From Ghost Fleet: book 2 of the sci-fi Home World Series
The darkness was offset by the two glistening moons as they
paraded across the night sky, their light casting a shimmering cloak over the
starlight behind them. Below, the charcoal colored buildings of Fleet Main
absorbed the reflected light from the rare, twin full moons. Fleet Main was
planted on the outskirts of Galway, the most populace city of New Caledonia.
With its placement negotiated in the formative years of the Home World alliance
it had become the central core for the defense of the alliance.
Admiral Duley Connor was doing his best to clean up his desk
before he retired for the night, and things weren’t going well. He was the
command lead for three of the nine Home World fleets, and his were the most
successful. They often had the lead for the heaviest Lorilon engagements and
his Third Fleet was currently in the midst of the fight. He hadn’t received
transmissions from Stuart Joseph in over three days. He leaned back and tossed
his pen on the desk.
“Damn him.” Duley Connor had a distinguished career running
breakneck up the ranks. He flew by officers who had more experience, more
connections. But they weren’t always the right connections. On his way up he
learned to work the system but along the way, he’d changed. He looked out the
wall of dark windows into the night, his office overlooking the central pools of
the ringed courtyard. He could see his reflection framed in the windows against
the dark sky. He pushed his fingers through his thinning silver hair. Those
heady days of running up the ladder were gone. Somewhere along the line with
the glad-handing and deal making he became more of a politician in a uniform
than a leader of men.
He pushed himself away from his desk letting his tired gaze
fall on the orange moon of Mourne, her rocky reflection in sharp contrast to
her pale sister Gullion’s soft light. Joseph was stalling. He was sure of it.
“What the hell is he waiting for?” Connor asked himself
aloud. “Because he ignored my direct order.” A sharp knock on his partially
opened door grabbed his attention, pulling his thoughts back into the room.
“Sir?”
“What is it Mairead?” Duley turned his chair slightly,
angling it toward his assistant. “I thought I told you to go home hours ago.
It’s almost tomorrow.”
“I just needed to get some of my own work caught up too.
Sir, a communique from Third Fleet, eyes only.”
“Really!” Duley’s eyes shot up in surprise. “About damn
time!” He pushed himself away from his desk and stared at the huge com panel on
the wall. The bottom of the glass screen was nearly pristine in its blackness
except for the single red dot that pulsed twice in three second intervals. He
was standing in front of the panel moments later. He placed his hand over the
bio-sensor and the unit responded immediately.
“Connor, Duley. Authorization accepted.”
“Computer, open eyes only communication. Authentication
alpha 3 zeta.”
“Acknowledged.”
Connor listened to the brief message in its entirety, his
head down, his arms crossed. His longtime friend was hard to read even in
person. A long distance communique made it even more difficult. As Joseph’s
words fell away Duley reached out touching the now-black panel shutting it
down. He turned and walked to the dark windows and looked up again to the
celestial chariots racing across the night sky. Joseph was possibly the best
fleet commander in the Alliance, and his friend, but now, he had no choice.
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