It was the least of Dione’s problems.
That week, the enforcers and the security personnel of Alwinter deposed the colonial government and gave direct control to Erickson and the Vortex. Gangers and the organized crime were hunted as one, their ancient food chain suddenly broken by the arrival of a new alpha predator.
A curfew was imposed. Whoever was found past the time limit was shot on the spot. Delagarza could see broken bodies littering the streets, waiting for the clean-up services. Frozen blood marred the snow in the machines’ wake.
Two weeks after Vortex’s arrival, Kayoko’s resistance group became a rebellion. The body count grew.
War had come to Alwinter.
22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CLARKE
The command exchange between Clarke and Alicante lacked the gravitas it would’ve had in an official military like the Defense Fleet or Earth’s. In fact, Alicante dropped the news minutes after Pascari had made his decision clear.
Standing at the foot of the conference table, Clarke had an excellent view of how poorly Pascari’s decision was received.
“What’s the meaning of this?” the white-haired officer stood up, treating the room to a belly that threatened to burst out of his uniform. “Pascari, you’d remove a commander who has led us for years without issue, in exchange for a civilian? You pretend we go to war like this, by ourselves! This is insurrection, pure and simple!”
“Watch your mouth, Rehman,” said Alicante, who despite his clear disapproval, at least wasn’t openly rebelling against Pascari. “Pascari’s right, he’s the Committee representative, he’s within his right to select a new commander. Joseph Clarke comes with the best recommendations. He saved the Beowulf. Thanks to him, the news about Isabella Reiner reached us.”
“He’s a civilian!” Rehman repeated, like a magic mantra that would bend the universe to his will.
Clarke bit off his retort about Rehman’s not being much different from a civilian himself.
Instead, he stepped next to Alicante and addressed the room:
“Pascari’s decision was as much a surprise to myself as it was to you. I am not taking this lightly. If I thought I couldn’t lead you to a victory in Dione, I’d have refused command. But I believe Task Force Sierra can take the planet, and I believe I can help you do so. Yes, I may be a civilian now, but that wasn’t always the case. I spent a decade as an officer of the Defense Fleet and fought my own share of battles. I have the experience, and I know how the Fleet fights.”
Pascari’s lips curled into a snarl at hearing this, but the man managed to pretend it was directed at Rehman and not at Clarke. It was a strange feeling for Clarke, knowing the man who put him in charge also hated his guts. They’d need to have a long chat after this. They’d postponed it for far too long.
“A former officer of the Defense Fleet, you say!” Rehman exclaimed. His lower lip trembled while he spoke, sending specks of saliva across the table. “That’s even worse; you could be a traitor! What do we know about you? You appear with Pascari, who claims Antonov’s dead…why, sure is suspicious to me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Pascari is behind Antonov’s demise, and he’s taking control of Sierra to betray us to Tal-Kader!”
In any other situation, Clarke would’ve thrown Rehman straight into a cell for insubordination. His words were edging just an inch away from mutiny. But as it was, the man had a point, and also, Clarke suspected it wouldn’t end well for the new commander to try to assert dominance of the old guard by removing one of theirs. Clarke wouldn’t be the first officer a crew threw out of an airlock and pretended it was a drunken accident or a suicide. It was easy to tamper with a ship’s security tapes while in deep space.
So he kept his mouth shut and thought of a diplomatic way to address Rehman’s concerns.
“Fuck it,” muttered Pascari, “someone call the marines and throw this old asshole into a—”
Here comes the airlock, thought Clarke.
“That makes no sense,” interrupted Alicante, speaking to Rehman. His expression was worn and tired, like he’d aged a decade in the last few minutes. Clarke pitied him. Not only was Alicante forced to step out of his cozy command position, he was also forced to defend the men who took it away. “They didn’t know Sierra would be nearby, they almost died in the middle of nowhere trying to reach us. A bit risky for a traitor, Rehman. And Clarke’s credentials, well, he’s not the only Defense Fleet officer that defects to us, is he? In fact, I believe many of us can identify with his situation.”
Many officers, both seating and standing, winced, as if Alicante’s words snapped at them like a whip. Clarke used the distraction to get Pascari’s attention and gesture discreetly at him to let Alicante handle it. Pascari looked away without acknowledging if he understood.
Rehman remained unfazed. “We had to earn the EIF’s trust before receiving our positions. We had to earn it, Alicante. What has this man done for the Edge? What makes you think he’ll remain firm when the going gets tough, that he won’t turn tail and run once people are dying all around him?”
A younger Clarke, the kid he had been during his time at the Academy, would’ve jumped at an accusation of cowardice. He had been anxious to prove himself, to show to everyone how brave he could be. Then he had been in battle. He had seen people die all around him.
Showing to everyone how brave he was suddenly lost the appeal it had had for him. About the same time he started to think of himself in his time at the Academy as “younger Clarke.” War had changed his values. Doing his duty, protecting the men and women under his command, to never expend their lives lightly, and to shoulder the weight of their deaths when they came. To always stand for what he believed in, even if it meant leaving the Defense Fleet when Tal-Kader took it over and made it into a hollow shell of its former self.
Even if it meant joining the EIF.
“My husband served at Asteria Station during the battle of Broken Sky,” Navathe suddenly said. Attention shifted to her. “Maybe some of you were there?”
She paused to see if someone said yes. She was clearly nervous and out of her element. She was a merchant captain, not a military one.
No one agreed. Clarke was the only veteran of Broken Sky in the room.
Where are you all? Clarke wondered. He had lost contact with the former sailors for so long now.
“Very well. You still saw the videos, same as I did,” Navathe went on. “My husband never spoke much about it, I had to piece it together from the fragments he did share. Asteria Station was a communications nexus for the different Asherah spaceports. It was a public station, not military. When the Mississippi arrived, it destroyed half the Defense Fleet orbitals before anyone figured out what was going on. The Star System lost decades’ worth of infrastructure, communications, and defenses, in one fell swoop. Jagal’s garrison was left in disarray before the battle even started.”
It was as if Clarke was still there, on Broken Sky, watching it all unfold.
ASHERAH STAR SYSTEM had a garrison of three battleships, five battle cruisers, eight cruisers, eleven destroyers, and a handful of auxiliaries and escorts. All the ships were dispersed in patrols across the entire system. Who would’ve expected an attack to come by surprise? Asherah was far into the Edge’s territory, anyone coming from Earth would’ve had to pass by a dozen well-defended Star Systems, same for the EIF hiding in the Backwater Systems.
The Mississippi’s hyperdrive technology had changed all that. The dreadnought appeared one light hour away from Jagal, at a spot where its sensors could see all space activity in the entire System.