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  Haven Ascendant

  Robert M. Kerns

  Knightsfall Press

  Copyright © 2019 by Robert M. Kerns

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means--electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise--without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owner.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any place or person (whether carbon-based lifeform or otherwise) is unintended and purely coincidental.

  Published by Knightsfall Press

  PO Box 280

  Mineral Wells, WV 26150

  https://www.knightsfallpress.com

  About This Book

  Nothing is ever easy...

  Tensions rise as the Coalition pursues its war of conquest. Who will be their next target?

  The Provisional Parliament in the old Commonwealth sinks deeper into fascism as people flee their worlds in droves. Those fleeing head straight for Beta Magellan.

  Only time will tell when Cole must face the next major choice: get involved in the war or let it pass him and Beta Magellan by.

  Which will he choose?

  Read Now to find out!

  Typos

  Typos and little slips in grammar are the bane of any author. Unfortunately, they are almost impossible to eradicate completely. I can show you many traditionally published books—twenty years old and more—that have a ‘whoopsie’ here and there.

  That being said, if you find a typo or something that seems to be an error in grammar, please do not hesitate to contact me at [email protected].

  I will periodically collate any emails and produce updated PDF and eBook files, and I’ll make an announcement in my monthly newsletter when the updates have been published.

  Dramatis Personae

  Cole: Bartholomew James Coleson is the heir to the immensely wealthy Coleson Trust; indeed, some star systems compare their GDP to estimates of the Trust’s worth as a metric of economic growth and achievement. The source of this wealth is his family’s ownership of Coleson Interstellar Engineering (CIE), the company that owns and maintains the interstellar jump gate network used for transit between star systems, and he is captain/owner of the battle-carrier Haven.

  Srexx: Srexxilan is the self-aware AI inhabiting the computer cluster aboard the battle-carrier Haven.

  Sasha: Sasha Thyrray is the middle child and oldest daughter of Paol and Mira Thyrray. She is the first officer aboard the battle-carrier Haven.

  Harlon: Colonel Harlon Hanson commands the marines aboard the battle-carrier Haven.

  Emily: Commander Emily Vance is the daughter of Sevrin Vance and the commander-air-group (CAG) aboard the battle-carrier Haven.

  Sev: Sevrin Vance is the second child and oldest son of Carl and Lindsay Vance in Tristan’s Gate. He is Cole’s Director of System Infrastructure.

  Painter: Julianna Painter is the former owner/captain of the freighter Beauchamp. She is now Cole’s Director of Everything Else; if it’s not related to the actual construction process of re-building Beta Magellan (which is Sev’s responsibility), it falls under Painter’s aegis.

  Garrett: Garrett is Cole’s oldest friend. He found Cole shortly after the massacre of Beta Magellan and raised him until Cole was ready to go out on his own. Garrett now serves as Cole’s spymaster…er, that is…Director of Intelligence.

  Chapter One

  In Transit to the Oriolis Jump Gate

  The Freighter Jezebel’s Hope

  Zeta Creoris System, Aurelian Commonwealth

  14 June 3003, 10:57 GST

  “It’s no good, Captain,” the comms tech announced. “The jamming is too strong.”

  Captain Adrienne Narvou did her best not to sigh. It was looking like this would be her last run…ever. With eleven successful refugee runs to Tristan’s Gate already in the log, she came back for another, but it seemed her luck had finally run out. A destroyer and two frigates pursued her freighter, repeating orders to heave to and prepare to be boarded. She had a good head start, so she might make the jump gate, but it was just a matter of time at this point. Her pursuers surely sent word ahead to the new Oriolis garrison.

  “Contacts!” the sensor tech announced, his voice anxious. “Multiple contacts dead ahead at five light-minutes!”

  The best civilian sensors on the market had a range of one light-day with any kind of resolution, and Narvou hadn’t been able to afford even fourth-best the last time she took her ship in for a refit. The sensors aboard Jezebel’s Hope exceeded the minimum requirements to be space worthy but not by much. Fortunately, even though five light-minutes sounded really close, it was still almost thirty minutes away at one-fifth-light.

  “Show me the plot,” Narvou said.

  The viewscreen activated, displaying over thirty ship codes. The new ships were arranged in a rough line-abreast formation, creating a wall between her and the jump gate. As Narvou examined the plot, the computer began adding data to the ship codes as the comms system communicated transponders. Fifteen frigates. Ten destroyers. Six cruisers. Three battleships. And one dreadnought.

  Narvou’s focus flicked back to the ships pursuing her. Hounds for the hunters.

  Narvou wracked her mind for what she knew of her passengers, trying to figure out why in the stars the Provisional Parliament would dispatch a dreadnought battlegroup for her dinky, old freighter. As far as she knew, none of her refugees were special; they were farmers, artisans, factory workers. Okay…there were a couple scientists, but they had assured her they were minor faculty at a system university.

  “Captain! Message broadcast! It’s coming from the dreadnought,” the comms tech announced. “I can’t believe they’re overpowering the jamming at this range.”

  “Play it,” Narvou said.

  The bridge speakers came alive. “May I have your attention, please? I am Admiral Jennings Trask—”

  Narvou’s concentration on the message evaporated. One of her passengers must have lied to her. Jennings Trask was a legend among the spacer community, widely whispered to be the next Chief of Naval Operations for the Commonwealth. Having almost more decorations than places to put them on his uniform, Admiral Jennings Trask was the officer the Commonwealth sent to solve the unsolvable.

  Cheers from her people pulled Narvou from her anxiety-riddled musings, and she blinked as she realized she had no idea why her people were celebrating.

  “Play that back,” Narvou said, hoping the cheers were related to the message.

  “Aye, Captain,” the comms tech said.

  The speakers once more carried Trask’s voice. “May I have your attention, please? I am Admiral Jennings Trask. Task Force 42-Bravo, you are executing illegal orders. I advise you to stand down and withdraw, or we will defend the freighter with all necessary force.”

  A high-pitched wail erupted, and the sensor tech almost screamed, “Missile launch! Three hundred—that is, three-zero-zero—birds incoming! They’re locked on and are homing!”

  Narvou watched the dots representing the missiles on the plot as her mind ran the probabilities. The ships of the former Commonwealth used two types of missiles: energy-signature and transponder tracking, and IR-profile tracking. The IR sensor packages were older and cheaper; when the civil war broke out, the Commonwealth had been phasing them out. There was a chance that those three hundred missiles were IR trackers…at least some of them.

  “Helm, turn off the Attitude Control System,” Narvou said, “and kill the engines. I want us to drift. Comms, kill the transponder and signal the engine room: stop all heat radiation possible. I want to be a hole in the night.”

  Sparing a glance at the plot, Narvou saw a mass of
dots fast approaching her ship from her pursuers. Just as she looked up, though, she saw a throng of frigate and destroyer data codes leap forward from Trask’s line of battle. The larger ships were slower to show their movement, but the cruisers, battleships, and dreadnought were moving as well.

  The next minutes were the longest of Narvou’s life. The wall of missiles bore down on her defenseless freighter as Trask’s destroyers and frigates raced to reach her in time. There was no chance the battleships and dreadnought—with their massive missile defense—would make it, so everything depended on the smaller, fleeter ships.

  Collision alarms shrieked throughout the ship, some destroyers’ and frigates’ passage so close they triggered the warning. Narvou’s anger spiked at such reckless ship handling, but then she understood what they’d done. By passing so close to the freighter in such a tight formation, those specific destroyers and frigates tried to fool the incoming missiles into locking onto them instead.

  Dots appeared around each destroyer and frigate, followed shortly by her sensor tech announcing, “Trask’s ships are firing interceptors.”

  The missiles still bored in toward the freighter, and Narvou realized why the gambit had failed: the missiles’ IFF. Trask’s ships must have been marked as ‘friendly’ by the missiles’ targeting firmware.

  The red dots representing the closing missiles began vanishing in puffs of pixelated destruction as interceptors took them out. Narvou watched the count. Two-fifty. Two hundred. One-fifty. The interceptors were taking a toll, but Jezebel’s Hope wasn’t a warship with combat-grade shields and armor; her shields were just enough to protect against micrometeorites. One missile—just one—would see to her well enough.

  “Trask’s ships are engaging the missiles with point defense,” the sensor tech announced.

  The count now started dropping at a much greater rate. Almost in the blink of an eye, the count went from one-twenty-five down to twenty-five, but the destroyers and frigates passed out of range of the missiles, their vectors carrying them beyond the reach of their missile defense.

  Narvou took a deep breath as she attempted to settle her mind. Twenty-five missiles. It was a death sentence. She started to apologize to her people for bringing them into this, but her sensor tech’s exclamation stopped her.

  “Holy shit!” the tech shouted.

  “What is it?” Narvou asked.

  The sensor tech swiveled to face her, a huge grin spreading across his young face. “The dreadnought is pulling a Haven!”

  Narvou blinked at the non-sequitur. Yes…Haven was also something of a legend among the spacer community by now, but she couldn’t think of a specific maneuver that could be called ‘a Haven.’

  Her sensor tech saw she wasn’t following, so he swiveled back to his console, saying, “Here…look.”

  He reconfigured the plot on the forward viewscreen, and Narvou gaped at the new data. Trask’s flagship had moved into an escort position behind her freighter, rotating so that the ship itself served as a massive wall between the freighter and the incoming missiles. The dreadnought was just far enough away that it wouldn’t trigger the freighter’s collision alarms.

  It wasn’t long before the dreadnought moved out of its defensive position, and the freighter’s computer could update the plot from the sensor feeds. While serving as a shield, the dreadnought’s radiation had been so strong the freighter’s sensors couldn’t read anything behind them but the dreadnought. The first thing Narvou saw was that Trask’s destroyers and frigates raced to re-join the formation. The second was that there was no sign of the hostile task force.

  “Captain, we’re being hailed,” the comms tech announced. “It’s Admiral Trask.”

  “Put him on,” Narvou replied.

  The forward viewscreen switched from the plot to a view of an older gentleman in the jumpsuit Aurelian spacers wore aboard-ship.

  “Captain,” Trask said, “how do you and your people fare?”

  “Very well,” Narvou answered. “Thank you for defending us, Admiral. What happened to the task force?”

  Silence extended for a moment before Trask said, “Unfortunately, they would not see reason. The ships under my command defended themselves when the task force fired on them.”

  A heavy weight settled in the pit of Narvou’s stomach. There’d be no coming back to the Commonwealth now…not after being involved in the destruction of a task force.

  “I see. I’m sorry.”

  “As are we,” Trask replied. “What is your destination?”

  “I was planning on taking the refugees aboard to Tristan’s Gate,” Narvou said, “but I’m not sure if we can make it that far. We have to cross five more systems just to leave Coalition space.”

  “If I may,” Trask said, “I would argue it’s unwise, even if you could make it. Tristan’s Gate doesn’t have sufficient defenses if the Coalition follows.”

  “Where would you suggest we go, then?”

  “There’s only one safe harbor for any of us now: Beta Magellan.”

  Chapter Two

  Citadel Station

  Beta Magellan System

  14 July 3003, 09:23 GST

  Citadel Station was the name chosen for the new station upon its completion; it led Beta Magellan IV in its flight around the star at the planet’s L5 LaGrange point, and the Coleson Clanhold trailing along at L4 was now an empty shell. Several people suggested making the old clanhold into a museum, but Cole wasn’t sure about that. The new Hall of Remembrance down on the planet was enough of a museum for his taste.

  Cole grinned as he looked out the viewport of the station’s shuttle. Sev piloted. Painter sat in the seat behind Sev. They were touring the completed shipyard, starting with the civilian bays. Every bay held ships in various states of construction.

  “How are we doing for raw material?” Cole asked.

  “In all truth?” Painter asked before sighing. “We’re keeping ahead of demand, but just barely. If we weren’t recycling the military ships for raw material to use in their replacements, we’d have supply shortfalls. It will be better, the more mining ships we build…but that’s more of a long-term solution than a short-term bandage.”

  Cole nodded. “How about advertising for shipping-container loads of anything freighters want to deliver? We did it in Tristan’s Gate and Centauri. I don’t want random people cruising through Beta Magellan until we’ve built our defenses, but they could deliver the containers to Gateway.”

  It hadn’t taken very long for the system that linked to Beta Magellan to become known as Gateway. The original name was on a star chart somewhere, but those associated with Cole and the revitalization of Beta Magellan never bothered with any name but Gateway.

  Painter nodded. “We haven’t done it yet. Someone brought it up in a meeting not too long ago, but it looked to be a morale issue for several of the mining teams.”

  Cole blinked and swiveled to face her. “What? A morale issue? Seriously?”

  “Yes,” Painter replied. “Several of the mining teams felt that it was the teams’ collective responsibility to ensure you had the raw material you needed for your operations. If they were doing their jobs, you shouldn’t need to buy regolith or whatever from anywhere else.”

  Cole sighed. “That’s just stupid. We have…what…nine mining teams right now?”

  “Eleven, actually. We replaced the last two traditional mining ships with Gyv’Rathi designs just about a month ago.”

  “Okay, eleven mining teams,” Cole conceded. “If they worked every hour of every day, could they provide enough raw material to support all our construction programs…even leaving aside the fact that trying to do so would probably be a death sentence?”

  Painter shook her head. “No, but they don’t seem to recognize that. Plus, I think some of them that are new to mining are afraid they’ll lose their jobs; many of them are refugees and recent arrivals at that. The veteran miners are taking them under their wings, so to speak, but the newbies seem th
e most driven to prove themselves.”

  Cole sighed. He knew what needed to be done, but he didn’t like it. He didn’t like that it would take the miners out of commission for the better part of three days, maybe five.

  “Okay,” he said. “Tell them I want to call an assembly of the mining teams. But I’m not going to call it until we have a five-day supply of feedstock for the recyclers. I’ll pay double overtime rates for anyone who puts in the extra hours without safety violations. Once we have that buffer, call everyone in. I want to have a word with them.”

  By now, the shuttle drifted above the military construction bays, specifically the slips for frigates. Citadel Station had thirty construction bays each for frigates and destroyers, fifteen for cruisers, and twenty more bays that Cole assumed were for battle-carriers. Twenty battle-carrier construction bays seemed a bit much, by Cole’s estimation, but he’d taken a strictly hands-off approach to the system’s infrastructure design.

  “About half the frigate and destroyer bays are finalizing the last of the Oriolis Fifty-Seven,” Sev said. “We’re starting to recycle the ships we claimed or bought after the first battle of Tristan’s Gate, and once we recycle those, we’ll move on to our ships from the second battle of Tristan’s Gate. The ships that didn’t go into forming Haven’s carrier battlegroup are patrolling the systems we’ve claimed, especially those with active mining operations. Yes…the mining ships do carry weapons, but a decent pirate fleet could still swarm them.”

  Cole grinned at the reminder that he had his carrier battlegroup. He wasn’t sure he needed a carrier battlegroup, per se, but he’d wanted one ever since he’d processed just what Haven was. The thought took him back to watching ancient movies with his grandfather that featured carriers and carrier groups, fictional military films or documentaries.