Scott G. Gier - Genellan 02 - In the Shadow of the Moon

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In the Shadow of the

Moon

Genellan Book 2

by Scott G. Gier

Table of Contents

PROLOGUE SUDDEN DEATH

SECTION ONE A SIMPLE EQUATION

ONE GENELLAN—THIRD PLANET FROM THE STAR

TWO KON—SECOND PLANET FROM THE STAR

THREE CLIFF DWELLERS

FOUR HERE THERE BE DRAGONS

FIVE AMBASSADOR

SIX RETURN OF THE FLEET

SEVEN CARMICHAEL

EIGHT MACARTHUR'S VALLEY

NINE OLD FRIENDS

TEN ENVOY STARK

ELEVEN CONNECTIONS

TWELVE TEAMWORK

SECTION TWO SETTLEMENT

THIRTEEN DOWNLOAD

FOURTEEN ON THE GROUND

FIFTEEN SETTLEMENT

SIXTEEN OLDFATHER

SEVENTEEN ADMINISTRATION

EIGHTEEN NEW EDMONTON

NINETEEN SECOND DOWNLOAD

TWENTY CONTROL

TWENTY-ONE ANNIVERSARY

TWENTY-TWO SURPRISES

TWENTY-THREE NEGOTIATION

TWENTY-FOUR GENELLAN FAREWELL

SECTION THREE POWER PLAYS

TWENTY-FIVE BACK IN THE SADDLE

TWENTY-SIX PILOT AND CREW

TWENTY-SEVEN MOBILIZATION

TWENTY-EIGHT OVERTURES

TWENTY-NINE TRIBULATION

THIRTY CHECKRIDE

THIRTY-ONE TAR FELL ATTACKS

THIRTY-TWO ESCAPE

THIRTY-THREE CASSY AND NASH

THIRTY-FOUR REACTION

THIRTY-FIVE EVACUATION

THIRTY-SIX COLONEL PAK

THIRTY-SEVEN STARK'S REIGN

THIRTY-EIGHT THE COMING WINTER

THIRTY-NINE RETURN TO SOL

FORTY STATISTICAL DISTRIBUTIONS

SECTION FOUR A TIME TO KILL

FORTY-ONE DARKEST HOUR

FORTY-TWO UNDER WAY AGAIN

FORTY-THREE SPRING AGAIN

FORTY-FOUR RECOVERY

FORTY-FIVE STALEMATE

FORTY-SIX WE HARDLY KNEW YOU

FORTY-SEVEN IN TRANSIT

FORTY-EIGHT PREPARATION

FORTY-NINE NEW ARRIVALS

FIFTY HORNBLOWER SYSTEM

FIFTY-ONE RESCUE

FIFTY-TWO RECALL

FIFTY-THREE BATTLE OF HORNBLOWER

FIFTY-FOUR THIRD DAY OF BATTLE

FIFTY-FIVE RETREAT

FIFTY-SIX SHADOW OF THE MOON

FIFTY-SEVEN GENELLAN

EPILOGUE THE FUTURE BRINGS

PROLOGUE

SUDDEN DEATH

^ »

"Officer of the deck, ready to relieve you, sir."

Wong looked up from the log screens. Jonson saluted smartly as she

floated into a set of acceleration tethers, gracefully checking her body

rotation. Her helmet was radiantly white, her boots and epaulet insignia

glistening, and her matte-gray underway suit sported sharp creases, in

decided contrast to his own. Jonson was a hot-runner, having been

deep-selected for corvette command. She was early, as usual.

Wong hauled a shopworn hood over his egg-bald head and casually

returned the salute. He made a last offhand check of T.L.S. Hokkaido's

annunciators. Standing mothership OOD watch in orbit was less exciting

than watching oxidation inhibitors cure.

"For the log," he began, his debriefing reduced to litany. "Day twelve,

Oldfather system. T.L.S. Hokkaido conducting colony support operations.

Maintaining standoff orbit, Oldfather Three. Two point two hours from

apogee. In company with motherships Borneo, Luzon, and Crete. Supporting

freighters Banff and Juneau. Captain Ketchie is SOPO. Hokkaido is cell guide.

HLA Condition Four. Luzon has broken gridlink for orbital descent to

resupply station. Borneo is boosting from resupply orbit to replace Luzon in

grid by 1300 hours."

"Any update on colony replenishment?" Jonson asked, interrogating the

power system. The next watch filtered onto the bridge, establishing contact

with their off-going counterparts. Lieutenant Sato, the oncoming junior

officer of the deck, drifted gracefully past the conning station. The winsome

officer glanced in Wong's direction, black eyes smiling.

"Mr. Wong?" Jonson persisted, smooth, hairless brows raised impatiently.

"Any updates?"

"Uh… no. Juneau's heavy-lifter is hard down," he replied. "Group leader

deployed the Five and Six birds as shuttles to take up slack."

"I heard," Jonson grunted. "It'll take more than two corvettes hauling butt

paper and dehydrates to get us on schedule. We're going to be late. Admiral

Runacres will go nonlinear. What else?"

"Matrix generator number two down for preventive maintenance. Plasma

blow-down at eighty percent, and thermo-loading is restricted by rad-choke

governors. Engineering has a dozen items on the board."

"So I see," Jonson replied, fingers playing the panel. "What else?"

"Captain's stewing in his ring cabin. The exec's planetside, taking in the

scenery." Wong chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Jonson asked, intent on the pass-down logs. "OF3's

not that bad. Sunsets are wonderful."

"Yeah… sunsets. I'll wait till we make Genellan."

"Me, too," she allowed, turning to check the status panels. "Well, if that's

all, then I relieve you, sir."

"I stand re—"

A contact-alert Klaxon exploded to life.

"Fast-movers rising above the limb," the tactical officer blurted.

"Exceeding orbital velocity. Polar trace."

Wong jerked his attention to the status boards. Threat alarms warbled

insanely—they were being targeted. Jonson dove for the deck officer's

station. Wong, the nearer, had the advantage. He slid into the acceleration

stirrups and slammed open alarm covers, simultaneously shouting over the

command circuit: "Captain to the bridge. Captain to the bridge. Battle

stations! Battle stations."

He triggered the GQ alert. Jonson floated rigidly at his side, eyes darting

across the screens. Wong looked at the situation display, searching for

information.

"I've got the deck, Jonson," he said, reaching into the armor locker. "Take

the conn. Clear unnecessary personnel from the bridge."

Jonson, impassive, catapulted to her assigned station.

"Good grief!" the tactical officer shouted. "Pick up button one."

***

With honorable abandon Destroyer-Fist a'Yerg screamed into the

universe, the timeless brain-curdling battle cry of the roon, a rasping,

piercing screech yodeling relentlessly up and down the scales. Fist a'Yerg

seized the animal within, her g'ort, touching the rapture of combat—the

ecstasy of fear. Blood pounded hot through distended arteries lacing taut

sinews; a'Yerg reveled in the visceral convulsion of her race. Rapacious

instinct honed her reactions, physical and mental; a'Yerg—savage roonish

warrior—had become the blood and muscle embodiment of directed

mayhem, of mortal embrace, of war.

Waiting patiently, fully cognizant in the same highly evolved braincase,

a'Yerg's dominant alter ego, acute and calculating, rose preeminent, firmly

suppressing the raging brute. Atavistic screaming trailed off mournfully to

silence as the logical entity scanned the situation display, monitoring the

disposition of enemy forces, now visible through line-of-sight detectors.

The ah'en ships were deployed in two groups: three units in support

orbit and three more in high standoff. One of the low ships was elevating. In

less than a beat cycle of her multiple hearts a'Yerg signaled for attack. She

yawed her destroyer about, simultaneously rolling to keep the enemy in

sight, mere specks sparkling beyond the terminator. Gravity-boosted

velocity swept her past the low-orbit targets. She pulsed the main engines,

checking her overshoot.

The animal in her mind asserted itself deliciously. Fist a'Yerg, embracing

g'ort, observed more than felt her own powerful fingers clutching the

throttle. With practiced self-control a'Yerg squelched the alter ego's manic

impulse and set the throttle for standard attack. Her squadron deployed

smoothly into attack profile, flanks setting smartly. Squeezing the throttle,

a'Yerg relaxed and gave vent to the writhing within. The throttle slammed

forward. Her unbridled libido howled into the endless universe. All units

leapt to attack speed.

Ah, but it felt lovely to scream, a'Yerg's logical self sighed.

"Where'd they come from?" Ketchie demanded as he slammed into the

command station, breaking momentum with his boots.

"HLA exit on the far side, Captain," Wong told his commanding officer. "

Borneo's in big trouble. They came down on her antenna farm. She had no

time to rotate. Main batteries were totally masked."

"No!" Ketchie roared.

"Borneo's gone," the tactical officer confirmed.

Ketchie, in full battle armor and inscrutable behind his helmet visor,

thrust himself into his command station tethers.

"Jump status?" Ketchie demanded.

"Damn, they're picking off lifeboats!" the assistant tactical officer shouted.

"It's Shaula all over again!"

"Jump status!" Ketchie shouted. "Where's Luzon?"

"Climbing back to grid, Captain," Wong responded. "Estimate

preliminary coupling in thirty minutes, grid locks in forty."

"Weapons status?"

"Batteries One and Four manned, hot, and tagging targets, Captain.

Nothing in range," Wong reported. "Batteries Two and Three are five

minutes from battle temps. Kinetics armed and ready. Crete's batteries are

on line. Crete has two 'vettes in the air and two coming out. We've got three

launching. Luzon is about to launch her alert fif—"

"Conning officer, depress your orbit. Ease Luzon's rendezvous angle,"

Ketchie ordered.

"Aye, aye," Jonson replied.

"Captain, new contacts!" the tactical officer shouted. "Large ships reported

in counterorbit around Oldfather Three, coming our way. One point three

hours from engagement range."

"How many?" Ketchie barked.

"Clean returns on nine units, Captain. Fleet mothership mass or greater,"

the tactical officer answered soberly.

The skipper's shoulders sagged. Wong turned away. They were badly

outnumbered and mismatched. There was no alternative but to retreat into

hyperspace, leaving behind the freighters and marooning the colonists. No

alternative—none.

"Getting emergency squawks from both freighters," Wong reported. "

Banff's losing orbit. She's going down. Captain's abandoning ship."

"Three waves of bug fast-movers coming our way, Skipper," the tactical

officer reported. "Engagement with our 'vettes in eight minutes. Rocs have

intercept position. Peregrine, flight of three, is right behind the Rocs."

"Three to one against," Ketchie snarled.

Dead meat, Wong thought, muttering a silent farewell.

"Banff's gone!" the tactical officer shouted.

"Jump checks! Get hot!" Ketchie roared.

"Aye, Captain!" Wong punched up initiation sequences and felt the first

ripples of acceleration. The huge ship lurched leadenly.

"Rendezvous with Luzon in twenty," Jonson said, her voice even.

"Closing velocity category five plus. Gravity torque will be exciting."

"Exciting, my ass," Ketchie muttered, pounding his gauntleted fists

together.

"Luzon's launching 'vettes. Thrasher's in the air!" Wong announced.

"Recall those corvettes!" Ketchie barked.

"Juneau's taking hits!"

"Checklist!" Ketchie roared.

"Checklist has commenced. Crete is synced," Wong replied, hands flying.

"Luzon's registering. Negative link, Skipper. At least fifteen more minutes."

"Very well," Ketchie spit. "I want this jump on minimum path. Clear all

overrides. Signal Crete to stand by for radical maneuvers, emergency

acceleration. Conning officer, all ahead flank. Direct intercept. You know the

drill. Mr. Wong, keep your cannons unmasked."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Wong said too loudly, trying not to choke on his

fear. A head-on, flank-speed jump rendezvous, under fire—for real! Jonson

moved efficiently, setting a new course and shooting guide signals. The

mothership, a spacer's faithful frame of reference, settled and pivoted.

Inertial changes wreaked havoc on the huge craft's internal structures.

Wong, ashamed, felt his stomach wambling.

Destroyer-Fist a'Yerg's lead triad completed weapons passes in good

form, all units scoring full-weight energy strikes. The attack commander

pivoted ship to watch the trailing triads coordinate their runs on the

remaining low-orbit target. Scintillating energy beams rippled across the

sundered structure of the dying ship. Amazingly, despite its death wallow,

the alien vessel was still firing. Lifting a glove in silent tribute, a'Yerg

snarled her contempt.

Communications alert sounded—battle precedence. A heavy chime

signaled a secure channel engaging, preempting tactical frequencies. The

attack commander's spidery hand slid to the override—a precautionary

habit. Fist a'Yerg felt the cell controller's telepathic links soften in favor of

the dominant's transmission.

"Victory is ours," the dominant's bridgemale droned. "Attend." More

chimes, the dominant's clarion. A pause.

"Glory is yours, destroyers," Fleet Dominant Dar broadcast, hajil accents

gurgling harshly. "You have made all sisters proud. All races proud.

Attend."

More chimes, ringing the dominant away, and then the call to orders.

The cell controller's telepathic links sharpened.

"Destroyer-Fist a'Yerg," a grating hajil voice announced, half-heard,

half-thought. Shrill and brittle, Cell Controller Jakkuk continued. "Deploy to

grid four. Form spearhead for diversionary attack on remaining alien

interstellar ships. Honor is yours."

"Blood, but they fight, Jakkuk-hajil," a'Yerg replied. "We should collect

them." The animal in her soul growled its lust, a hardening pang, like

hunger, only nearer her hearts.

"You have orders, a'Yerg-roon. Obey and—" Jakkuk transmitted, her

telepathic signal overmodulating with intensity.

"Eliminate them," the nasal, unmistakably slithery inflections of a lakk

overrode. "There are numbers on the planet sufficient to fill our holds. Heed

orders, Daughter. Honor is yours."

"Honor is mine, Mother," a'Yerg growled with obscene ferocity, the

savage within instantly ascendant. Her g'ort would be satisfied.

The freighter Juneau was in extremis. Lifeboat beacons flickered

magically, tragically. Panicked maydays, ever fewer.

"She's gone," the tactical officer reported. The funereal silence was

deafening.

"Link signals from Luzon," Wong announced. "Third-order magnitude.

She's coming up like an intercept booster. Massive Doppler. Way off the

scope, Captain. One of us has gotta slow down big time!"

"Emergency retro!" Ketchie shouted. "Signal Crete to stand by for full

inertial. Panic override, on my command."

"Emergency retro, aye!" Jonson shouted, disengaging governors. The

starship shuddered against its own inertia, its great angular momentum

causing it to pitch.

"Mind your head, helm!" Wong roared. "Meet the yaw."

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Scanned&proofedbyHighroller.Proofread&re-formattedbynukie.Color:-1--2--3--4--5--6--7--8--9-TextSize:10-11-12-13-14-15-16-17-18-19-20-21-22-23-24IntheShadowoftheMoonGenellanBook2byScottG.GierTableofContents PROLOGUESUDDENDEATHSECTIONONEASIMPLEEQUATION ONEGENELLAN—THIRDPLANETFROMTHESTAR TWOKON—S...

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