Subgenre: Military science fiction
About Independence:
In the aftermath of a battle a ship drifts helplessly in space. Is the
strange new warship they were fighting still out there? Will it come
back for them? Commander Johnson faces a desperate race to get her
destroyer back into action and save her crew.
"This is an incredible work ... suspense, mystery and intrigue."
"Loved every word of it."
'Independence' is a short story (6000 words) in the Two Democracies universe. The series will continue with the novel 'Liberty'.
"This is an incredible work ... suspense, mystery and intrigue."
"Loved every word of it."
'Independence' is a short story (6000 words) in the Two Democracies universe. The series will continue with the novel 'Liberty'.
Excerpt:
The
bridge was a mess of confusion. The only light came from the few working
consoles and the occasional flash of a shorting circuit. A klaxon howled in the
background, almost drowned out by the rush of fresh air from the vents. A
flicker. In that brief moment of illumination the crew appeared frozen in their
tasks. Another flicker. A new tableau was presented. One more flicker then the
emergency lights stayed on.
Commander
Johnson ran through the priorities drilled into her since she had started
Command School. Life support: Repulse was leaking air and down to
emergency power. Sensors and comms: all external feeds down, internal net
patchy. Weapons: the spinal railgun was useless now that the reactor was
offline and the control system for the plasma cannon had been overloaded.
Propulsion: docking thrusters only, she couldn’t even jump.
Not
only were they still alive but it looked like they might have taken out a
Republic hunter killer. She had been sure they had it but then they’d lost
their sensors.
“Get me
an external camera. Now.” She coughed on acrid smoke from burning plastic that
still lingered despite the emergency flush. “Priority over everything bar life
support.”
She
had to know if it was still out there. She had to know if it was coming to
finish them or limping off hurt. She couldn’t make decisions without
information.
Johnson
looked to Lieutenant Levarsson. She was slumped against the tactical station.
She’d been the one to drop the nuclear mine when she saw the hunter killer
about to cross their wake. It had been a reflexive action but had probably been
what had saved them. There was a medic kneeling beside her now. He was
presumably concentrating on the stats his Electronic Interface was giving him.
Although Johnson’s EI wasn’t giving her anything useful right now, the medic’s
would be interfacing directly with Levarsson’s.
“Damage report, Ma’am.”
She had been so intent on
watching the resuscitation that she hadn’t noticed Sub-Lieutenant Hanke
approach her chair. Inwardly cursing her loss of the big picture she accepted
the tablet from him. With the net being down they had fallen back on humans to
collate and deliver data.
“Thank you Lieutenant.”
She glanced at the congealed
blood on his temple, trying not to make it obvious. He was 16 and he’d just
seen his first combat. It was probably minor, scalps bled a lot, but she didn’t
want him neglecting himself.
“Make sure you get checked out by
the medics.”
The Lieutenant turned to leave
then paused.
“Ma’am?” he asked carefully, “we
shouldn’t be alive now should we?”
The demand for replacement
officers was outpacing the ability of the academies to churn them out. She
could spare him the lecture on defeatist talk this time. A few words in private
when it was all over would be more effective anyway.
“Let's just concentrate on
staying that way shall we? Carry on Lieutenant.”
The
thing was she knew he was right. Given her post she knew more than most how
badly they were losing. No destroyer
had ever stood toe to toe with a hunter killer and survived. Having to hide the
truth weighed heavily on her. Amazon.com | Amazon UK | Google Play | B&N | Kobo
About Alasdair Shaw:
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