Alsea Rising: Gathering Storm (Chronicles of Alsea Book 9) Read online

  Alsea Rising

  Gathering Storm

  Fletcher DeLancey

  Heartsome Publishing

  To the readers, those honorary citizens of Alsea.

  Contents

  Preface

  Map

  1. Flight plan

  2. Check-in

  3. Colonel Grand Shit

  4. Mentoring

  5. Political headache

  6. Test

  7. Weapon

  8. Coming home ritual

  9. The seventh star

  10. Lecture

  11. Liaison

  12. Mentor

  13. Gunner

  14. Private tour

  15. Rite of Knowing

  16. Temple

  17. War game

  18. Symbolism

  19. Connection

  20. Lead from the front

  21. Flight date

  22. Falling water

  23. Free and honorable

  24. A living ship

  25. Orbital test

  26. Check-in 2

  27. Negotiation

  28. Caretakers

  29. Surprise package

  30. Fact finding

  31. The right side

  32. Stress relief

  33. Ice box

  34. Retrieval

  35. Invisible

  36. Tlahana Station

  37. Peace in war

  38. Battle prep

  39. Saving the Savior

  Glossary

  About the Author

  Also by Fletcher Delancey

  Preface

  As an English literature major, I was compelled to read various poems, most of which I found taxing exercises in patience. There were exceptions, of course: I am forever fond of Emily Dickinson for her brevity. At the other extreme was T.S. Eliot, who never saw a direct path that couldn’t be replaced with a thousand words of tortuous meanderings. Yet from those piles of words, one could occasionally excavate a shining jewel. This one, from “Little Gidding,” has stayed with me ever since.

  We shall not cease from exploration

  And the end of all our exploring

  Will be to arrive where we started

  And know the place for the first time.

  The Chronicles of Alsea have been an exploration. With Alsea Rising, we are arriving where we started, at the beginning of the end.

  If those words alarm you, remember the first line: we shall not cease. Alsea still has many tales to tell, and I already have the next series (or two) planned. We will see these characters again, even as we meet new ones and explore different parts of Alsea and the universe it inhabits. This is not good-bye.

  What is it, then?

  It is answers to questions that have been asked throughout the series. Resolutions to long-standing story arcs. Further growth of characters we have watched learn and change since their first appearances. It is an exploration of faith versus science, or perhaps faith and science, because Alseans know better than most that the two are not mutually exclusive.

  It is the closing of a circle that opened with the crash of a ship—and the beginning of a new era.

  Perhaps, then, it is not the beginning of the end but the end of the beginning.

  Alsea Rising would not have been possible without my Prime Beta, Karyn Aho, and her in-depth analyses of the chapters I sent across one ocean and one continent. We met because of my stories. Eleven years later, I am proud to call her my best friend.

  Rick Taylor lent his eye to the narrative structure and caused me a great deal of work when he pointed out a few shortcomings. For an accuracy check when it came to navy-based hierarchies, expectations, and terminology, I turned to the life experience of Ree McSween, Veteran, Gunner’s Mate Second Class, USCG.

  There is also quite a lot of flying in Alsea Rising, and while I do have experience piloting a two-seater Cessna, that only helped with basic physics. Putting readers into a military jet required the input of Maj. Chris Butler, USAF, Retired. Thanks to him, I can now label the parts of an F-16 control stick, including the pickle button—a name I really wanted to use but could find no justification for. Alseans don’t eat pickles, as far as I know.

  I also owe thanks to my proofreader Alma Tiwe, who caught the errors that always sneak past me; Saskia Goedhart, my advisor in hand-to-hand combat; Dane Low of Ebook Launch for the glorious cover art; and Mary Gray, whose creative mind gave me the main title of these books.

  Special thanks go to Dr. Carol Blenning, because if there’s one field I know nothing about, it’s medicine. Dr. Wells would have my hide if I made her look anything less than thoroughly competent.

  My tyree stood by me through a year of writing widowhood while offering a sounding board and many well-mixed gin and tonics. To Maria João Valente I say: Fahla never gives the gift without reason.

  Finally, to the readers who have joined these characters on their journey of exploration: this is the Alsea you dreamed of, stepping into the stars at last. Come with me to the end of the beginning.

  Fletcher DeLancey

  July 2020

  1

  Flight plan

  “Shuttle Ops to Captain Serrado. Dr. Wells just filed her flight plan.”

  “Thank you.” Ekatya Serrado closed the report she had been reading, blanked her transparent terminal, and gratefully rose from the chair she had occupied for too long. The hanger behind her was supposed to hold her jacket when she wasn’t using it, but she had never gotten in the habit, preferring to drape it over the back of her chair. Now she tugged it free and pulled it on as she crossed the room. Just outside the door’s sensor range, she paused to be sure that a regulation length of cuff showed below the sleeves.

  These days, she couldn’t afford the tiniest crack in her image of the perfect Fleet captain.

  Satisfied, she stepped out of her office and onto the bridge.

  With the floor display inactive, the expansive bridge seemed smaller. Only the hemispherical upper display manifested their movement as they kept station above the small blue-and-green planet of Alsea.

  Atop the three-tiered command dais at the center of the circular room, Commander Lokomorra occupied her chair. Now fully settled into the role of executive officer, he was comfortable enough to set the displays the way he liked, rather than leaving both top and bottom active as she preferred.

  She glanced at the opaque deck beneath her feet and missed the sensation of standing among the stars. But Lokomorra held the bridge; it was his call.

  “Commander Lokomorra,” she murmured, letting her internal com route the call as she walked across the inactive display. “I’m headed for the shuttle bay.”

  “Acknowledged. Tell Dr. Wells I said good luck. And tell her that if she yells at an Alsean healer by thirteen hundred tomorrow, I win the betting pool.”

  Her smile drew the attention of a young ensign at the science station nearest the lift doors. “If I tell her that, she might wait until thirteen thirty just to spite you.”

  “I know. That’s why I didn’t give you the real time I bet on.”

  Some crew found the shuttle bay to be intimidating. Reaching six decks in height and housing eight shuttles of various sizes, it did have a cavernous feel. Ekatya liked it all the more for that sense of space and possibility.

  Six of the shuttles bore the silver hullskin characteristic of all Protectorate ships. The other two, gleaming black beneath the bright lights, were the only Alsea-capable shuttles in Fleet. Lacking the semiorganic hullskin that made travel through base space possible, they were limited to the slower speeds of normal
space. But they could fly through Alsea’s nanoscrubber-infested atmosphere, safe from the microscopic machines that attacked hullskin due to the foreign radiation it produced. Another ship attempting that flight might land safely, but it would never get into orbit again—a fact Ekatya had learned in a memorable fashion.

  She ducked under the nose of her favorite shuttle, trailing her fingertips across its smooth, black hull. Fleet called it “nanoscrubber-proof hull plating” and had refused to equip any of her fighters with it, despite the requirements of her mission.

  If weaponized, Alsean nanoscrubber technology could change the balance of power in the galaxy. It had to be protected at all costs. A tiny, backwater planet at the edge of Protectorate space would not normally be assigned a warship to protect it, much less an entire battle group, but Alsea was different.

  In every way, Ekatya thought as she neared the smallest shuttle.

  Her chief surgeon had just lowered the ramp. Glancing over at the sound of bootsteps, she smiled in recognition.

  “Ekatya. Come to see me off?”

  “Did you know there’s a betting pool on how long you’ll last before yelling at an Alsean healer?”

  The smile grew sharp. “No, but I’m not surprised. Are you in?”

  “I would never take part in betting for or against my own crew members,” Ekatya said primly. “But I think you can make it three days.”

  Alejandra Wells laughed, drawing startled looks from around the bay. Though slight in bone structure and average in height, she exuded an impatient energy that made others nervous, especially when combined with her legendary temper. That she also had a sense of humor was not widely known.

  “Such faith you have in me, thanks. I don’t plan on yelling at any of them. Not this time, at least.” Tilting her head toward the ramp, she added, “I need to do the preflight. I appreciate your coming, though. It’s nice to see a friendly face before I go.”

  “You’ll be fine down there.”

  “I know. It’s just intimidating. Rahel is one thing; I’ve adapted to her knowing what I feel. A whole group of high empath healers is something else. And I’ll be in close proximity for a week.”

  “Just remember, they have their own rules of courtesy. It’s rude to say what they feel from you unless it’s relevant to the work. Or you bring it up first.”

  “And they’re brutally honest,” Alejandra said with a sigh. “All the times I’ve wished my patients couldn’t lie to me . . . I have a feeling I’m about to see the other side of that.”

  “It’ll be good for you.” Having been through this adaptation herself, Ekatya was enjoying watching someone else take the first steps. “Besides, one of the things they’ll be honest about is how much they respect you. You solved a thousand-cycle-old mystery.”

  “Sure, no pressure there. Nothing like having to live up to your own advertising.”

  She flapped her hands in the direction of the ramp. “Get out of here. And fly safely.”

  “I thought you’d say ‘may Fahla fly with you.’”

  “No, I need to get out of the Alsean frame of mind. It’s almost time for my check-in.”

  Alejandra stiffened. “It’s criminal, what they’re doing to you.”

  “Don’t start—”

  “Don’t start? I never finished. How can you do this, day after day?”

  “This is not the place to discuss it,” Ekatya said shortly. They were as public as they could be; she had already seen two nearby crew members turn their heads.

  “Fine.” Alejandra seized her wrist and pulled.

  Startled, Ekatya let herself be drawn up the ramp into the shuttle. In the quiet interior, Alejandra released her grip and turned, all spikes and ire. “You’re the best captain in Fleet and they’re treating you like a criminal on parole. And Admiral Greve of all people! Pompous asshead. I’m just waiting for him to get sick and end up in my medbay. I’ve got an enema with his name on it.”

  Ekatya couldn’t help the snort of laughter. “Ordinarily, I’d say ‘let me watch,’ but in this case . . .”

  “It’s not funny. They’re trying to break you!”

  “Do you think I don’t know that?”

  ‘Then why are you letting them?”

  “Because I don’t have a choice!” Ekatya snapped.

  They stopped, staring at each other in surprise.

  Alejandra drew back first. “Shit, I’m sorry. You came to see me off and I—dammit. I didn’t mean to bring that up. It’s just so infuriating.”

  Ekatya sat in the nearest seat. “Tell me about it. You think I’m not angry? It’s all I can do not to plant my fist in his smug, superior mouth. But I have to play the game.”

  “Why?” Alejandra sat in the opposite seat. “I don’t want you to resign. I’m not sure I’d last another week after you, given what I’ve seen these last few years. But if your only other option is to let them humiliate you, why not go?”

  “Game it out. What happens if I resign? They assign another captain to this duty. Someone as far from me as they can get. Someone who’s in no danger of ending up with a tyree bond. Someone who thinks the Defenders of the Protectorate have a good point.”

  Alejandra looked horrified. “The DOP is smashed. Completely discredited. You can’t think—”

  “I do think. I think Andira embarrassed both Fleet and the Protectorate. The leader of a backward planet blackmailing a galactic power into doing what she wanted? They hate her because she beat them at their own game. But they need her. And she needs me, so here I am. If I leave, they can bring in anyone they want, and they sure as Hades won’t want another Alsea sympathizer. Do you know what my primary mission objective is?”

  “To protect Alsea.” She frowned when Ekatya shook her head.

  “No. To prevent the nanoscrubbers from falling into Voloth hands. Protecting Alsea is secondary to that. The Voloth could destroy Alsea and I’d still fulfill my primary mission objective as long as I made sure they never got out of orbit with the nanoscrubber technology.”

  Alejandra melted into her seat, her normally upright posture dissolving. “Sainted Shippers. I had no idea.”

  “Alsea needs me right where I am,” Ekatya said heavily. “Andira needs me here. So I’m doing what I have to.”

  Alejandra studied her, then straightened as some of her earlier spark returned. “And here I thought the Fleet brass were incompetent. Turns out they’ve got one thing right. You really are loyal to Alsea first.”

  Ekatya opened her mouth, ready to deny it. She had lied to an investigative panel packed with admirals and government ministers, perjuring herself repeatedly without the slightest remorse.

  Those words, so easy then, would not come now. She couldn’t lie to her friend.

  “It’s all right,” Alejandra said in an uncharacteristically soft tone. “You’re prioritizing a unique civilization over political maneuvering. You think I’d report you for that? I think they should give you a damned medal.”

  2

  Check-in

  “Admiral Greve will see you now.”

  Ekatya didn’t bother to thank the adjutant, a lieutenant commander whose rank had not come from what she considered real service. Until now, he had managed never to be posted aboard a ship. He made no secret of his distaste for the compromises of space travel: smaller offices and quarters, amateur cultural events, limited access to fresh foods. But the worst, she suspected, was the lack of backs he could trample to advance his career. Command Dome was a target-rich area for a ruthless climber like him. The Phoenix was not. It was hers, despite the admiral waiting behind that purposely closed door, and she had built a crew that worked together.

  Greve and his adjutant were interlopers, treated with the required respect and not one iota more. It galled them to see the crew respond so differently to her. They would never understand that institutional respect bore no resemblance to respect that was earned.

  She entered the office and stopped in front of Greve’s desk. “Admi
ral.”

  “Captain.” He leaned back in his chair and offered an insincere smile. “I thought you might actually be late this time. Heard you were in the shuttle bay, giving last-minute instructions to Dr. Wells.”

  “I was wishing her good fortune. She doesn’t need my help to do her job.”

  “Her job.” The smile twisted, marring his handsome features. “Fleet sure has changed since I was a captain. Back then, a chief surgeon’s job was to care for her crew, not aliens.”

  “I believe a chief surgeon’s duties have always included learning about new and useful procedures. Alsean medtech has already changed how we heal bones and treat burns. Who knows what else Dr. Wells might find?”

  She could play this game all day long. Greve was forever trying to get a rise out of her, hoping to lead her into a statement he could use.

  He was an amateur. Sholokhov would eat him for breakfast and use those admiral bars to pick his teeth. Though she rarely had occasion to be grateful for her tour of duty serving under the Director of Protectorate Security, it did have benefits. She had learned to defend against the best.

  You aren’t even close, she thought, keeping her expression bland.