Terran Fleet Command Saga 4: TFS Fugitive

  TFS FUGITIVE

  The Terran Fleet Command Saga - Book 4

  *****

  Tori L. Harris

  ISBN: 978-0-9961796-7-6

  TFS FUGITIVE

  THE TERRAN FLEET COMMAND SAGA - BOOK 4

  VERSION 1.0

  Copyright © 2017 by Tori L. Harris

  All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to real persons, events, places, or organizations are purely coincidental and not intended by the author. Any references to actual places, people, brands, or other works of fiction are also fictitious.

  Written and Published by Tori L. Harris

  AuthorToriHarris.com

  Edited by Monique Happy

  www.moniquehappy.com

  Cover Design by Ivo Brankovikj

  https://www.artstation.com/artist/ivobrankovikj

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Be not afraid of greatness. Some worlds are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them.

  The Terran Guardian

  (paraphrasing William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night)

  Chapter 1

  Earth, Terran Fleet Command Headquarters

  (3 weeks after the Resistance attack)

  “How reliable is this intelligence?” Admiral Sexton asked, momentarily ignoring the detailed graphical information presented on the room’s view screen in favor of a written Fleet Intelligence Estimate. “I’m not trying to bust either of your chops here, but this really has gotten a little embarrassing at this point, don’t you agree? This is … what? The fourth or fifth time we’ve had what looks like actionable intelligence on the location of the Sazoch’s payload module?”

  The Commander in Chief, Terran Fleet Command, drew in a deep breath and leaned back in his chair to stare at the ceiling, collecting his thoughts and working hard to keep his frustration level in check. While his flag conference room table could easily accommodate twenty people, only the two closest seats were currently occupied — to his left by Vice Admiral Tonya White, Chief of Naval Intelligence, and to his right by Lieutenant General Vernon Tucker, Commandant of the TFC Marine Corps.

  Sensing their boss’s mood, White and Tucker silently exchanged glances with one another across the table. Each of them had worked with Sexton for many years, and while the CINCTFC was generally a level-headed officer who was rarely critical of his subordinate commanders, they were keenly aware of the tremendous pressure being brought to bear on both him and their organization at the moment. Both officers also knew all too well that the first person to speak up in situations such as this often ended up serving as a lightning rod for all of the pent-up frustrations that existed in the room at that particular moment. As a result, both waited silently — avoiding eye contact and hoping that Sexton would address their colleague across the table first.

  “So, from a political standpoint,” Sexton continued in an uncharacteristically sarcastic tone, “we earned ourselves a little credibility and trust around the world with the defeat of the Resistance task force … and rightfully so. But then we turn right around and give the appearance of being caught flat-footed in the aftermath of their attempted biological attack. I can assure you that our inability to successfully recover the device is doing nothing to reassure our membership that we remain capable of defending the planet … let alone competent to do so. And, frankly, with everything that’s been going on with the Leadership Council, the timing simply could not be worse. I assume you’ve both seen some of the press conferences our public affairs folks have been giving, right? ‘Oh, uh, yes, there is at least a small possibility that a species-killing bio weapon landed somewhere on the Earth’s surface, but that was only three weeks ago, so we still have only a vague idea of where to look for it at the moment. We’d just like to ask you all to bear with us and be patient for just a little while longer while we wander around South America looking for it. There’s obviously nothing to worry about, though, folks, because we’d all be dead already if it had functioned properly.’”

  In the brief, uncomfortable silence that followed, Sexton grudgingly realized that his self-indulgent browbeating was doing little to advance the conversation, let alone accomplish the mission at hand. One of the most irritating things about being in charge, he reflected, is that there’s really not a hell of a lot of difference between venting and issuing an ass-chewing. “Alright,” he said, shaking his head resignedly, “one of you please convince me why it’s going to be different this time.”

  “Sir, as I mentioned last week, I’ll take the hit for accepting some of the first information we received at face value,” Admiral White began. “With the benefit of hindsight, it may seem a little ridiculous now, but at the time, we had no reason to suspect that anyone would mount a disinformation campaign to prevent us from recovering the device. We obviously would have preferred to keep the entire recovery operation under wraps — at least until it was safely in our possession — but the Guardian’s public declarations on the subject touched off something of an international free-for-all. Even as dangerous as the weapon was purported to be, everyone wanted this thing: us, most of our member nations, and, perhaps most troubling, several multinational corporations. Based on what we now know, it appears that the payload module was successfully recovered within just a few hours after the battle with Resistance forces concluded.”

  “How is that even possible?” Sexton asked, incredulous. “We had just seen a ninety-megaton atmospheric antimatter explosion. There was debris falling across that entire region for several hours, so detecting something this small would have been all but impossible, even if it had been safe to be out there looking for it at the time. We had to have been in a better position to detect the device than anyone, so how did someone else manage to not only find it, but safely recover it?”

  “It was an inside job, Admiral, it had to be,” Tucker said, speaking up for the first time.

  “Inside job?” Sexton repeated, furrowing his brow and struggling to keep his temper in check. “What the hell does that even mean, Vernon?”

  “I think we’re getting a bit ahead of ourselves,” White said, raising both hands placatingly. “To answer your original question, what’s different this time is our information source. We were contacted by this man,” she said, nodding to the room’s view screen, “former Argentinian Defense Force Colonel Mateus Rapoza.” As she spoke, the room’s AI displayed a file photograph of the Argentinian officer along with a brief biographical summary. “Colonel Rapoza identified himself as the commander of the team that recovered the Sazoch’s payload module.”

  “You said former Defense Force Colonel
, so who does he work for now?” Sexton asked.

  “Before I answer that, sir, let me just say that we are still running our standard series of background checks to vet this information, but, so far at least, we have reason to believe that Rapoza is a credible source. Everything he’s told us has checked out.”

  “I’m not going to like your answer, am I?”

  “No, sir, you aren’t. Until very recently, Colonel Rapoza and his team were contracted through a subsidiary of Crullcorp International. They believed that they were securing the device in preparation for safe disposal, but it became obvious over the next couple of weeks that this was not to be the case. He made a couple of inquiries regarding plans for destroying the device, after which he and his team were summarily dismissed. In spite of a number of open threats from his former employer — both legal and physical — he contacted a trusted colleague within the intelligence arm of the Central and South American Union. Thankfully, they called us immediately.”

  “Karoline Crull’s company,” Sexton said flatly, as if this bit of information had been a foregone conclusion given the location of the alleged recovery site. “Well, I guess as tempting as it is to have a knee-jerk reaction and assume we’re being played here —”

  “Again,” General Tucker interrupted, then immediately regretted opening his mouth.

  “Yes, again,” White said, giving the Marine general a disapproving glance. “As I previously stated, most of the information we received before being contacted by Colonel Rapoza appears to have been intentionally misleading — and apparently crafted in such a way to keep us as far away from the device as possible for as long as possible. As to General Tucker’s comment about this being an ‘inside job,’ I have to agree. Crullcorp pulling the strings on a recovery operation outside the purview of TFC — but obviously with some level of cooperation from the Argentinian government — certainly qualifies in my book. Although there have never been any successful prosecutions, it’s generally understood that the company has every significant politician in that country on the payroll, so to speak.”

  “I was also referring to the Guardian,” Tucker said. “It supposedly shot this thing down, but then provided us with a bogus touchdown location that turns out to be over a thousand kilometers south of where it actually landed.” The old general paused and smiled apologetically at the CNI. Even at sixty-three, he was still very much a Marine’s Marine — in outstanding physical condition and the kind of man whose mere presence was enough to completely dominate most rooms he entered. Such was not the case here, however, and he knew from personal experience that Tonya White was not an officer he wanted to cross.

  “Well, now, I don’t know that I would characterize the Guardian’s information as ‘bogus’ … not entirely, at least,” White replied, clearly unwilling to let the Marine general off that easily. “We have actually recovered some debris at the location it specified that was almost certainly part of the Sazoch delivery vehicle. Granted, we haven’t found anything we believe was related to the payload itself, but the search is still underway.”

  “Right — and conveniently enough, at a location well-known for some of the most hazardous oceanic conditions on the planet. So, what are we really thinking here? Somehow or another, the Guardian managed to collude with Crullcorp to recover this thing before we could get to it? To what end?” Sexton asked, peering over his glasses at his CNI.

  “Anything I say would be purely speculation, Admiral, and I don’t like to —”

  “I insist,” Sexton said. “I know you have an opinion, Tonya, and I’m interested in hearing it.”

  “Alright, then,” she sighed, narrowing her eyes pensively as she organized her thoughts. “I agree with General Tucker that the location provided by the Guardian off Cape Horn was most likely an intentional ruse. I have no idea how or why it pulled that off, but if Colonel Rapoza is telling us the truth, that means that the Guardian probably did intercept and shoot down the Sazoch craft somehow. Under the circumstances, I can’t image anyone or anything else would have been able to do so.”

  White paused for a moment, staring back at the two men to see if either would commit themselves to filling in any additional details for themselves. Her disciplined mind was accustomed to following the data, wherever it happened to lead, and although speculation and “playing a hunch” was sometimes called for in her line of work, she was keenly aware that doing so involved risks. This was particularly true when all of the speculation could be attributed to a single person and then ended up being used as the basis for putting lives at risk. All things considered, if this turned out to be another fool’s errand, she would prefer to have someone’s name on it other than just her own.

  “I’m with you so far,” Sexton prompted. “Naturally, Crullcorp would have mostly been interested in the portion of the Sazoch carrying the biological agent, so the Guardian tells them where to find it, then decoys us with the impact site of some useless debris. Under the circumstances, all it really had to do was throw us off the scent long enough to ensure that the payload had been secured. Does that sound about right?”

  “Once again, we’re making a lot of assumptions, sir, but that scenario fits the information we have in hand at the moment.”

  “Fair enough, and what do you recommend that we do about it?”

  Admiral White raised her eyebrows earnestly as she continued, “Well, sir, political considerations notwithstanding, our first priority must be to secure the biological agent. Colonel Rapoza believes it to be relatively safe for the time being, but the risk of a release will increase dramatically once it is transported to other sites and testing begins.”

  Both Sexton and Tucker opened their mouths to ask the obvious question at the same moment before, with no small degree of satisfaction, Admiral White preempted them both. “Oh yes, gentlemen, it is almost certainly their intention to divide the agent up into smaller batches for transport. After that, it will likely be distributed to their allies or exceptionally well-funded customers. Whoever ultimately gets their hands on a sample will begin their own, independent laboratory testing — perhaps with the goal of figuring out a way to modify it so that it can be used in a more controlled, targeted manner. In its current form, it’s obviously of very little use as a weapon unless you happen to be a member of a species other than our own.”

  “Makes sense to me,” Tucker said. “It’s either that or destroy it immediately to prevent someone else from getting hold of it and killing us all. And I hardly think they would go to all the trouble of keeping their recovery operation a secret if they intended to destroy it. By the way, that is what we intend to do with it, is it not?” he asked, looking back to Sexton for an answer.

  The silence from both Sexton and White provided an even more unequivocal answer than if either of them had chosen to speak.

  “You two have got to be kidding me with this. That’s nuts, and both of you know it.”

  “I don’t want to go down this rabbit hole right now,” Sexton said, raising his hand to head off further discussion. “The truth of the matter is that any decision as to the final disposition of the bio agent will be up to the Leadership Council. I am confident, however, that many will argue that it makes sense for us to at least take a look at how the viral vector was engineered. It might well be our only opportunity to see if we can develop a defensive strategy in case something like this is used in the future.”

  “Uh-huh, or kill every last one of us in the process.”

  “Look, I understand what you’re saying, General, and for what it’s worth, I agree with you. But there are several labs around the world that have been successfully handling the deadliest of pathogens for a very long time. Frankly, it would surprise me if our own scientists haven’t created something just as deadly at some point — or at least figured out how to do so. So, if it comes to that, I’m sure we can find a way to get it done safely. For now, however, our role is to recover the device, just as Admiral White said.”

  “Fin
e,” Tucker said, shaking his head resignedly. “What’s the op?”

  Earth, Patagonian Desert

  (0300 local - 55 km northwest of Las Heras, Argentina)

  Two hundred years after Humanity’s reliance on fossil fuels for energy production had all but ended, its insatiable need for petroleum-based products had continued unabated, with space-based hydrocarbon mining operations only now beginning to supplant more traditional methods. The northernmost section of Argentina’s Santa Cruz Province was an area where this fact was readily apparent, even when viewed from orbit. Here, over fifteen thousand square kilometers of the high desert was covered by a seemingly random patchwork of access roads punctuated by rectangular clearings — each one centered around a current or former oil well. Otherwise, the barren, inhospitable region was almost completely deserted except for a few small towns populated mostly by the families of oil company employees. For those looking to keep their activities private, however, few remaining places on the Earth’s surface offered a better location for conducting illicit activities beyond the prying eyes of both passersby and the local authorities.

  Near a solitary grouping of abandoned oil wells, Crullcorp International had staked out a compound of sorts. There was nothing particularly remarkable about the collection of buildings they had erected, other than the fact that there were no other structures to speak of for over thirty kilometers in any direction. A total of four buildings, including one that appeared to be a massive hangar, were clustered around a flight ramp large enough to accommodate all but the largest air and spacecraft.

  With the advent of gravitic fields and Cannae thrusters, traditional runways were no longer necessary to allow a site such as this to support air operations. Those same technologies, however, had been spurring the aerospace industry to produce ever larger ships for several decades. As a result, a strip of reinforced concrete that might have easily served as a runway in years past was now barely adequate for several aircraft to land and park.