Sword of the Alliance: Alysha Forrest, #3

By M.C.A. Hogarth

War is a serious violation of the Alliance's colony charters, so when the Stardancer is sent to investigate rumors of a conflict on the distant colony of Gledig, everyone is hoping to come up empty. They're certainly not expecting to be mired in a web of deceit, treachery, and tragedy involving not just the colony, but pirates and a missing Fleet officer. Not only that, but the situation suggests that Fleet itself might have had a hand in creating the situation that inspired the civil war.

But while the conflict might have been decades in the making, time is running out for Gledig, and only Fleet can save the colony from the culmination of the forces working against it now.

The fate of a world hangs in the balance. Can the crew of the Stardancer redeem the honor of the Fleet… before it's too late?

STARDANCER READING ORDER
0. (Prequel) Alysha's Fall
1. Second
2. Who is Willing
3. Sword of the Alliance
4. Either Side of the Strand

• Language: English
• Publisher: M.C.A. Hogarth
• Release date: Jul 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386490036

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Dark smoke rose from the blackened wall of the Adderey schoolhouse to join the other plumes rising from the town’s tumbled buildings into a tired gray sky. Small bodies littered the ground, some draped across the remains of their chairs, others strewn like boneless dolls on the ground. The sirens felt very distant, pressing against the unnatural silence of the scene.

Svetlana Karishenikov leaned against what remained of the door frame, the weak sunlight barely warming the top of her head and her exposed ears. Her boots crunched in the crumbled mortar as she picked her way through the detritus, tail held taut beneath the cloak she furled tightly around her slim body. It was a small, one-room school, not unlike the one she’d attended deeper in the outwild. She still remembered languid summer afternoons spent fidgeting, wishing for the bell that would signal the end of the day... a sweet sound, not at all like the tocsin used to send children and teachers scrambling for shelter. But the those skirmishes had ended years ago, when Svet had been a teen. The pirates were gone, everyone had said. What need to fight over their future, when the danger had passed?

The woman reached the end of the room; its wall had survived, though there was something faintly ridiculous about its pointed arch without the context of the roof. Svetlana reached trembling fingers to the board. Whatever notes the teacher had been using in his lecture had faded when power to the building had been cut... she traced instead the dulled red streamers of blood that had dragged down the board, to the floor where the man now rested, his wisdom silenced by the pirate weapons that had carved Adderey out like a shell beneath the grim autumn dawn.

Both hands rested against the board as Svetlana tried to still her shaking. Beneath the cloak she wore her uniform — the black and cobalt blue of the Alliance’s Fleet, with the proud golden braid that marked her as a lieutenant commander. She hadn’t even had time to change or finish greeting the rest of her family when the reports had come in, and Adderey was only ten minutes from her home settlement of Dunli. Of course she’d gone.

Her forehead dipped against the board, and she let her face twist so she could rest her cold, furred cheek against it.

All the years she had been gone away, had left thinking her family, her world safe. Svetlana sank to the ground beside the teacher’s corpse. With her knees drawn to her ribs, and her cloak around her body, Svetlana allowed her eyes to close, her smooth hair sliding free from her braid to obscure one of them. The ambulances wailed in the streets, drowning out the muffled cries of the wounded and the more hideous sounds of those left living.

***

What happened? Svetlana asked, trembling. Her hands grasped the edge of the table as she stared at her parents, her uncle. The first cease-fire came when I turned eleven... and there was a treaty when I was twenty. We thought it was over!

Her father shifted uncomfortably in the heavy wooden chair, one brown hand clenching against its arm. We did too, daughter. But then the pirates came again, and the Secessionists started up their talk and… the talk became violence. We thought the new governor would calm things down, but… he didn’t seem to be much help. In some ways he might have made things worse. He doesn’t have a soft enough touch for Gledig. Not as upset as we’ve been, with the pirates returning.

Returning? Svetlana repeated, horrified. Wait, is this… is the violence the Secessionists? Or the pirates? How often are the pirates ‘returning’? How long has this been going on? The oldest living members of her family exchanged uncomfortable glances. Svetlana’s fur bristled down the back of her neck to the base of her tail. Her uniform, only a day ago impeccable, was streaked in blood and ash. How long!

Almost four years, Breana finally said, her voice soft. The pirates… they come often. It’s mostly them that do the destroying, these days.

Flashes from Adderey obscured her sight: blocks of houses in ruins, sparking power grids in disarray, sobbing women holding their grandchildren, broken dreams, an entire settlement reduced to dust and darkness. Svetlana dug her nails into the soft wood. I asked you for news! Never in any of your viseos did you say anything about any of this! For four years you lied to me while my world dashed itself to pieces?

You got away, Lana, said her mother, her knitting needles still in her lap. We wanted you to stay where you were. To be safe. We were so proud of you—

Safe! Svetlana flung herself from the table. Safe? She lifted her arms, letting the cloak drop from them to expose her uniform, stained and sodden from her trek through the ruins. Don’t you know why I left? How can you have raised me and not understand? It’s not about me being safe!

It is for us, her uncle said curtly.

In the ensuing silence, Breana Karishenikov said, Svetlana, we care about our family... and we care about you.

Svetlana stared at them, then wrapped her arms around herself and left, out of the den with its sullen firelight and into the gloaming. Autumn this deep in the outwild was colder than she was accustomed to, and she shivered uncontrollably beneath the cloak as she strode from the bowl where her family’s steading nestled. She climbed over the crest of a hill, toward the silhouette that still stood, after all these years.

The tree had dominated the view from her bedroom. Far older than her, it had probably weathered vaster storms than the fifty-year-old skirmishes on Gledig Colony. But one of those storms had nearly destroyed it, and what remained no longer gave forth fruit or branch: a hunchback, its remaining limb twisted into a hook, it neither sickened nor flourished. Only persevered, refusing to die.

Svetlana stood beside the trunk, then pressed her back against it and stared at the stars so prominently displayed against the moonless hemisphere. The world was still a youth even as colonies counted, and its industry had never had an opportunity to expand at the rate that would have drowned out the night sky with its lights; nor, she thought in miserable frustration, would it ever if things continued as they were. She was not glad to see their bright faces, and yet she couldn’t resist connecting them in the constellations she’d created to replace the far less interesting ones her teachers had taught her. The Captain. The Balance. The Laughing Thing. The Warrior. The Starship.

For as long as she could remember, Svetlana had dreamed of Fleet. The cessation of hostilities had freed her from worry for her world, for her family, to go meet that dream. To ensure peace everywhere else so that children would not need to dive beneath beds at the sound of sirens, or drag palmers to their parents’ hiding places, or learn how to identify the sound of artillery. And she had come so innocently on her leave to visit her family... into this monstrosity.

Need a coat, cousin?

Svetlana gasped, rubbing hastily at her eyes to obscure their gleam. What—

A figure separated from the shadows, resolving into a slim shape with short-cropped curls, a long bundle under one arm. I thought I’d find you up here once I’d heard you’d gotten home.

Carey! Svetlana ran from the tree and into his arms. Carey....

I know. He hugged her tightly. It didn’t take long to figure out who’d upset all the family brass. Your mother’s knitting spasmodically, and if your uncle tosses any more pine cones into the fire it’s going to detonate the house.

A small, helpless chuckle escaped her. She could hardly see him, but the scent of his cologne set off cascades of tiny memories. Years ago she might have sobbed; tonight she pulled away from him and sought his eyes in the darkness. Carey, talk to me. What happened? They said… pirates? And more than one raid?

That’s right. After all this time, we got hit again four years ago, and since then… Carey paused, blew out a breath. Frustrated maybe, or miserable. It’s been nonstop since. Sometimes every few months. As if we have anything left to give! Most of the time they only take equipment. But they kill people. Unavoidably.

Svetlana sucked in her breath, but he gently touched a finger to her lips. No, they don’t take anyone yet, merciful Balance be praised. Not like those first raids, that came for slaves. But we still die. People try to protect their property. Or they get in the way of a laser.

And that started the bickering again, Svetlana murmured.

And the bickering started the sniping... and the sniping got worse. We elected Kerenkev because he seemed like a reasonable man, and he might be reasonable but he doesn’t want to hear anything from the Secessionists. Who’ve formed a party for themselves, one that’s disassociated itself from the violence of our childhoods.

Startled, Svet said, They… they don’t bomb places anymore?

Carey made a face. Oh, there’s still terrorism. But that’s some radicalized faction, supposedly. Yes, I know. I don’t know if I believe it either. But there’s an actual political party that wants to form its own independent government, and they insist they deserve a voice.

Which… they would, Svetlana guessed. If their methods were law-abiding. And if the pirates really were raiding so frequently again, who could blame some of Gledig’s populace for hoping any change would save them? It can’t work, she whispered. I can’t see how it would.

Neither do we, Carey said. Most of us want to stick it out as an Alliance colony, even if the pro-Accord side’s excuses for Fleet’s absences only make the situation worse... no offense meant, cousin.

None taken, Svetlana said. I... I don’t understand, though, Carey. We patrol here. Pirates shouldn’t want to risk it!

Her cousin shrugged, then shook out the coat he’d brought and draped it around her shoulders. They shouldn’t, but they do.

His motions revealed the flash of brushed metal. Svetlana caught his hand and turned it over to reveal a featureless palmer snug beneath his fingers, the small, flat weapon stripped bare of the usual warning labels it sported when sold to the occasional consumer. Carey... you’re not—

You’re not the only one with crazy dreams, dear cousin. Yes. I’m involved. On the pro-Accord side.

Svetlana stared at him. You fight?

The Secessionists can’t defend our planet. We don’t have the money to build an industrial complex large enough to outfit a system fleet, and we certainly can’t afford to buy one outright. It doesn’t matter how afraid they are, or how eloquent their new leadership. The only way to survive this is under the Alliance’s wing… and as long as there are extremists who’d rather fight with bombs than words, and pirates who can’t be checked at the system limit by Fleet warships that aren’t there, then Gledig needs people to stop them. He glanced down, pressed her hand against the weapon seated on his palm. I have to defend my own, Svetlana.

The cool, still air, the star-strewn night, the scent of cologne lurched together at the words, leaving her knees so weak she thought she’d buckle. She barely heard her own response.

So do I.

Cousin?

Maybe, she said, steadying herself with a calm that seemed to come out of nowhere, and yet felt as natural as breathing, you should take me to meet your people. I might be the only Fleet officer that will ever come to their aid... but I’ll be at least one.

Svetlana, you can’t get involved.

Her ears flattened against her hair. Watch me.

Fine. But what are they going to say when you don’t come back? Carey’s tail started lashing. Can you just not go back when you’re expected? I didn’t think a military would be well with that.

And they wouldn’t be, but Svetlana couldn’t afford to think of that. Not with her world literally burning again. "Carey… I’m staying."

The taller man studied her face for several long moments. Then he shook his head. If you’re absolutely certain... we would be glad to have you.

Svetlana’s hand tightened on his palm. The shape of the weapon burned against her skin.

CHAPTER ONE

Admiral Laphlynrii.

Captain. You look well. How’s your assignment agreeing with you?

Alysha Forrest smiled, ears pricked forward. Well, thank you, sir. It’s a good company. I expected no less, given the First Commander.

The admiral chuckled. Oh yes. Basil’s an old hand at crew cohesion. I’m glad she’s doing well for you. The new personnel you requested settling in?

Without a hitch, sir. Mapping’s been a good shakedown for us, though we’re ready if there’s anything else you need.

Reading my mind, Forrest?

Alysha, studying the Asanii on the other end of the line, didn’t think much mind-reading was necessary. She’d met Laphlynrii when the woman assigned her the captaincy of the Stardancer several months ago, and the admiral had a natural cheer that made her mannerisms seem to effervesce. The woman addressing her now looked more gaunt than slim, and sleepless nights had etched fatigue lines around her eyes though her uniform gave her shoulders the illusion of being squared. Just making our operational status clear, in case there was an assignment in need of a ship.

As it happens, Laphlynrii said, and from her wry expression she understood what Alysha was really saying, We’ve got work for you, and a little more strenuous than mapping stars in the area. We’re sending you to Gledig. Our intelligence suggests that they’re concealing a civil war.

Alysha couldn’t help her brows lifting. How definite is Intelligence’s information, sir?

Not definite enough for us to be certain, which is why we’re sending you. Laphlynrii’s smile was crooked. We’ve never had reason to test the Terra 12B procedures so proceed cautiously. You’re on a fact-finding mission only. If the inhabitants are engaged in an internecine conflict, you will report your findings to Fleet Central and wait for trained negotiators to arrive. Don’t get involved—I’m pretty sure the Terrans have a saying about that. Land wars are not our jurisdiction. Understood?

Perfectly, sir, Alysha replied.

Good. Additionally, we’d like you to keep an eye open for an officer whose last reported position was Gledig. She hasn’t returned to duty. If you see her, inform us. I’m sending along her service record with your mission profile materials. She’s a promising young woman… I’m hoping we’ve misplaced her somewhere else.

I’ll see what I find, Admiral.

Unless you’ve any questions…?

Alysha shook her head. Not at present, sir.

Carry on, then, Captain.

Aye, sir.

The admiral faded from the display as the tablet on Alysha’s desk chirped, indicating the header receipt for the mission materials. Alysha picked up the tablet and leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowed and ears perked forward. She’d barely skimmed the initial Colony Bureau data when the door chime sounded. Her tail twitched once. Who is it?

Laelkii, came the reply, piped through the computer. Alysha set her tablet back on the desk.

Come in.

The door slid open to reveal the UAV Stardancer’s Chief of Medical, Laelkii Takara Lifeweave. A member of one of the ubiquitous races descended from creatures gengineered by humans centuries ago, Laelkii was Asanii: domestic cat-based, plantigrade, far more humanoid than feline. She had fine, short white fur, a petite and matronly frame, and wrinkles to balance the merriment in her dark brown eyes. The ‘oodles’ of hair upon which First Commander Taylitha Basil had remarked when they’d first met were bound in a tight white braid hanging over the shoulder of her uniform.

Alysha herself was one of the felid Pelted, albeit of the slightly less humanoid Karaka’A. At six feet, she was not only taller than her C-med but also most of her race, a situation she found more problematic than useful. Gray as winter skies, her coarser, shorter fur ran over a slim frame bound in muscle.

They were friends, despite their age difference: Laelkii had enlisted late, after the death of her husband. They’d known one another since a little before then, during Alysha’s cadet days, and the longevity of their relationship had earned Laelkii privileges over and above those that obtained on a Fleet vessel, with the informality its borrowed human personnel found so unnatural. Which was why Laelkii’s greeting was not unusual.

Alysha! When are we leaving this ball of scrap they’re passing off as a station?

This ball of metal, Alysha said, smiling, is not intended for recreation, Snowhide. It’s a mapping outpost.

Even cartographers need a bar and a 3deo. Maybe particularly cartographers. Remind me to file a report about the dearth of entertainment options for long-distance personnel. There’s not a shop to be found on this rock, and incidentally, it looks like the last three similar rocks we’ve stopped at while doing all this interminable starchart-checking. Aren’t we a bit big to be sent on errands like this? I was certain being on a battlecruiser would mean less makework and more… Laelkii waved her fingers. Something. I don’t know.

You don’t know, Alysha repeated, amused.

Important. Or at least, arduous. We’ve got four hundred people aboard doing busywork. You have no idea how many of them are creating drama just to have something to do. Laelkii sighed and stopped at the sideboard. Want something?

Coffee is fine, Alysha said.

Laelkii poured them both mugs, adding a dollop of chocolate syrup to her own. She brought them to the desk and sat across from Alysha. The gleam in her golden earrings shimmied as her canted ears strained forward in interest. So… are we leaving? Somewhere more interesting than ‘yet another mapping outpost’? Please, NiiAna.

Alysha chuckled. We’re leaving, yes. And no, not to another mapping station. As soon as our orders finish dumping, we’ll be on our way.

Finally! Sun and Stars be praised. Laelkii eyed her as she sipped. I’ll never understand how you can drink that without sugar. You need more calories. Have I said that lately?

Alysha struggled with her smile. Yes. Every time you see me. Do you want to hear the details or not?

Yes!

We’re being sent to Gledig, a colony world in Sector Koph. Fleet Central thinks there’s a civil war being waged there and wants us to investigate.

Laelkii’s eyes widened, one ear sagging. What? A civil war! You must be jesting. At Alysha’s expression, she said, Stars, you’re not.

Alysha shook her head, watching Laelkii over the edge of her mug.

Laelkii’s ears flattened. So let me guess. A human colony?

Some humans, but not many. It’s mostly Asanii. A couple of ethnic groups from one of Asanao’s first colonies in the Crown.

Now Laelkii looked disappointed. A civil war! You’d think we’d be better than that.

I wonder if the golden age everyone thinks the Alliance had before Earth’s arrival really happened. Alysha set her mug on the desk beside her tablet. It’s easier to blame everything on humanity, isn’t it?

They did rewrite half the Fleet manual.

Amend.

Whatever. Laelkii leaned back, her own mug forsaken on the dark flexglass of the desk. She folded her arms over her ribs and pulled her shoulders together. All their amendments had to do with war.

That doesn’t make them responsible for it, Alysha said.

I’m not so sure of that.

Alysha considered her for several moments, then said, quiet, Not all humans are terrible or violent. You know that.

Laelkii’s ears colored. Alysha knew the humans they were both remembering, and for a moment they were silent, lost in those memories. Then Laelkii managed a credible sniff of disdain. They don’t have to be evil to be introducing cultural trends I disapprove of.

Impossible to argue that. Laelkii would, too, which Alysha appreciated about her: the feistiness of spirit that let her joust with people without meaning any harm by it. Alysha loved it about her, really, particularly after having seen Laelkii with that spark doused. They gave us those apple cultivars we’re growing on the lower decks. If I eat some, will you go easy on them?

Only if you get them as part of a crumble, Laelkii said, lifting a finger. More food, or less exercise. Pick one.

Snowhide, Alysha murmured, smiling. Always trying to coddle me.

Someone should, Laelkii agreed. Speaking of which, how are the claws?

Alysha flexed her fingers—carefully, since the scythes hidden in them could puncture her skin or scratch flexglass more easily than diamond. Simply extending them sliced open scar tissue accumulated in the clawbeds after weeks of disuse. Long experience had taught her not to pop them unless she really meant it. You’ve known me fifteen years and you never fail to ask. Every week.

Call yourself my personal project, Laelkii answered, unrepentant. Those things are going to up and get you an infection one day if we don’t watch them.

They’re fine.

No swelling, discomfort? No heat or discharge?

Nothing like that, no.

You know we could replace them with something a little less problematic? Laelkii paused, and her tone this time was more tentative. This was tender ground.

Alysha pressed her fingertips gently against the wall of her mug. She conceded her life would be easier if she went with a more conventional prosthetic. But her clathrate claws—and all the trouble they caused her—were part of her life, and her past, and the future she’d chosen. A symbol that difficult paths were still worth walking. Not today, arii. She smiled. They’re fine.

Hmph. Well, keep them that way. Laelkii stirred her coffee with her nose lifted and her brows innocently arched. So when’s the briefing?

The mission profile’s going out within half an hour. I’ll have Taylitha call the meeting thirty minutes later.

Laelkii nodded. I should leave you to your reading, then. Particularly since I added to it before coming by.

The crew health status?

As I said, antsy, but not bad. What you expect coming off a short leave… if you can call laying over on one of these balls of metal ‘leave.’ It’s too long for them to want to go back to duty, too short for them to really relax.

Sounds about right. We’ll give them something to occupy themselves… that should help with the health issues.

Yes! Laelkii grinned. One hour, then. Don’t forget to eat.

Yes, Snowhide, Alysha answered with a chuckle.

Laelkii shot her a mock-glare over one shoulder on her way out.

Alysha shook her head and picked up the data tablet and her mug. Computer, message for the First Commander. The chirp sounded nearer her ear this time. Commander, please call the senior officer’s mission briefing for mark 10. End message.

A soft arpeggio marked the message recorded and dropped in Taylitha’s box. Alysha’s left ear twitched to follow the series of notes as she resumed reading.

***

Gledig Colony was established fifty-seven years ago by a company of mixed settlers in the Koph Sector: mostly Asanii, but some Hinichi, humans, and a handful of other races. They registered as an Indentured, which means they elected to relinquish the rights to all their export profit until they paid off the debt incurred by the settlement. This is one of the most common methods used to colonize worlds under Alliance jurisdiction, and usually results in a free colony within twenty-five to thirty years. Gledig, however, is still Indentured. First Commander Taylitha Basil stood beside a solidigraphic blue-and-brown world, which rotated in stately calm for the officers in the briefing room. A Karaka’An like Alysha, Taylitha was short, athletic, and had a head of fiery red hair to complement her brown coat and blue eyes.

Taylitha continued, Needless to say, it’s unusual for colonies not to have earned back their outlay capital after almost sixty years. The colony’s profile indicates that they have very little in the way of heavy industry build-up, and they remain unprofitably agrarian. There have few exports and no tourist traffic. What’s more, there’s no evidence that they’ve been courting merchants or cultivating the connections they’d need to become profitable. Other than one or two purchases in the past four years, there’s no record of any trade at all. And the icing on all this cake: they’re still requesting financial aid.

Peculiar, said Alastar Virgil, Second Commander, another Karaka’An and charged with the leadership of the battlecruiser’s sizable science department. On the Stardancer, she went by ‘Star, having unavoidably been so christened after her assignment to a ship with a name so similar to hers, and as with everything, she’d accepted it without fuss.

But where are they putting all that money if it’s not going into building up the colony? Laelkii asked, ears sagging.

Wouldn’t we like to know! Taylitha said. But we don’t yet. Hopefully we will soon. Moving on… She stopped the planet’s spin and pointed at three beads of light.

The planet has three satellites in synchronous orbit: two multi-purpose satellites handling global communications, weather, and positioning, and one Well satellite specifically for FTL network communication with the Alliance. They have no orbiting station.

Taylitha leaned over and grabbed a solidigraphic projection of a standard colony ship, pulling it into view. The motion rotated the planet. Taylitha tapped the ship and said, Like most colony vessels, Gledig’s was designed to be disassembled for useful scrap, in this case for mining equipment… which leaves Gledig with no registered space-capable vehicles.

Even local space? ‘Star asked.

Even local space, Taylitha replied. All space-capable vehicles belonging to Alliance citizens are required to register with the Bureau of Operational Vessels. There are no such vessels with Gledig’s originating tag. This doesn’t mean they can’t have such vehicles…

Just that they’d be illegally operated, Laelkii interjected.

Right.

In fact, Taylitha said, "The Bureau doesn’t even have an originating tag for Gledig vehicles, which means no one has ever registered one with them. Which is crazy, given how far away they are from everything."

‘Star frowned. How do they maintain their satellites without ships?

A rueful smile curved Taylitha’s lips as she gently rotated one of the satellites by its outstretched sensor array. As far as I know, the answer to that is… they don’t. I polled all three, and many of the standard functions you’d expect from such satellites don’t respond… so either they were disabled, or they don’t work anymore.

‘Star muttered, Wasteful.

No ships at all? And a malfunctioning Well satellite? Laelkii said. Don’t they get lonely out there?

We should have ships through the sector regularly, ‘Star murmured. They wouldn’t be required to layover, but it may be the only inhabited world in Koph…?

That’s right, Taylitha said. "There’s nothing there but Gledig. And while Fleet