3...2...1... AAAAANNNDDD WE ARE BACK!
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POV: Kaelen Strathmore
Stellar Year: May 1st, 2985
Kaelen found himself walking through the flickering corridor of a downed ship. The atmosphere around him felt creepy, as if he was being watched with every single step he took.
He turned sharply, doing a 180, and opened fire on a shadow as it ran across a corridor. As he stepped closer to where the shadow was, he started getting pings from the HUD on his EVA suit, showing that his heart rate was elevated beyond a normal range. He rounded the corner, rifle aiming down where he saw the shadow more, but there was nothing there.
He then heard footsteps behind him and came face to face with someone whose silhouette he recognized.
"Mark?" He called out.
The lights flashed again, giving a glimpse of a gnarly sight. Mark's head was split, missing part of his right side. He had fist-sized holes in his body, and his guts were spilling out on the left side of his waist.
"You did this to me," Mark said, in a guttural, inhuman voice.
Kaelen stumbled over his words, attempting to say something. "No, son, I didn't-"
"You let them do this to me," Mark cut him off, the levels of anger in his tone were palpable. "You allowed them to send me headfirst into a slaughter."
Words couldn't find their way out of Kaelen's mouth.
"And now you will pay," Mark said as he lunged at Kaelen.
Mark slammed him against the corridor walls, sending his rifle flying out of his hands.
"I will make you pay!" Mark said as he ripped off Kaelen's helmet. "I will make you pay! I will make you pay! I will make you pay! I will-"
A massive blow shook the ship they were in, and a gaping hole appeared on the opposite side of the corridor they were in. They were immediately pulled in the direction of the hole and sent tumbling into the cold emptiness of outer space.
"I'm dead because of you," Mark said, as he slowly froze. "I hate you."
Those were the last words Kaelen heard as his eyes started to roll back, joining Mark in death.....
Kaelen bolted upright, eyes snapping open, gasping for air as adrenaline shot through him, creating a cold wash against his sweat-dampened shirt. The air in the cabin was stale, smelling faintly of stale synth-whiskey and ozone.
He wasn't frozen in outer space. He was in his armchair. His desk was before him, and on it was a glass he'd put down hours ago, its amber content having evaporated to leave a sticky ring on the polished composite.
"Damn it," he rasped, his throat raw.
He ran a hand through his thinning hair, the tremor in his fingers unmistakable. Twenty-one months. It had been twenty-one months since the Council meeting where he'd learned Jarl Dierdik, the little bastard, had arranged the ambush that ended with the death of a man he considered his son. Twenty-one months since he'd pretty much traded his rank and his reputation for a hunting license.
However, he had failed, and failure, well, failure was the new taste in his mouth. It was metallic and bitter, overriding the taste of the whiskey he used to share with Mark. He hadn't just failed to prevent Mark's death, he had also failed to avenge him. The whole, bloated, unholy war he'd started against House Dierdik had turned into a slow, bleeding ulcer in the side of the IUC's finances and political stability.
It had been a glorious, resource-draining failure in its primary goal. And Jarl Dierdik was still free.
Kaelen pushed himself up, the chair scraping loudly against the deck plate, breaking the silence of his quarters. He walked toward the viewport, his movements loose as he fought to maintain his balance.
The view hadn't changed. The Indifference was still the same, The Whisper of War, The Lament of Innocence, and The Aide of Death still cut through the void along him, their hulls a blue and white fist of vengeance. But the numbers behind them, those smaller, vital pieces of his fleet, were dwindling.
He had started this vendetta with his Dreadnaught, 3 Heavy Cruisers, 2 Heavy Destroyers, 1 Fighter Carrier with 200 fighters, 10 Heavy Frigates, and 12 Corvettes.
He rubbed his eyes, staring at the empty space where two of those fast-attack vessels should have been.
"Initial losses to 'pirates' in the Corvus system, two standard cycles after the vendetta began." That's what the reports said. That's what Kaelen agreed to sign. But the truth was always different than the reports.
He had lost two Heavy Frigates, The Fury of the Righteous and The Steadfast Hand, their crews, nearly 300 men and women, were killed not by the VIC or some opportunistic pirates, but by a well-placed and highly illegal minefield deployed by some private military contractor on the Dierdik's payroll. They had been searching a system near the old Dierdik mining claims, a move Kaelen himself had ordered on a tip that was likely a setup. However, his anger and desire for revenge had blinded him to the obvious trap.
He took a slow, agonizing breath as he remembered the corvettes and fighters he'd lost.
Four fast-attack vessels, the Lightning, the Rapier, the Vigilance, and the Echo. Four new Vessels with less than 5 years of service under their belts had been lost. He'd used them as scout vessels, often using them in high-risk patrols near neutral zones just to corner one of Dierdik's heavily protected transport convoys, hoping Jarl was on board.
Echo and Vigilance had been lost in a short, brutal skirmish against a Dierdik-flagged Heavy Escort near the border of the Coalition. The Council, specifically that two-faced bald bastard Verrin, had used the incident to temporarily freeze Kaelen's fuel allotment for three months. The other two, the Lightning and Rapier, had been scuttled, self-destructed in a desperate move during a boarding attempt in the Xy'an Belt. That battle had also claimed 30 fighters.
He'd lost six ships, 30 fighters, and hundreds of crew. All sacrificed to a private war, dressed up on paper as "border skirmishes," "essential reconnaissance," or the catch-all "pirate attack."
Strathmore had transitioned, in all but name, from an Admiral to a warlord. Hell, he could almost be considered a pirate with quite a formidable fleet.
The truth of his degradation was a heavy and cold anchor in his gut. He was one of the highest-ranking officers in the IUC Navy, and yet, every action he took was a betrayal of the oath he'd sworn. He had cannibalized IUC resources, manufactured crises, and signed off on death warrants for his own men, all for a vendetta that had yielded no results other than staining his impeccable record.
He knew of the rumors that followed him across the galaxy. "The Admiral is losing it." "Strathmore's Crusade." "The Ghost Fleet." But the weight of his name, the decades of loyalty he'd earned, and the sheer fear of the chaos that would ensue if the IUC admitted one of its Admirals was waging a private war kept the Council paralyzed. They were masters of bureaucracy, appeasement, and corruption. And Kaelen, well, Kaelen was a wrench thrown into their precision machine. They had come down to agree that as long as he kept the Indifference fighting and kept the paperwork (mostly) clean, they'd look the other way, terrified of the public scandal.
The terminal on his desk chirped, something he had outright forbidden even in the case of an emergency.
"What is it?" Kaelen growled, not moving from the viewport. The professional voice he had kept before was a performance, a reflex that had lost meaning.
"It's Commander Rhen, sir. Standard priority breach, code Red-Seven-Delta. It's... unavoidable, Admiral. The Council has bypassed your channel."
Commander Elena Rhen. His Executive Officer, and the only person left on the Indifference who had the spine to defy his explicit orders. She was the steel spine he was supposed to be, the one who meticulously scrubbed his illegal orders, fabricated the logs for the lost Frigates, and kept the fleet functioning despite its leader's self-destruction. She was Mark's age, and Kaelen relied on her moral clarity, even though it was a constant reminder of his own darkness.
"Unavoidable," Kaelen repeated, turning slowly. He finally stumbled to the desk, running his finger through the sticky whiskey ring. "Nothing is unavoidable, Rhen. Tell them I'm indisposed. Tell them I'm negotiating a treaty with a sentient gas cloud. Tell them I'm dead. I already am to them anyway."
"Sir, with all due respect, I already informed them that you were in a deep-scan analysis of the latest VIC activity and could not be disturbed." Rhen's voice was tight, sounding like a woman who had been stretched to her absolute limit. "They responded by rerouting the communication through the Captain's personal channel. I cannot hold it any longer. It's Councilor Verrin, sir. And he has a representative from House Dierdik with him."
The blood seemed to freeze in Kaelen's veins. Verrin, that bald-headed eyesore, had always been in the pockets of the Dierdiks.
"Very well, Commander," Kaelen said. He forced himself to stand straighter, smoothing his disheveled coat and hair. Although he was still somehow buzzed, the Admiral persona snapped back into place. "Open the channel. Route it to the main terminal with audio only. Do not engage in a visual call. And, Rhen? Stay on the channel, I might need a witness."
"Aye, Admiral," she replied, the relief in her voice palpable that he hadn't completely descended into madness.
The terminal screen, still displaying the quiet void, suddenly split, and a familiar, overly polished voice filled the room.
"Admiral Strathmore. I trust my transmission did not interrupt anything… essential," Verrin drawled, the emphasis on the last word a calculated, professional insult.
"Councilor, you've breached a secure channel," Kaelen replied, his voice devoid of emotion. He picked up the empty glass and slowly set it back down, listening to the soft, rhythmic hum of the ship. "I was observing a stellar anomaly that could have implications for IUC deep-space mining. Your timing is, as always, impeccable."
A dry chuckle, followed by a cough, came over the call. "Always the statesman, Admiral. But let's dispense with the pleasantries. I am here on behalf of the Council. We are, to put it mildly, running out of explanations for your latest... actions. The loss of two Frigates and four Corvettes in a single calendar cycle, attributed to 'hostile environment anomalies,' is stretching the credulity of even our most generous auditors."
Kaelen felt a cold spike of hatred shoot through him. He knew Verrin was hinting at the truth they all knew, but couldn't act upon.
"The vacuum of space is inherently hostile, Verrin. Perhaps the budget needs to reflect the reality that our light vessels are under-protected in deep space. I'm preparing a full report on the materiel deficiencies for the quarter," Kaelen lied smoothly.
"Spare me the administrative headache, Admiral," Verrin snapped, dropping the pretense slightly. "Your maneuvers around known Dierdik-controlled space are causing... friction. Unnecessary friction with one of our houses. And I have with me a representative from the family who can attest to the nature of your aggressive posture."
A second voice, younger and far more arrogant than Verrin's, cut in.
"Admiral Strathmore. This is Advisor Lysander Dierdik, representing the interests of House Dierdik. We demand that you immediately cease and desist all operational activities within the Aquila, Xy'an, and Corvus sectors. Your incessant harassment of our legitimate, IUC-sanctioned shipping lanes has resulted in massive financial loss and a considerable loss of our private security assets."
'Private security assets,' Kaelen thought to himself. 'That meant the bastards I had killed were mercenaries. Good. There's still some plausible deniability in that.'
Kaelen leaned back, allowing himself a moment to enjoy the deep, satisfying well of rage that Lysander's voice ignited. This was exactly what he needed, something tangible to lash out at.
"Advisor Dierdik," Kaelen said. "I am Admiral Kaelen Strathmore of the IUC Navy. I am unaware of any such entity as 'House Dierdik' having jurisdictional authority over IUC naval operations. Your 'legitimate' shipping lanes are secondary to the security of the Empire. If your, shall we say, assets are operating outside of established IUC maritime law, they will be dealt with as the pirates they are."
Lysander scoffed. "My assets are protecting our investment from the very real and well-documented increase in piracy. Piracy, I might add, that only seems to flourish when your fleet is present. Let's be transparent, Admiral. We know this is about Jarl. We know this is a personal matter."
"Your family disputes are of no interest to the IUC Navy, Advisor," Kaelen countered. "I am concerned with the systemic destabilization of key resource systems. And speaking of Jarl Dierdik..."
Kaelen paused for a moment, letting the weight of the silence hang in the air.
"It is fascinating, Advisor, that your legitimate shipping routes consistently intersect with systems where IUC intelligence suggests high-value targets are moving. High-value targets, of course, being those individuals sought by the IUC for... let's call it 'corporate espionage' that borders on treason."
"Jarl Dierdik is a private citizen, Admiral, and this campaign of terror against him must end. If you do not withdraw your fleet, the Council will be forced to convene an emergency session to evaluate your fitness for command," Lysander threatened.
"Verrin, you hear that?" Kaelen's voice became dangerous again. "A direct threat from a house, from a corporation against an IUC Admiral. I assume you are documenting this?"
Verrin finally intervened, sounding exasperated. "Admiral, enough. The Councilor and I are attempting to broker a compromise. Jarl Dierdik has agreed to remain off-world, out of IUC space, for the foreseeable future. He is, shall we say, exiled. You have been looking for him for twenty-one months. You have failed to capture him. Now he is gone. What more do you want?"
Kaelen gripped the edge of the desk so tightly the composite surface creaked. Failed. The word was a hammerblow. He'd sacrificed so much, and Jarl was just allowed to walk away after what he had done?
"I want justice, Verrin. Justice, not a fucking corporate-sponsored sabbatical," Kaelen spat. "Jarl Dierdik committed treason against the IUC by feeding false information that killed a rising star of the Navy, his entire crew, and the other members who followed along. You think I'll stop because he took an unsanctioned vacation?"
"Your Rising Star, Admiral, was operating on questionable orders in a disputed system," Lysander said mockingly. "The official inquiry found no verifiable link to House Dierdik. You manufactured this war, Admiral, and you are paying for it with our money, our ships, and our stability."
Kaelen's carefully constructed Admiral persona shattered. He lunged forward, slamming his palm flat on the desk.
"You lie, you smug, pampered piece of Dierdik shit! Your family's greed killed Mark. Gared himself fucking agreed and confirmed his son's fault. And you hide behind the same corporate lawyers and Council stooges who put you on this channel right now! Mark Shepherd was going to be the best of us! A shining light in the fuckign darkness that is the shadow of the Vulpinians, and he died because a member of your fucking family wanted to start a war between us and the VIC! I swore to him, to the boy I raised, that I would make you pay! And by the starlight that guides this ship, I intend to make due on that fucking promise, even if it's the last fucking thing I do!"
The heavy breathing on the other end of the comm line indicated both men had been stunned by the unbridled fury.
"Admiral, I warn you! That tone is unacceptable!" Verrin shouted, the calmness gone from his voice.
"Unacceptable? I'll show you unacceptable, you fucking vermin," Kaelen roared, his voice bouncing off the metal walls of his cabin. He was shaking, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He leaned into the microphone. "I have lost two Frigates, four Corvettes, thirty fighters, and over 300 fucking personnel in the pursuit of this little shit you yourself gave me the name of. Do you know how hard it is to explain the loss of six IUC military vessels? I had to invent solar flare activity that hasn't been seen in three fucking centuries just to keep the inspectors off my back. I have put my career, my life, and the loyalty of the finest crew in the entire Empire's fucking fleet on the line for this vendetta, and you think I'll just stop because the target of a murder investigation decided to run? Because you are fucking sheltering?"
"The matter is closed, Admiral," Lysander said, his voice regaining some arrogance. "Jarl is gone. House Dierdik is prepared to cover the cost of your 'lost' Corvettes and Frigates, a simple materiel replacement grant, no questions asked. Consider it a peace offering. Now, please stand down."
The offer demonstrated the transactional nature of the corporate world and its hold on the IUC. And to Kaelen, it was the final insult. They thought they could buy his rage away. Buy the lives of his men. Buy Mark's useless sacrifice.
"You can't buy me, Dierdik," Kaelen whispered, the rage receding into a dangerous determination. "You can't buy Mark's blood. And you can't buy the lives of the soldiers who died trying to clean up your family's fuck up."
He straightened up completely, pulling the disheveled coat tight across his chest, the professional mask returning, colder and harder than before.
"Verrin. Advisor Dierdik. Mark Shepherd may be gone, but the conspiracy to send him to his death is still very much active. You have confirmed Jarl Dierdik is running. That is a tacit admission of guilt. He is now a fugitive from justice. I will not stand down. I will hunt him. And if your 'legitimate' shipping lanes, or your 'private security assets,' get in my way, they will be treated as accessories and dealt with as such. Message delivered."
He didn't wait for a response. He slammed his hand down on the communication disconnect, severing the link. The screen reverted to the silent, empty void.
Kaelen stood for a long moment, chest heaving, listening to the silence of his quarters. The raw, guttural scream he had held back for two years had finally been unleashed, and it felt as if the figurative chains shackling him down had been snapped. He was past the point of return. He was an Admiral in name only, a rogue element held together by his own reputation and a stack of expertly forged documents. His entire existence was now dedicated to hunting one man.
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AN: 23 Advanced Chapters available on my Patreon! Crimson_Reapr is the name, and writing Sci-fi is the way.