The Lost Intelligence (Lost Starship Series Book 12)

  SF Books by Vaughn Heppner

  THE A.I. SERIES:

  A.I. Destroyer

  The A.I. Gene

  A.I. Assault

  A.I. Battle Station

  A.I. Battle Fleet

  A.I. Void Ship

  A.I. Rescue

  EXTINCTION WARS SERIES:

  Assault Troopers

  Planet Strike

  Star Viking

  Fortress Earth

  Target: Earth

  LOST STARSHIP SERIES:

  The Lost Starship

  The Lost Command

  The Lost Destroyer

  The Lost Colony

  The Lost Patrol

  The Lost Planet

  The Lost Earth

  The Lost Artifact

  The Lost Star Gate

  The Lost Supernova

  The Lost Swarm

  The Lost Intelligence

  Visit VaughnHeppner.com for more information

  The Lost Intelligence

  (Lost Starship Series 12)

  by Vaughn Heppner

  Illustration © Tom Edwards

  TomEdwardsDesign.com

  Copyright © 2020 by the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

  “For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world, yet forfeit his soul?”

  -- Mark 8:36

  -PROLOGUE-

  “There’s someone to see you, sir,” the nurse said.

  James K. Fletcher sat outside on the back veranda of his house on Maui, one of the islands of the Hawaiian chain.

  Fletcher had once been tall, strong and overbearing, an admiral in Star Watch commanding the Fifth Fleet and later the Grand Fleet. He’d faced New Men, Swarm soldiers and ships, Spacers and even an Old One on the Forbidden Planet. The last battle had broken his already flagging spirit. Too many good men and women had died under his command, too many vital ships lost.

  He’d retired after the Battle at the Forbidden Planet.

  Now, he’d become a frail old man: skin, bones and haunted eyes—he’d been starving himself for too long. A heavy quilt was pulled up to his chin and he had a hat on his head. The skin sagged on his old face as he watched the ocean waves pounding the shore.

  “Sir,” the nurse said.

  Fletcher heard her but pretended he didn’t. He had a good idea what she wanted. Two days ago, all the members of the Board of Admiralty had come together to cajole him back into the service. Lord High Admiral Cook had been forced out after his actions on Pluto, sending a secret message to Star Watch’s enemy. Cook had joined the Iron Lady in retirement, as someone had compromised their minds.

  Anyway, first one and then another admiral had come to see Fletcher. They needed him, they said. At a time like this, someone well known and respected had to take the helm of Star Watch, doing so as the new Lord High Admiral.

  When they came as a group, they’d finally told him the truth. Admiral Byron was the other candidate. Five months ago, Byron had defeated renegade New Men under Lord Drakos and Swarm hybrids under Commander Thrax Ti Ix. Byron had done so while working with Golden Ural of the Throne World.

  “Sounds like Byron’s your man,” Fletcher had mumbled.

  “No!” said the Chief of Naval Personnel, a stern woman. “For one thing, Byron is from Flanders, an agriculture world in the former Windsor League, not an old Earther like you. And if you must know the truth, Captain Maddox did the heavy lifting that battle. Byron acted as his puppet.”

  That had gotten a reaction from Fletcher, a shift of the eyes. He’d never really trusted the half-breed, had never understood why Maddox had been Cook’s fair-haired boy. Still, in the end, he’d refused to come out of retirement. He was old now. Weak. Worn out. He had too much blood on his hands.

  “Sir,” the nurse said in the here and now. She could be persistent.

  “What?” Fletcher muttered from his deck chair.

  “There’s a man here to see you.”

  “Send him away.”

  “The admirals said it was important.”

  With rheumy eyes, Fletcher stared out at the ocean. Despite the thunder of the waves, it was peaceful here. He wanted peace. He wanted to fade away as the cries and accusations of the dead faded with his weakening memories.

  Fletcher knew he was old before his time. But he believed it was punishment for his callous ways, his command decisions and the tens of thousands of nubile young women the New Men had stolen out from under his nose. That had always galled him. Oh, how he’d wanted to punish the arrogant, golden-skinned bastards for that. But he never had been able to.

  A warm hand touched his blanketed shoulder. “Please, sir,” the nurse said. “You must relax. Don’t breathe so hard.”

  “Send him away,” Fletcher wheezed.

  The nurse looked up. “It’s too late for that, sir. He’s already here.”

  “Dammit,” Fletcher said, struggling to sit up. “I gave you an order.” He turned in his deck chair, turned to see a small man framed by the open sliding glass door.

  “Hello, Admiral,” the man said.

  He was pallid with narrow shoulders and wore a black Star Watch Intelligence uniform, the insignia showing he was a captain. Women might consider him handsome with his narrow mustache. He had dark eyes with a glint of something hidden there.

  “Who are you?” Fletcher asked, with a tiny amount of saliva dribbling out of the right corner of his mouth.

  The nurse dutifully wiped that away.

  “I’m Captain Becker, sir.”

  “Leave,” Fletcher said.

  “I can’t, sir. I have my orders.”

  “Well…what are your orders?”

  “To convince you to become the new Lord High Admiral,” Becker said.

  “What? You little squirt. You’re nothing to me. Is this a prank?”

  Becker glanced at the nurse, and the glint in his eyes… “Perhaps you should let me speak to him in private.”

  “I-I’m not supposed to leave him,” the nurse stammered.

  “Go,” Becker said, and there was force in his voice.

  The nurse straightened, and woodenly, she passed Becker, going into the house.

  “What just happened?” Fletcher said. He was old and weak, but he wasn’t anyone’s fool.

  Becker closed the sliding glass door behind him, coming out on the veranda with Fletcher. He squatted beside the feeble old man and put narrow hands on one of the deck chair’s armrests. Any observer would think him quietly chatting with blanketed Fletcher.

  “Look into my eyes,” Becker said, with obvious command. “Let me tell you a secret.”

  Fletcher found himself staring into those dark eyes. There was no longer just a glint, but shining power, a compelling aura about the man. It was more than hypnotic. Something seemed to pass from the dark eyes into Fletcher. He felt as if strength and resolve filled him like air blown into a balloon. It was frankly invigorating.

  “You will become the Lord High Admiral,” Becker said.

  “I…I have some reservations about that.”

  “I know. But it’s time to act in order to perform great deeds that will pay for all those who died under your old command.”

  “Is that how such things work?”

  “You will help the rest of us, the ordinary h
umans, against the New Men, the Swarm creatures and others who desire to eliminate the race of Man from existence.”

  “Do we really have a chance against superior men, trillions of advanced bugs and whatever else is waiting out there?” Fletcher asked.

  “If we all band together like citizens into an old-style Roman legion, acting as one, then yes, we can face any enemy. We will overcome.”

  “Admiral Byron could do that, too.”

  “No. We need an Earth-born man to take charge. We need the symbolism of that.”

  Fletcher nodded slowly.

  “You could also start initiating changes in Star Watch,” Becker said.

  “What kind of changes?”

  Becker told him.

  “What you say will be difficult,” Fletcher said afterward. “While I already feel stronger, I’m not a young man anymore.”

  “I know. We’ll help.”

  Fletcher frowned. “Just who are ‘we’ anyway?”

  “The men and women of Star Watch who believe that unmodified humans are best suited for the job of defending humanity.”

  “Yes,” Fletcher said, his rheumy eyes beginning to shine with purpose and resolve. “Only…”

  “What now?” Becker asked, perhaps with a hint of annoyance.

  “I’ve been out there, son. I’ve faced the enemy. Platitudes aren’t going to save us. Even if humanity works with one accord…” Fletcher shook his head. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  Becker fingered his chin, studying the old man with hooded eyes. In the end, he nodded. “It will be hard work, certainly, but you have no idea what truly united humanity can do. With everyone pulling in one direction—let me tell you how it could be achieved.”

  Fletcher sat absorbed as he listened to Becker again, once more drawing strength from the man. What the Intelligence captain said made sense. Cook was gone. Now, Star Watch needed to be more vigilant than ever, and that meant making damned sure that regular humans did the heavy lifting. They would have to make the right choices, of course. But when only real Homo sapiens served in the legion, not anyone else, because no one else had humanity’s best interests at heart—

  Fletcher frowned. Despite all he’d heard, he still had a reservation. Becker had spoken about someone named Nostradamus, saying he would help Star Watch to make the right choices.

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Fletcher said.

  Becker stopped talking, watching him closely.

  “Who’s this Nostradamus?” Fletcher asked. “I don’t understand how he can do the things you’ve suggested.”

  For the first time, Becker frowned. It lasted only a second. His lips straightened as he dug under the blanket, gripping one of Fletcher’s withered arms with both hands. Becker inhaled deeply and said with a loud voice, “Listen to me, old man. Are you listening?”

  Strain showed on Becker’s face. Then, heat radiated from the captain’s hands. At first, it was frightening. Then, the heat flooded Fletcher with even greater strength than before. It was intoxicating. Oh, yes, he was going to make Star Watch the greatest organization in the Orion Spiral Arm, and nothing was going to stop him. Here was his great and final purpose, his reason for being.

  “You’ll need Nostradamus in order to achieve all this,” Becker whispered.

  “Why?”

  “He will predict our enemies’ moves with startling accuracy.”

  “He can do that?”

  “And more,” Becker whispered, “much more. But first, you must become the Lord High Admiral.”

  The idea of that—“Help me stand, young man. I have a call to make.”

  “I will, sir. But before you make the call, you’ll need food, lots of food to rebuild your vigor and fill out your frame again.”

  Fletcher stared at him. It was strange, but Becker seemed drained, as if he’d used up tremendous energy.

  The old man grinned. He still remembered how to do that. “Get my nurse. Tell her to start cooking. I’m ravenous, by George. I have a job to do, and I’m going to get it done or die trying.”

  Becker climbed wearily to his feet until he stood straight, saluting sharply. “Let me be the first to congratulate you, sir, on your new appointment.”

  “Yes, yes,” Fletcher said, with a wave of a veined old hand, one that now moved spryly. “I don’t have time to gab. I want to work and accomplish mighty deeds. Do you hear me?”

  Becker nodded.

  “Then move,” Fletcher said, using his newly rediscovered command voice. “This is about saving Star Watch and the human race.”

  “Yes, sir,” Becker said, opening the sliding glass door. “You’re absolutely correct, sir. I can tell you’re a man of great vision.”

  Fletcher nodded. It was true. He had a vision, a new one, a mighty one. He could hardly wait to get started.

  PART I

  THE TAU CETI INCIDENT

  -1-

  It started for Maddox and the crew of Victory in the dead Tau Ceti System. They were on patrol, seemingly sent out innocently due to the roster rotation. Then, Brigadier Stokes who ran Intelligence had sent them a cryptic message through the Long-Range Builder comm device. The brigadier had told Maddox about the illegal use of Intelligence credentials for smuggling contraband through the system.

  The odd thing was, catching smugglers was small potatoes compared to what Victory had been doing. Maybe this was considered a holiday, a break, for the crew that had been laying everything on the line in extremely hazardous duty for years. It had only been six months since the Allied Fleet had defeated the renegade New Men and hybrid Swarm in the Battle of the Gomez System. Now, that had been exciting and risky as all hell.

  Since then, Lord High Admiral Cook had stepped down, and James K. Fletcher had taken his place.

  According to the ship sensors, Victory was alone in the desolate system. Once, Sergeant Riker’s nieces had lived here, a populous and thriving system. Not any longer and for good reason. Some of the heaviest fighting of the first Swarm Invasion had taken place at Tau Ceti. The Imperial bugs had effectively destroyed everything living in the star system. Some years later—after Star Watch and the New Men had crushed the invading bug fleet—the Iron Lady had hunted for Ludendorff here, finding him in an abandoned space station.

  Ludendorff had captured and given her to Bosk Draegars, and they’d badly manipulated her mind. She’d never been the same since, been cashiered from Star Watch because of it.

  Even so, time marched on as planets orbited their stars and the stars traveled through the universe.

  At this moment, Maddox was in a starship gym doing burpees: up, stretch, down, pushup, up, stretch… He had ten-pound weights on each wrist and fifteen-pound weights on each ankle. He sweated as he exercised, and it felt terrific.

  The captain was tall and lean and did his burpees with startling speed. He also possessed surprising strength. Ever since his soul-wound from fighting a Ska in the Alpha Centauri System, he’d been tired and weaker than before. Then, a little over six months ago, he’d slain a spiritual-entity Erill. He’d done so while in orbit around a strange planet and in his id with a Builder symbol, feeding off the alien entity, engorging himself with excess vitality. That vitality or spiritual energy healed the old soul-wound and then some. He was back. Actually, he was better than ever because he’d learned to channel the excess exuberance and strength by meditating through the Way of the Pilgrim.

  The new vitality had one drawback, though. Like anyone with New Man blood, he found it hard to sit still for long. He always wanted to be active.

  Not that he was a full New Man. He’d learned so much last voyage. For one thing, his New Man father had loved his mother. He also happened to be Mary O’Hara’s grandson. And his dear mother, with her husband’s help, had fled a birthing facility before fetus Maddox had received any prenatal genetic altering through needles piercing her stomach. All that being said, with his newfound Erill energy, he might be a match for a fully altered, golden-skinned New
Man in a fistfight or foot race.

  As Maddox stretched again, a little Adok holoimage with ropy arms appeared near him.

  Maddox saw him at once and stopped mid-burpee. “What is it, Galyan?”

  “Valerie has sighted a vessel, sir.”

  “And?”

  “It is black-hulled and maneuvering slowly through a vast dust cloud.”

  “Sounds like our boy.”

  “Agreed, sir,” Galyan said.

  “How far out is the ship?”

  “Half the system, sir.”

  Maddox nodded as he whipped a rolled-up towel around his neck. “I’ll shower before I head up.”

  “Very good, sir,” Galyan said.

  The holoimage seemed to bob up and down like an excited young boy.

  “Is there something else?” asked Maddox.

  “Perhaps I should scan the vessel with the far-attack computer.”

  “Maybe a bit later,” Maddox said. “Let me study the situation first.”

  “Of course,” Galyan said, the AI holoimage sounding disappointed. And with that, he disappeared.

  Maddox tightened his grip around both towel ends. Why had Stokes sent them out here with such a piddly mission? It felt as if the brigadier had been trying to get them out of the way. Did it have anything to do with the new Lord High Admiral? Things had changed when Cook retired. People had been acting differently.

  Maddox snorted. Maybe he was just nervous about the new man in charge. Fletcher had never really cared for him, but he’d bailed out the man more than once. That ought to count for something. Besides, he was still the hero, having done much of the work to win the Battle of the Gomez System. He’d surely earned some goodwill from those in higher command who used to distrust him.

  Still, why had Stokes been so cryptic about this vessel? He had acted as if others were eavesdropping on him. That should be impossible through a Long-Range Builder comm device.

  Maddox shrugged, turned and headed for the showers. This ought to be routine. It was one ship all alone out here. The ship captain out there was acting sketchy, but that didn’t mean he was automatically guilty of wrongdoing. Besides, what could he be smuggling that had Stokes’s panties in such a bunch?