Endeavour (Atlantia Series Book 4) Read online

  Idris turned as a display screen near his seat flickered into life and Mikhain’s rugged features appeared upon it.

  ‘Did you detect the signal?’ Mikhain asked promptly. ‘Is it Endeavour?’

  ‘We did,’ Idris replied with a grin of pleasure at Mikhain’s keenly developed situational awareness. It was likely that the exact same discussion had occurred aboard Arcadia’s bridge and that the newly promoted captain had anticipated Idris’s decision to drop out of super–luminal cruise, a fact that provoked a great sense of comfort in Idris. ‘It could be a false positive but at this distance from the core systems I think it unlikely.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Mikhain replied, ‘I have refrained from informing the ship’s compliment of the discovery for now. Whatever’s out there, let’s wait until we see it with our own eyes before we start singing happy campfire songs. What about Taron Forge?’

  ‘We still have his trail,’ Idris confirmed as he glanced briefly at another display that traced the pirate captain’s course. Forge had been present during the battle on Chiron IV a month previously, and until now had represented the best chance of Atlantia and Arcadia safely navigating the uncharted cosmos beyond the Icari Line, a barrier that represented no obstacle to the lawless. ‘Wherever he’s going it’s not here, but there’s no rush to pursue him.’

  ‘You think that he knows about Endeavour?’ Mikhain asked. ‘Could he also have picked up the trail?’

  Idris glanced at Lael, who shook her head as she replied.

  ‘Atlantia’s sensor array is huge and we barely spotted the signal. Taron’s ship just isn’t large enough to be capable of detecting such weak gravitational waves.’

  ‘It’s just us then,’ Idris agreed. ‘Let’s see what we’ve really got here.’

  ‘Captain,’ Lael called. ‘You’re being summoned to the sanctuary. The Governing Council has demanded a briefing on what is happening.’

  Idris ground his teeth in his skull and glanced at Andaim. ‘You have the bridge.’

  ***

  IV

  The sanctuary was a vast rotating cylinder buried deep inside Atlantia’s hull, the motion of the cylinder effectively replicating Ethera’s natural gravity and the interior mimicking its topography and climate. Although the scale of the sanctuary was an illusion, the fresh air and bright blue sky never failed to fill Idris Sansin with a sense of home, something to brighten his darkening mood as he strode from the sanctuary entrance across a rolling hillside toward the communities.

  Most of Atlantia’s civilian contingent lived inside the sanctuary, which itself was originally designed to house prison staff on long tours far from home. Retired from active service two decades previously, Atlantia’s role prior to the apocalypse had been as a prison ship. Atlantia’s service as a military frigate would never have allowed such luxurious accommodation, but civilian staff required more elegant surrounding to soften the blow of guarding high–security convicts in orbiting prisons.

  Idris walked down into a small forest, torn between the desire to hurry and get the meeting over with and the need to enjoy the brief respite from the rest of the frigate’s stale air and crowded grey decks. A tight knot of homesteads appeared ahead, nestled within the trees, and outside in the sunshine stood a small crowd of men and women, each wearing smart suits typical of an Etheran government that no longer existed.

  Idris had been forced by the needs of the civilian community to allow a series of votes that had installed members of the community into roles as councillors to replace those lost in prior attacks by the Legion. Despite running a military vessel it had become clear that without an effective voice the civilians were becoming as much of a threat as the Word, discontent rife among their ranks. In all, four councillors had been voted into power, and another single person to liaise directly with the command crew. That single person, to Idris’s dismay, had been his wife.

  Far from being the supportive and sympathetic voice that he had hoped, Meyanna Sansin had in fact become a thorn in his side, often countering sage security decisions with claims of human–rights violations, excessive surveillance and heavy–handed policing of the civilian contingent with no consideration for the plight of the human race: any weakness or lack of oversight could result in humanity’s final and complete destruction, a fact oft–repeated by Idris and equally often ignored by the council. It had already nearly happened twice before, and Idris had no intention of allowing the do–gooders among the council to compromise the iron wall of security he had used to defend Atlantia.

  ‘Captain,’ Councillor Gredan greeted him, ‘so glad you could find time to join us.’

  Gredan was a balding fifty–something who had somehow managed to remain obese despite the limited rations available to Atlantia’s compliment. His handshake was limp and damp, and Idris twisted his face into something approaching a smile as he attempted to disguise his revulsion.

  ‘Councillors,’ he greeted them as one, ‘you requested an update?’

  ‘Please,’ Gredan gestured, ‘this way.’

  Gredan led the way into one of the homesteads, which had been converted into a sort of town hall. To Idris’s surprise it was filled with perhaps one hundred civilians, some with children in their laps, others elderly, a mixture of families related to prison warders, Marines, pilots and engineers that made up Atlantia’s crew and who had been fortunate enough to be aboard when the Word’s apocalypse had consumed Ethera.

  In front of the crowd was a long table behind which the four councillors sat, and in their centre was Meyanna. She smiled at him briefly, a sign of recognition diluted by her need to be seen as unbiased in her treatment of the needs of the civilian contingent. Along with Councillor Gredan were Councillors Ayek, a stern–looking elderly woman who regarded the military as little more than brutes; Vaughn, a younger man whom Idris regarded as power–hungry and keen to advance his own career, and Ishira Morle, a former merchant captain who had been rescued from Chiron IV on a previous mission, and in Idris’s opinion was the only sane person on the entire board.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Gredan announced as he took his seat and surveyed the crowd. ‘Our captain is a busy man and can spare us little time, so we’ll begin without preamble.’

  Somehow, Gredan made the captain’s lack of time sound like an accusation and had arranged the seating to vaguely resemble a court of law, with Idris now standing before a row of judges.

  ‘Atlantia has emerged from the safety of super–luminal travel into deep space,’ Gredan announced imperiously. ‘Why?’

  ‘That’s classified,’ Idris replied.

  A silence enveloped the hall which Idris enjoyed immensely. Truth was, it wasn’t classified at all, but if Idris had to waste his time standing in front of Gredan and his lackeys then he might as well have some fun with them.

  ‘Classified?’ Gredan echoed. ‘I thought that the purpose of this council was to appraise our people of Atlantia’s mission?’

  ‘It is,’ Idris confirmed. ‘When I know precisely the nature of that mission, you will be informed as agreed.’

  ‘You don’t have a mission?’ Ayek snapped as though Idris were some kind of amateur masquerading as a captain.

  ‘We do,’ Idris replied, maintaining a calm persona. ‘The nature of that mission remains, as of this time, unclear in its parameters.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Ayek peered at him.

  ‘That is why you do not command a military frigate, ma’am.’

  Ayek reared up somewhat in her seat as though she might snort flames out of her nostrils at him, but Ishira came to his rescue with a wry grin touching her young features.

  ‘I think that the captain is referring to the fluidity of the situation,’ she said. ‘Perhaps a discovery has been made that has yet to be fully quantified?’

  Idris inclined his head toward Ishira. ‘Correct.’

  ‘I think that the civilian contingent would appreciate some further understanding of this discovery,’ Gredan insisted.
/>   ‘I’m sure they would.’

  A further silence followed. Idris fielded the angry stares from the council without concern, aware that his wife was also glaring at him. He knew that he could not needle them forever, but their insistence on being informed of every detail of ship–board life was wearying, as was their demands of his time.

  ‘Is there any need for you to be quite so evasive?’ Meyanna asked finally. ‘The civilians further afield in the sanctuary are keen to know what’s happening and we have to go back to them with something. If we have nothing, they’ll lose confidence in the council’s influence aboard ship and this will have all been for nothing.’

  Idris smiled at his wife but said nothing as he let the silence build.

  Vaughn stood up from his seat and pointed at the crowd behind Idris. ‘It is not us demanding information from you, captain. It is the people. It’s not us that you’re insulting by refusing to divulge facts to, it’s them. Why don’t you turn around and stonewall what remains of humanity a bit more, just to amuse yourself?’

  Vaughn wore an expression of deep disgust and anger, one that Idris imagined he might have practiced in a mirror many times before. He heard a rumbling from behind him as the crowd shifted in their seats and came one step closer to crying out for more information, demanding that he yield to their right–to–know.

  ‘That’s a very good idea,’ Idris replied as he surveyed the panel of councillors, determined to turn Vaughn’s self–righteous oratory against him. ‘Their combined experience of military matters will, by numbers at least, exceed yours, councillors.’

  Idris turned on the spot before any of the councillors could respond, and the crowd of civilians behind him fell silent as he addressed them.

  ‘Our sensors detected a Colonial gravity wake while in super–luminal cruise and we decided to pursue the wake in preference to our tracking of the pirate Taron Forge. The result of this tracking is that we believe we may have located the vessel known as Endeavour.’

  A rush of whispers and gasps rippled through the crowd as Gredan spoke from behind the captain.

  ‘The Endeavour? There could be survivors aboard.’

  ‘That ship has been missing for a century,’ Vaughn replied. ‘She could have discovered huge amounts about the cosmos behind the Icari Line. She could be our saviour!’

  Ayek stood from her seat. ‘Captain, I demand that we intercept Endeavour immediately and discover what her captain has to say for himself!’

  The hum of whispers filling the hall fell silent as Idris slowly turned to face Ayek. The prim little woman lifted her chin before his gaze.

  ‘You demand?’ Idris echoed.

  ‘It is the will of the people whom we represent,’ Ayek fired back. ‘This is no longer a military matter but a concern for us all, and we shall be informed of each and every decision that is made by Atlantia’s command crew.’

  Idris, his hands behind his back, glowered down at her.

  ‘You would have us board a ship that could be infected by the Legion or perhaps something even worse, without any precautionary measures, based only on the idea that lots of civilians can be more right that a small, highly trained crew?’

  Ayek’s resolve stiffened. ‘That’s not what I said.’

  ‘No, it’s what you demanded,’ Idris replied. ‘I have to admit that I’m surprised, not by the demand but by the fact that you made it before Vaughn managed to get on his soapbox again. He likes the exposure.’

  A faint ripple of laughter drifted across the crowd behind Idris.

  ‘This is not a moment for humour,’ Vaughn snapped. ‘We have the right to speak to Endeavour’s captain! This could be an historic moment!’

  ‘It certainly would be,’ Idris agreed, ‘if Endeavour’s captain turns out to still be alive for a chat at one hundred and forty years old!’

  Open laughter burst out from behind Idris, and despite Meyanna’s angry expression the captain found himself enjoying the encounter far more than he had dared to believe possible.

  ‘Captain,’ Ayek began, ‘I demand an apology for this pointless trivialisation of our mission to…’

  ‘And I demand an apology for being dragged here for nothing more than to bolster your own self–importance!’ Idris roared, silencing both the council and the crowd behind him. He calmed himself in the deep silence that followed. ‘This council was formed to give voice to the concerns of the civilians and to provide a means to pass information to them from the command crew, not to interrogate senior officers! With the exception of Councillor Morle none of you have any military or spacefaring command experience and yet you presume to give orders to the captain of this ship! Perhaps I should start dishing out medical advice to Doctor Sansin while she is performing surgery? Perhaps Councillor Ayek would like to advise me on the details of solar gravitational trajectory distortions in super–luminal flight, or the effects of plasma bombardment on defensive shield currents?’

  The board of councillors remained silent as Idris glared at them one by one.

  ‘I am more than happy to provide you, on a daily basis, with what information I can on our missions. I am all too aware that when Atlantia is under threat, so too is her entire compliment of civilians. But do not presume that your roles here are anything more than advisory. The last time a councillor attempted to take control of this vessel they were consumed by the Legion, literally, and their actions almost cost the lives of the entire ship’s compliment.’ Idris turned to face the civilians behind him once more. ‘I will inform you of what is happening, and what we intend to do about it, as soon as I know myself. Is that acceptable to you, the people who voted for this council?’

  The civilians exchanged glances and nodded in silence.

  ‘Perhaps we could help you with that,’ Gredan said from behind Idris, ‘if your time is indeed so limited.’ Idris turned as the overweight councillor stood from his seat. ‘I propose that one of us accompany the captain aboard Atlantia’s bridge, and relay pertinent information back here to the council, to provide a more reliable flow of news for the people.’

  Idris opened his mouth to protest, but his wife spoke first. ‘All those in favour?’

  Over a hundred voices chanted aye in unison, the commingled response filling the hall and seeming to echo as Idris fumed in silence.

  ‘I’ll take the first watch,’ Gredan volunteered himself. ‘If that concurs with your desire to keep our civilians in the loop, captain?’

  Idris glared at the council for a moment, and then he spun on his heel. Without looking back, Idris marched from the homestead and outside as he aimed for the sanctuary exit beyond the nearby forest. He had not made it to the treeline before he heard hurried footfalls behind him and he looked over his shoulder to see his wife storming in pursuit.

  ‘I hope that you’re satisfied!’

  ‘What, that one of those cronies will be hovering around on my bridge?’ Idris demanded as Meyanna fell into line beside him and tried to keep up. ‘I thought that you wanted a voice for the people, not to police the ship for me.’

  ‘The only thing that needs policing is your attitude,’ Meyanna snapped. ‘You realise that if you keep patronising the council they’ll actively start conspiring against you? It’s the basis for all political posturing.’

  ‘I don’t give a damn about politics,’ Idris shot back.

  ‘Well I do,’ Meyanna said as she stopped and let her husband keep walking, ‘and so do the civilians because it’s the only way for them to be heard now. You either talk to them through the council, or the council will use them to over–rule you.’

  ***

  V

  ‘Launch our alert fighters and ensure that all shuttles and Corsairs are on stand–by. If this goes south I want our full arsenal prepared for combat!’

  Mikhain’s orders rang out across Arcadia’s bridge as his crew hurried to carry them out. Mikhain stood beside his chair and looked about him with a pride that only a full command could provoke in a man: the
sight of the nerve–centre of a massive, heavily armed Colonial frigate at battle quarters and entirely under his control invigorated him like a drug, an addiction that he knew he would never be able to control.

  ‘Atlantia’s fighters are aloft,’ came the call from Lieutenant Scott, Mikhain’s new tactical officer. Young and inexperienced, Scott was scrutinising his display screens with an intensity born of unfamiliarity, struggling to keep up with the flow of information. ‘Reaper Flight establishing a combat air patrol, Renegade Flight maintaining close fleet–defence.’

  ‘Order our fighters to support them but to stay out of their way. Let Atlantia’s people run the show for now, they have more experience.’

  ‘Aye, cap’n,’ Scott replied.

  Mikhain watched as his communications officer, Shah, spoke with Lael aboard Atlantia, her brow furrowed as she concentrated on the signals information coming in from the gravitational wake of what they all hoped would be Endeavour. Long black hair snaked down across her shoulders, one of her eyes covered with a patch that gave her a vaguely piratical appearance. A former convict aboard Atlantia Five, she had proven herself aboard Atlantia and been promoted to support Mikhain.

  A nearby screen monitored Arcadia’s launch bays as four Raythons, piloted by crews borrowed from Atlantia’s compliment until new pilots could be trained and attached permanently to Arcadia, ran their engines up to full power. The Raythons rocketed down their magnetic catapults moments later and roared away from the frigate to join a close–quarters fleet defence patrol, and for a few brief moments Mikhain was no longer a member of the last fleet of human Colonial vessels alive in the universe but an Executive Officer once more and part of the Colonial Fleet’s massive arsenal. He realised to his surprise in that brief moment of recollection that he would in fact be willing to give up his command position, were doing so able to take them all back in time to a place where the Word did not yet exist, where Ethera was not a wasteland and where humanity’s great journey into the unknown was still a dream filled with hope and promise.