but not yet showing any star maps. The power boards were lighting up in steady progression as the automated systems came on-line. Gravity and life support had already been switched off the battery reserves although the engines were barely warming.
Tremendous, effortless power, Kelly thought. He’d already listened to Siggerson rhapsodizing over her power utilization curves, and the gist of it all was that he had the fastest ship in the fleet. Power, speed, toughness ... that’s what he asked from a ship, but in spite of himself he could feel that this vessel was special.
Cut the fantasies, he told himself. She’s just new. She smells good. Wait until the air recycles a couple of times and she gets that same old stench they all have.
