The Shattering War

By James Edward

After twenty-two years in the service, Ray Hunter is a disgraced fleet captain, having put his crew and frigate in harms way. Hes about to get kicked out, but he is offered an enticing off-the-books proposition.

Admiral Weatherfew tells Hunter he has the right mix of experience in both command and administration, and hed be a perfect fit for a black operation to build a force to counter the rising threat of the Parliamentary Ruling Council. If Hunter accepts, hes told not to fail or the world will be plunged into a dark age of despotism and mayhem, and millions will die.

Hunter is asked to enter a non-descript system with no habitable planets to create an infrastructure as a last-ditch effort against the anarchy and chaos thats slowly destroying the empire. He must not only build this safe haven, but gather people and materials to defend it against all comers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Jun 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781480832145

James Edward

James Edward worked most of his life in the oil patch in northern and western Canada as well as in Jordan, United Arab Emirates, and the Philippines. He is now retired and spends his time writing. He currently lives in British Columbia.

Book preview

Copyright © 2016 Jim Hunting.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Archway Publishing

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.archwaypublishing.com

1 [phone]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4808-3213-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-3214-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016908665

Archway Publishing rev. date: 06/21/2016

CONTENTS

Chapter 1 Getting Fired-Getting Hired

Chapter 2 Going Fishing

Chapter 3 Recruiting the Best

Chapter 4 Stealing the start of a fleet

Chapter 5 Building Conrad into a livable system

Chapter 6 Picking up some warships

Chapter 7 Ceding the System

Chapter 8 Developing the system-starting R&D

Chapter 9 Pirates

Chapter 10 Preparing for the fall

Chapter 11 Olaf

Chapter 12 Some fast action required

Chapter 13 Recruiting nonmilitary citizens

Chapter 14 Getting Jeb Julliard

Chapter 15 Doust

Chapter 16 Causing Damage

Chapter 17 CSWS Banshee

Chapter 18 Battle Plans

Chapter 19 Conrad vs the PRC

Chapter 20 Finishing the Task

Epilogue

CHAPTER 1

Getting Fired-Getting Hired

R AY SIGHED AS HE PULLED his dress uniform out of the wrapper. This was only about the fourth time he had brought it out, and it would be the last time he would ever wear it. If you looked closely, you would see that the area where the captain’s bars were set was a tad cleaner than the rest of the cloth. He had no time to find some commander’s pips, so the uniform would just be bare of rank. It really didn’t matter in the long run; he would be out of the service in a couple of hours.

Ray reflected back to the day he first put on a dress uniform and how proud he was of the fact that he was actually in the space fleet as an officer cadet graduate. What was that, some twenty years ago? Twenty-two? Yeah, he realized, it was twenty-two years, the last six as captain of a frigate. Now he was being busted down to a commander and drummed out of the fleet. And for what? He had put his crew and frigate in harm’s way against explicit orders, gotten it shot full of holes, and taken serious casualties.

Ray remembered that fateful day like it was yesterday and not four months ago. The ringing of the klaxons, the shuddering of his ship, and especially the smell of ozone, burning wires, and hot metal. In his mind’s eye, he went back to that day.

He was traversing through the Faraday System that was part of the Findley Cluster, a nondescript group of stars that were forming from a nebula. Most stars didn’t even have a solar system with planets at this point, but given a few hundred million years, they could have a few planets. The Faraday System was an uncommon traversing point that allowed starships the ability to use a gravitational slingshot from one hyper point to another. Most ships weren’t out this far, but on patrol, Ray felt obliged to run this system to give his crew the experience of slingshotting and gathering data on a developing system.

The problem with the Findley Cluster was that it was an area where privateers, slavers, and smugglers liked to hide out. It was remote, and due to the radiation and solar winds and massive dust clouds, it was for the most part unexplored. As it was not part of the Assembly of Governing Worlds, the assembly had no jurisdiction over it, and there was no backup if a situation arose requiring it. Standing orders were that no forceful intervention would be tolerated; only defensive fire would be acceptable under dire circumstances. The orders were to back away and keep your distance unless badly provoked.

Sir, we have a ship on our sensors, the sensor operator reported to the XO. Ship bearing is at two degrees horizontal relative and at six million klicks.

The XO, Jeb Juliard, was a heavily muscled man with a piercing look. Tactical, he said, do you have an identification? Nav, switch to silent running, sensor to passive.

Nothing yet, sir. Their configuration is not in our data banks, but that could be because we’re picking up some local chaff that’s dispersing our tactical and sensor sweeps, the tactical officer reported as she reviewed her screen. They are not scanning behind them, sir. They appear to be unaware of us.

Communications, the XO said, are they transmitting anything?

Jeb looked over his shoulder to Ray with a quizzical look. This would be a good exercise to see how close we can get in a real-time situation, sir.

No, sir, there is nothing being transmitted on any frequency, Karen Videll, the coms officer, replied. Will keep scanning, but if they’re talking on a tight beam, I get nada.

Excellent idea. XO, go to yellow alert all stations, Ray ordered.

The bridge light switched to a yellow hue, and he could feel the ship’s hum change as engineering started to switch engines to maximum power. Helm, put us behind the bogey so we’re in its propulsion wash, four million out. Tactical, start running firing solutions to ascertain our best first hit and with what guns. Sensors, keep a passive scan on this guy; we won’t go active until we’ve been spotted.

Ray watched as the crew went through their paces. Sensor operator George Katoski was hunched over his screen watching the blips and readings as they came in. Lily Braden, the tactical officer, was working her keyboard at a furious rate, working on the best solution to plan an attack.

Sensors, have we a size for this bogey? Ray asked.

Negative, sir. George shook his head. The size is fluctuating. I think it has to do with all the dust and other disturbance in the area, but I can’t get a solid fix for another million klicks.

Tactical?

The same, sir, although I’m thinking more in line with a destroyer class size for my attack simulation, the tactical officer reported.

And?

Well, sir, she stated, if the bogey continues on the same course, I’m inclined to use a sixty-centimeter Kew. There would be no heat trace, making it almost impossible to sense unless you’re hard scanning for it. An impact would annihilate the ship. The speed on impact would be enough to blast through the shields and the ship. The problem is that if it changes course, the Kew will be a miss. I have considered the missiles because they’re more maneuverable and can go active to seek and destroy if the bogey dodges. We would need to come as close as thirty thousand klicks to activate our main guns. So I would fire a Kew and six missiles, three on either side of the Kew track, to attack if it tries to dodge the Kew.

Ray was impressed. It was a well-thought-out plan, but it was subject to many ifs. It was safe as it could be from a major distance, but it would also give the bogey time to respond to the attack if sensed. A vigilant sensor operator could pick up missile launch or a missile heat trace when they went active, and point defense could work to neutralize them.

Before Ray could respond, the XO weighed in. Lieutenant, what about the trace on missile launch? How could we hide that so as not to alert the bogey?

Yes, sir. If we launched now, the burn would be hidden by the propulsion wash unless they are actively scanning their rear. Then the missiles would go dead heat until in range to go active, she stated. If they’re scanning back, they would have gotten us by now as well.

Very good, Lily. Ray smiled. Well thought through. Miss Trencher, bring us up to four million; let’s see what we have.

They slowly and silently crept closer to the blip on the screen. Because the Lancer was directly in the propulsion wash of the enemy ship, they knew they couldn’t be detected from their position. Ray watched the crew as they went about their duties with an eager intensity.

Sir, the sensor operator said, the ship is throwing off a bigger shadow than it should. I believe it’s towing something. That’s why it’s throwing out a larger wash. The propulsion gases are splashing against the towed vehicle and are dispersing in a wider area.

Good observation, George! the XO exclaimed as he studied the readout on his screen. I think you’re right. Whatever he’s towing, it’s pretty big.

What’s our range now? Ray asked.

We’re at 3.8 million, the nav operator replied. We should be getting a clear image now.

The image on the screen coalesced into an old Triconde class destroyer. This meant that she was at least fifty years old and was made by the Trisol of the Solidarin system before they were joined into the assembly. In terms of armaments, the destroyer was underpowered. Her armor was not by any stretch up to the standards of contemporary ships, but she did have a strong power plant that would be good for towing. The ship being towed was another old and broken-down freighter.

"Initial scans indicate that the destroyer is the old SawBlade, built seventy years ago and sold on the market twenty years ago to a colony consortium, the sensor officer reported. The cargo ship is so old it isn’t on the registry."

Excellent, Mister Katoski, Ray said. Helm, bring us to a new heading of twenty-six degrees relative, ten degree up-angle, 50 percent impulse. Let’s move to our required heading and head for the jump point.

Aye-aye, sir. Changing course to twenty-six by ten degrees. The helmsman called out his actions as his fingers danced across the screen.

Ray relaxed in his chair. It had been a small but useful exercise. The crew responded well; the target ships were going to be unaware that they had been tracked until the Lancer moved out from directly behind the ships.

Sir! We have missile launch coming from approximately ninety degrees on our starboard side, the tactical officer exclaimed.

Go to general quarters, full power to the shields. Where and what kind of missiles and from whom? Jeb Julliard barked as both he and Ray started scanning their readouts.

Sensors, go active, full range. Lieutenant Braden, I want countermeasures up now. I also want a target. Coms, start announcing us to whomever is out there. I want to know who fired those missiles, Ray said as calmly as he could as the klaxon for general quarters started to pulse away. And turn off that klaxon!

Tactical, sir, Lilly said to identify herself from other reports coming in. Six missiles on a bearing of ninety-two degrees relative, range seventy thousand klicks, impact in twelve seconds. They are identified as Tiger class ship killers. Countermeasures have been launched.

Helm, change course to seventy degrees up-angle and three hundred relative, Ray ordered. Speed to flank.

Ray could feel the ship shudder as the countermeasures started up. He could almost hear the roar of the chain guns as they tracked the six incoming missiles. His lasers lit up the darkness as they fired. One by one, the missiles exploded.

Communications, sir. They are not responding to any hails, Karen Videll, the coms officer stated.

Sensors, sir. There are three frigate or corvette class ships out there, George said. They were set up in a classic ambush pattern. If we hadn’t changed course when we did, we would have moved into it."

Tactical, sir. The destroyer has dropped its tow and is turning toward us as well, Lilly reported.

Here’s what we’re going to do. Engage our IFF (Interspace Friend or Foe) to ensure they know that we are Space Fleet. Plot a course that the destroyer will use to engage us and prepare to fire a 40 cm rail at a counterpoint. Arm ten Raptor class missiles and target the destroyer just like we were going to do in the exercise, five on either side. Set to fire one Orion ship killer down the same track as the Kew to keep him watching that track and not the iron slug. Keep track of the other three and see if they’re waiting for the destroyer or will initiate their own attack. Coms, start communication jamming; no need to have them coordinate their attacks, Ray ordered. Increase speed to full flank and change course to 280 relative.

Ray watched as the crew went through their paces. The smaller ships began a pursuit pattern in hopes of herding the Lancer toward the destroyer.

Sir, tactical. Missile contact from the destroyer. It has fired, Lily Braden stated. Impact in twenty-two seconds. Deploying countermeasures.

Miss Braden, it would be beneficial to all stations if you also stated how many missiles were launched, chided the XO.

Six. Sorry, sir, she replied. Missiles appeared to be Tigers as well.

Tigers. We will need to take them out as far as possible, but they also might be something we can use, mused Ray. Time the first explosion of our countermeasures with the launch of a Kew that way they won’t see us fire. Belay the ship killer but launch ten Eagle ship to ship back at those frigates just to keep them busy.

Lily watched intently as her missiles raced out to meet the incoming ship killers fired from the destroyer. She was timing the exact moment of the explosions to fire the 40 cm Kew from their forward-mounted rail gun. Just before impact of the countermeasures, she fired the rail gun and watched the trajectory of the 40 cm slug. The impact of that slug would tear through the shields like they were paper, and the hull would not stand up to the impact either. It was believed that a full-on impact would turn the three-hundred-meter destroyer into scrap metal.

Ray was watching the track of the rail slug as well as tactical. The XO reminded Lily that there were other things going on and not to concentrate solely on the destroyer.

Tactical, the frigates took all the Eagles down but two. They hit the starboard frigate on the port side and caused major damage to the ship. It dropped out of the attack. Preparing to fire another rack of missiles, Lily stated.

Target the front frigate with all missiles. See if you can take that one out, Ray urged. He watched as the two ships also fired a dozen missiles at them. He also felt the launch of the Eagles back toward the frigate.

Missiles away, sir. Impact in thirty-four seconds. Destroyer countermeasures are firing on our missiles. Sir, our countermeasures took all but one of the destroyer missiles out. We are down to the chain guns on the remaining one. Sir! She spun in her seat. Even when the chain guns take that missile out, we will take damage. Impact in seven seconds.

Cons, alert damage control to standby for damage, Ray ordered. A blink of an eye later, the ship was rocked by the explosive blast of the last remaining Tiger. It was taken out at close quarters by the chain gun, but the explosion blasted shrapnel through the shields and penetrated the hull. The bridge was rocked by a large piece of the missile body. Though the part never penetrated the heavily shielded bridge, it did tear some of the wiring and liquid coolant that went to the bridge, causing consoles to short. With the cooling down and wiring smoking, the bridge looked like it had taken more damage than it did.

Damage report! the XO bellowed.

Hull breach on our portside decks 3 and 4, section 6, venting atmosphere and water, the damage control officer stated. He pushed his earplug in and listened to whatever was going on, his face going pale. Sir, reports coming in of four fatalities on deck 4, with two of them being spaced. It was gun crew 7.

Ray paled as well. No one wants to lose his or her life, especially being blown out into space by decompression. It was always in the mind of any spacer, but to have it happen was hard on the crew.

Very well. Ray sighed. Have damage control do the best they can to seal that area off. Tactical, how are we on our shot on the destroyer?"

The Kew is running true for the moment, sir. Expect impact in forty more seconds. Missiles are being engaged by their countermeasures. We have lost missiles with three still running. Missiles targeting the frigate are eighteen seconds out and also being engaged by countermeasures, she reported.

Helm, change course to come to 260 relative. Drop speed to half flank, Ray ordered. That will give us some extra time to engage any missile launch that they’re going to send.

Kew, Kew, Kew!!! Helm, ninety-degree uplift, max acceleration!" shouted the sensor operator.

The ship jerked forward, and the nose lifted as the ship started to push up. Ray was looking at the screen, trying to discern the Kew, as was Jeb. They could make out the Kew now as it had been highlighted by tactical as soon as she saw it. It was indeed on an impact course with the ship. Countermeasures really didn’t do anything to stop a solid chunk of titanium-wrapped iron slug. Ray felt the engines go to maximum and seemed to feel the ship surge forth.

Impact in five, four, three, two, one, Lily said as calmly as she could. Her heart was racing, and she wanted to get up and run, but to where? She could only hope that they would clear the impact track before the slug hit.

There was a huge bang, and the ship skewed sideways. Lights dimmed, and alarms started sounding all over the bridge. It had felt like they had been kicked really hard. The helm lost its response, and Engineering was calling urgently.

Damage report! Ray shouted above all the clamor.

Coming in now, Bob Marless said. It missed us by fractions but blew the shields and emitters for the entire aft of the ship. Damage to the hull in the engine room and stress fractures along the starboard side of the ship from center to stern. Casualty report coming in. Engineering wants to talk to you.

Go, Engineering, Ray snapped.

Whatever that was, it knocked the engines offline, caused major damage to all relays and couplings to the feed drives, and knocked out power to the lasers and beam weapons. It will take twenty minutes to restart the engines and get underway, Andre Yatter said over the intercom. Even at that, you won’t have aft shielding for the last third of the ship.

You have less than five minutes to do a restart. We are in the middle of a battle, Ray responded. Tactical, how did we miss that? How are we doing with our Kew? And missiles?

Kew in thirty more seconds. Missiles will hit in fifteen seconds. They must have fired the Kew as soon as they turned to engage us, sir. There was nothing on long-range sensors or tactical until our movement proximity sensors found it, she replied miserably.

Impact on the frigate! It’s breaking up! Our missiles got through! Lily exclaimed seconds later. The corvette is breaking off. Two minutes, thirty seconds to the destroyer.

Engine room, where are my engines? Ray called down.

You said five minutes, and it’s only been thirty seconds. Leave us alone so we can start the firing sequence, came the abrupt reply.

Damage control called in, sir. Three dead and eight injured, mostly broken bones. Hull breaches have been sealed, but they said that they would have to go EVA to repair the shield emitters. Major repairs will take two to three hours. Guns on decks 3 and 4 are out until we dock at a repair base, the XO said.

Thank you, XO.

Sir, the destroyer, Kew ETA will be seconds, the tactical officer reported. We should see the impact … now!

They all watched as the destroyer suddenly exploded in a flash of light. They could see a slowly expanding debris field. The Kew had connected just ahead of the bridge and hit the hardened, armored bridge area with the greatest speed and intensity. They all knew there were no survivors and that it would have happened to them if not for some fast reactions.

Tactical, what’s the condition of the remaining two ships? Ray asked.

Tactical, sir. We have a corvette running for hyper lift point, and the other frigate is trying to limp to the freighter. There are some escape pods out there from the destroyed frigate. The pods are heading toward the freighter as well, she said.

Coms, ask if they want assistance. We should check that freighter, but without engines, we’re going to have to sit and watch, Ray stated. Jeb, go down to engineering and see what’s happening. Coms, send a message to Fleet to inform them of our fight and ask for an escort.

It all faded away as the other scenario flashed into his head of the two tough-looking military marshals flanking a JAG lawyer as she read out the list of charges to him. Insubordination, dereliction of duty, engaging with an unknown force without Fleet consent, causing damage to a Fleet warship, responsible for the deaths of eight crew, endangering the surviving crew, and expending ordinates in a careless manner, resulting in the destruction of ships belonging to a legitimately registered company, to wit the Great Ursa Consortium, she had listed coldly. You will be tried in two days. I suggest you organize counsel for your defense.

The term kangaroo court took its meaning from that court case. All defense motions were denied, and the doctored video of Ray firing first was allowed. In the end, Ray was found guilty and subsequently demoted to commander and offered jail or discharge. Ray fought hard and tried to get the motion reversed, but it was blocked by Admiral Fuggoret, who had insisted that Ray be removed. In the end, Ray took a discharge. So it was now time for him to march into Fuggoret’s office to pick up his final discharge paperwork.

As he stood in the threshold of the office, he mused to himself that since he was being discharged he really didn’t have to follow protocol and could just walk into Fug’s office, sit down, put his feet up on the desk, and ask for his discharge, but Fleet training was ingrained. Instead he marched in, saluted the flag, and stood at attention as the admiral pretended that he didn’t exist. Fuggoret sat at his desk, an ornate wood monstrosity that looked as expensive as it was elaborate. Ray took in the trappings of the man’s rise to power, all the pictures of him with dignitaries and other powerful people. There wasn’t a picture of a starship or a crew, both trivial in his rise to power.

Fuggoret kept him at attention, enjoying the power he had over Ray. After a few minutes, he raised his eye and glared at Ray. Mister Hunter, I will not give you the courtesy of rank. You are a disgrace to the uniform, and you have caused irreparable damage to the honor of the Fleet and of the good men and women serving in her. You are solely responsible for the deaths of eight Fleet personnel and untold men and women in those ships you so blatantly attacked. You have also caused the Fleet to make restitution to Great Ursa for the loss of the destroyer and two frigates, which will have to come out of Fleet reserves …

Ray bridled at these statements and the implications that were thrown at him. But in the end, he knew that the admiral could say whatever he liked. It would do no good to argue the point or protest the findings of the court. The die was cast, and he was out. He just hoped that Fugs wouldn’t start on one of his usual tirades. Alas, even that was added like insult to injury. In the end, Ray just fixed his eye on a spire that rose from a building across the park that he could see from the window and tried to ignore the raving of the admiral.

… and I will tell you, Hunter, that it gives me great pleasure to remove you and other deadwood like you from this fine organization. You won’t be missed! Now … He a picked up a pen and with a flourish signed Ray’s discharge document and tossed them at Ray’s feet. Admiral Weatherfew has a few choice words for you before this paper can be finalized, but just so you understand the point of this type of discharge, if Fleet ever sees you on a base again, you will be shot on sight. Now get out. Real men have work to do. Report to Weatherfew!

Ray picked up his discharge papers, turned to the Fleet emblem, saluted that, ignoring Fuggoret, who was spluttering in indignation that Ray didn’t salute him, and walked out of the office.

He took the stairs to the next level of the building. This level housed the Joint Space chiefs of staff and the very high echelons of the Space military. The office that Ray arrived at was that of Admiral Weatherfew. Ray entered the first office and announced himself to the aide who sat at a desk. The aide requested his paperwork and told him to sit and wait.

Ray looked around the office. It was full of pictures and models of ships, people, space stations, and weapons. It was obvious that this was a working office of a working, hands-on admiral, not that of some pretentious prat. Ray watched as a couple of space marines entered the office carrying some instruments. They conferred with the aide and then with a quiet knock on the door to the inner office stepped through. A few minutes later, the marines existed the inner office, and with a nod to the aide, they left.

The admiral will see you now, sir, the aide said to Ray as he nodded to the inner sanctum door.

Thanks, LT, Ray said as he stood and strode to the door. Knocking lightly, he opened the door and stepped in. Seeing the admiral sitting at his desk, he snapped off a curt salute, stood at attention, and stated for the record, Commander Ray Hunter reporting as ordered, sir.

The admiral rose and returned his salute before walking around his desk and proffering his hand. It’s good to see you, Ray. We haven’t met before, but after reading your dossier, I feel that I know you well enough. Have a seat, and we’ll have a little chat.

Ray took a seat at the desk and waited while the admiral moved back behind his desk and sat down. This was a hands-on admiral that had obviously risen through the ranks. He had a rugged look and an expression that showed he was used to issuing orders and that he expected complete and immediate action. He was old, but the ease with which he moved indicated that he had aged well. He has obviously worked hard to keep fit and had not allowed the pressure of his office to grind him down. It was almost night and day compared to the politically appointed Admiral Fuggoret.

He looked at Ray for a moment and with a bark of laughter leaned back in his chair. The look of astonishment on your face is priceless. You were expecting a snarly old admiral that would enjoy giving you a good dressing down before he signed the final slot on your discharge papers.

Yes, sir, something like that, Ray replied rather meekly, still trying to come to grips with this new turn of events.

Well, son, I’m not going to sign your paperwork. Rather, I’m going to offer you a job instead. The admiral smiled. We have much to discuss, and for the most part it’s for your ears only. That’s why the marines were in here—to sweep the place. You would be surprised to know that this room is bugged on a regular basis. That little parade snot Fuggoret has it bugged to keep track of me and see what the joint chiefs are up to. That’s part of the story, so I might as well start at the beginning.

If you would, sir, I’m a bit confused, Ray replied

Well, it all started when we discovered there was a conspiracy to overthrow the Assembly of Governing Worlds. It’s subtle but ongoing. We have no way, at this time, to prove it but are well aware of gentle and not so gentle changes taking place. This applies more to the military than the governing bodies, but without a military, the governing bodies are helpless, Admiral Weatherfew stated. "You have noticed yourself that all is not right in the Fleet. You are not alone. Over 350 good officers and crews along with three starships have been forced out. For the most part, those ships are or were obsolete. The crews, though, were top-of-the-line officers and crew members that were set up or betrayed by either other officers or political appointees. Fabrication of evidence is usually the cornerstone of the charges and the ruling board, which, you probably realize, is run by the political appointees with just enough ‘real people’ to give it credibility.

Also, plum appointments and the newer ships are going to officers that are more loyal to the Parliamentary Ruling Council than the AGW, even some of those that orchestrated the demise of their senior officers. Your service record shows that you have the right mix of experience in both command and administration. We’re organizing a black operation to build a force to counter the rising threat of the PRC. If you decide to take this job, you will be in great danger from the get-go and will have to fly under the radar. If not, I will sign your paperwork, and you will be escorted from the building.

Well, it’s sort of sudden, Ray replied. A lot to take in. I’m inclined to leap on it just to thwart Fugs, but I need to know that you’re not the conductor of this conspiracy. As well, I will state right now and for the future, I am loyal to the AGW and will not do anything that would compromise their legitimate business. I am going to require some time to mull this over. Ray sat back and with a defiant look watched the expression of Weatherfew as he took that in.

Excellent. Weatherfew beamed. You have passed the first test. If you had jumped it immediately, your paperwork would be signed, and you would be out the door. The ravings of a court-martialed and discharged commander would only attract attention of the PRC spies, and you would probably end up in a back alley with an untraceable knife in your ribs. There will be a contact made in two weeks at a bar called Hazel’s Reach. Be there for lunch. You will be met by an operative who will provide you with further information. If you are a no-show, then we will know that you have declined this operation, and we will recruit someone else.

Okay, fair enough, Ray said. How will I know this operative?

They will know you. Weatherfew smiled. Now, you will probably be followed by a PRC operative for the next few days. They seem to be interested in what you will do once you’re out of the Fleet. I suppose they want to ensure that you don’t go and make some trouble for them. So whatever you do, don’t draw attention to yourself. If you had some plans before our chat, just follow through with them.

Yes, sir. Ray smiled. I had plans for a bit of R&R before trying my hand at some business or other.

Good. Follow through with your R&R plans. Maybe even let it be known that you plan on going to another planet to try your hand at business, Weatherfew said. After all, a retired Fleet officer is entitled to settle anywhere in the known AGW.

Weatherfew rose and stretched out his hand. As Ray shook it, he felt a memory chip pushed into his palm. He palmed it and after giving another salute walked to the door.

Over the next two weeks, Ray spent time going through the memory chip. He read it once on his reader and then spent longer putting it through some encryption programs to ensure that no one else could get access to it. The memory stick was quite enlightening as to the progress of the PRC as it infiltrated various governments and military organizations and even had some of the operatives who were loyal to the PRC. It also had some information on other retired Star Fleet personnel. From that list, Ray spent some time narrowing down a list of candidates for recruitment.

It was just before lunch when he arrived at Hazel’s Reach. This was a place for middle-class drinkers and business people that needed a quick lunch before going about their business. The seating area was fairly well lit with no place that was dark or hidden. The bar itself was the normal type of bar, with the large pull taps that advertised the different kinds of draft beer they had available. The wall was the usual configuration of glass doors that displayed the bottled beers, ciders, wines, and coolers. On the wall was row upon row of hard liquor and spirits. Ray decided to take a place at the bar and ordered a beer from a busty bar girl. He was watching the video on the overhead screen of a soccer match between two planets’ teams, probably some playoff or finals. It was fairly quiet at the moment, with the bar only about a quarter full.

Ray noticed everyone that either came or went; he watched most of them through the reflection off the windows in the bar cooler. He had acknowledged the arrival of an older gentleman who took a seat at the bar. Although he sat a couple of chairs away, he asked who was playing and what the score was. After Ray told him, he seemed to ignore everything but the game. Ray noticed that a couple of guys