The Only Constant Read online

  The Only Constant

  Book 7

  Samair in Argos: Book the Seventh

  By Michael Kotcher

  Copyright 2019 by Michael Kotcher

  All rights reserved.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental. All events and characters depicted herein are the results of my imagination.

  Cover art by derbz on deviantart.com. Used with permission.

  Other books by Michael Kotcher

  Samair in Argos Series:

  Pursue the Past

  Hold the Star

  First Principles

  A Greater Interest

  A View from the Other Side

  The Warlord’s Path

  The Only Constant

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Other Books

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Afterward

  Names and ships

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks for all your patience, to you, my fans.

  Prologue

  Kol Raydor looked up from his display, that old feeling of nervousness and anxiety settling into his gut. The image of the ship’s AI, Wotan, hovered there. He cut a fine figure: tall, well-muscled. The AI was dressed in a First Principles, Inc. ship suit, with the galactic spiral stitched into the left breast, as well as on the right sleeve. He stood in a heroic looking stance, head back, spine ramrod straight, as though he was posing for a recruiting poster. Wotan appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties by human standards.

  “Is it time?” he asked simply, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair. Kol tried hard to keep his face a calm mask, but he was sure that the AI, who was tied into the ship’s sensors, could easily detect his anxiety.

  Wotan made no mention of it, however. “Yes, Captain. We will be in range within two hours, but we will be at launch range for the starfighters in less than one. I assumed you’d want to be notified.”

  Kol nodded. “Indeed. Have we heard anything from the flagship?”

  The AI grimaced, a facial tic so small that Kol was half convinced he’d imagined it. “No, Captain. Commodore Greer has not sent out any broadcasts.”

  He shook his head, stood and pulled on his uniform jacket. Touching the galactic spiral stitched into the dark blue fabric, he drew strength from the design, the First Principles design. Once again, he thanked all that was holy (and some that weren’t) that his ship had not been folded into the Seylonique Space Navy and, at least for the moment, was allowed to remain an independent entity. FP’s security flotilla was only a third of the size of the Seylonique Navy, but Raydor felt he and his comrades were better equipped, trained and experienced than those of the SSN.

  Kol Raydor stepped out of his stateroom and less than a minute later, was on the bridge of his warship, the Persistence of Vision. “Report.”

  “Approaching transmission point,” Fiona Aeris stated from the sensor station. She wiped her hands on her shipsuit, betraying her nerves.

  Kol said nothing about that; his own nerves were strained enough. “Hail the flagship,” he ordered, his voice steady. At the thought of the flagship and its commander, Kol barely managed to suppress a grimace. He mentally kicked himself for his lack of self-control.

  A virtual display appeared at the arm of his command seat and the face of Aloicius Greer appeared before him, looking both excited and eager.

  “Ah, good, Captain Raydor. We will be arriving in transmission range in a few minutes. Is your AI ready?”

  Wotan materialized on the bridge holoprojector and when light appeared on Greer’s face, Kol could hear the AI’s voice on the other side of the transmission.

  “Indeed, Commodore Greer. I stand ready.” The version of Wotan on Persistence of Vision’s remained stoic and silent. This version sighed and clasped his hands behind his back, not speaking a word. Kol, used to the amazing abilities of his ship’s AI, only shook his head, smiling slightly.

  “Excellent,” the Commodore replied pompously. “Then begin the broadcast.” He leaned back in his chair, smirking.

  On the bridge, Wotan crossed his arms, but on the comm display, the image changed. The bridge of Persistence of Vision appeared, but instead of showing Kol’s face, the visage of a thin, pale-faced woman with a long nose. Wotan’s image straightened, as though he was about to give a speech.

  The woman on the image began to speak. “This is Commodore Theodosia McConnell of Republic Task Force 61. In response to the deplorable acts of violence on the Byra-Kae system by the pirate vermin Verrikoth, I am here to exact retribution and to respond to his declaration of war.” She thundered her delivery but barely stopped to take a breath. “For he has indeed declared war on the Republic. It is well known that the shipyards here at Hecate supply the bug with warships. This is something that will no longer be tolerated.” The Commodore paused here, giving her words more punch.

  She continued. “I will scour the Argos Cluster of all that vermin’s industry and resources before I crush him beneath my boot. To that effect, all personnel on the orbital stations and shipyards have two hours to evacuate before my ships open fire. Any vessels who oppose mine or act in a hostile manner will be met with full and deadly force.”

  Another pause, this one even more menacing. “To the glory of the Republic. McConnell out.” And the screen went blank.

  Kol felt sick to his stomach as Wotan delivered the ultimatum. He’d agreed, in principle, with this attack, the proof shown by Captain Eamonn of the Warlord Verrikoth’s warship Ganges being built in the star system of Hecate was damning enough. Especially since that exact ship took part in the Warlord’s raid on Seylonique several months previous. No one from Seylonique would mourn that ship’s death, nor the destruction of the shipyard it came from.

  To tell the truth, it wasn’t the attack here that bothered Kol Raydor. Like the others, he knew he was neutralizing a threat, reducing the number of shipbuilding facilities under Warlord Verrikoth’s control, could only be a good thing for the Argos Cluster at large. And any star systems that would aid a pirate lord like Verrikoth deserved what they were about to receive. Still, this was an inhabited system, a heavily populated one, one almost ten times more populous than Seylonique. It wasn’t a pirate stronghold, so surely not everyone here was aligned with the zheen pirate.

  But their leaders were and their industry supported Verrikoth’s war effort. Smashing infrastructure, no matter how justified, did feel wrong, but the admin council and that spiny lizard Greer did promise before this all began that the flotilla would do their best to limit civilian casualties. No shooting of escape pods or shuttles and making sure to allow sufficient time for evacuations before taking everything out. Anyone who fought back was a legitimate target, of course, for while they might just be local space defense ships, they could be loyal soldiers for their Warlord. Of course, if they started shooting, it mattered little to whom their loyalties lay.

  The transmission ended and Commodore Greer chuckled to himself. “That should wake them up. Comms, contact Grania Estelle. Let Captain Eamonn know that his starfighter squadrons should be prepped and ready for launch.”

  “Yes, Commodore,” an officer replied from Curroth’s bridge.

  Greer turned his smug face back to the comm window. “They will scramble their own defense ships and fighters. But with the excellent intel gathered by our Oculus drones, we know exactly what they have in space.”

  “Could have ships or starfighters in the yard’s bays or on the orbital,” Kol pointed out.

  Greer waved it off, determined not to let this subordinate sour his good mood. “We have over forty starfighters in your First Principles contingent, while the Navy has twenty more and over a score of the new sublight gunships. Not to mention the actual fleet ships. We will be able to sweep the board clear with little effort.”

  Kol Raydor could only nod. This task force was rather light for such an attack, in his opinion. Three of the Adder-class Republic destroyers: Curroth, Solstice, and Persistence of Vision, three of FP’s escort-frigates, two FP hak’ruk corvettes, and six Seylonique Space Navy corvettes, four of the Republic hammerhead variety, two of the more blocky local builds. The bulk freighter Grania Estelle was operating as a carrier and a support vessel, bringing in the starfighter and gunship squadrons.

  “They’ve got a small contingent moving off, Commodore,” Kol said, pointing to the sensor display. “Two freighters, with a corvette and destroyer escort. They might try and flank us.”

  Greer considered this, stroking his chin. “Good catch, Captain. Send a frigate and two of the corvettes to deal with it. Oh, and four of the starfighters.”

  Kol nodded, resisting the urge to clench his teeth in irritation. “Understood, Commodore. I’ll get them moving.”

  “Wait until we get the whole
squadron of fighters launched,” Greer stated, reconsidering. “They won’t have too much of a speed advantage.”

  “Understood. Raydor out.” He pressed the control to close the channel. Kol kept his face stoic and allowed nothing to leak through, but he wanted to spit. Being forced to take orders from that man was one thing, but that was to be expected. Kol was a professional. So far, Greer was leading competently, giving Kol no cause to relieve him. That said, his orders from both the company, the admin council, and the Admiral back home did not give Kol Raydor the authority to assume command of the fleet except for the FP assets, and only if the chain of command completely broke down. Kol was sure this was some sort of political horse trade, done at Greer’s demand. The fat slug was probably worried Kol would steal all the glory of this raid. Kol frowned. He’s welcome to it. The whole thing makes my stomach hurt.

  Kol watched as the number of icons on screen doubled, then tripled as the starfighter squadrons deployed. Greer seemed to be holding back about half the fighters and all the gunships, which was probably a good call. He could call them in later if needed.

  As the local Hecate defense ships began moving into position between the Seylonique fleet and the shipyards, their own starfighters raced ahead to engage. Kol gripped the arms of his command seat.

  Stars grant us a swift victory, he prayed fervently. May we dispatch our enemies and return home safely. He pressed a few controls on his console, readying the courses for the other ships when the time came.

  Another deep breath. One fight at a time.

  Book 1: Road to/through Recovery

  Chapter 1

  “All right, let’s go over this again,” Special Investigator Nigel Wyndham-Keating said, looking down at his datapad. He was human in roughly his early forties, thin but wiry, with coal black hair threaded with gray at his brow and temples. He was clean-shaven, wearing a charcoal-gray suit that screamed working man. A cop, certainly, but a working man.

  His partner, Special Investigator Liara Wuani, scowled across the table at the subject. Wuani folded her dark hands together, her dark blue suit rustling slightly as she moved. They were both clearly seasoned professionals, veterans of many such interrogations such as this one. The two of them asked pointed questions, asking about tiny details, broad strokes, impressions about the whole situation. They asked about events the subject had direct knowledge of and they asked her to speculate. Then they picked apart all of her statements, started over and did the whole thing again.

  Tamara Samair smiled politely and settled herself more comfortably in the hard plastic chair. Interrogation techniques never really changed, she marveled. These were some of the same methods the Republic Navy JAG investigators used two hundred and fifty years ago. Come at the subject with innumerable questions, throw curveballs, pick apart inconsistencies, keep the sessions going for long periods to wear the subject down. Play “good cop”, “bad cop”, keep the subject off balance. They were predictable tactics and patterns, but they were usually effective. Tamara knew these tactics well.

  “Something amuse you, Ms. Samair?” Wuani demanded.

  Tamara almost laughed out loud. The woman could do a convincing bad cop, but Tamara’s optic implants scanned her and Wuani was showing clear signs of fatigue. The Special Investigator was concealing it well, but she couldn’t hide from Tamara’s implants. Wuani wanted this to be done as much as Tamara did.

  “I’d like to request for the twenty-sixth time in two days that my lawyer be present.”

  Wyndham-Keating’s head turned toward her and he squinted. “Why do you need a lawyer, Ms. Samair? Are you feeling guilty?” It was the same response she’d been given every other time she’d asked for her attorney.

  “I’m feeling like I’m extremely tired of being in this chair, going through the same questions over and over,” she retorted, frowning slightly. “And we’ve had this exact exchange four times in the last two hours. So why exactly are you denying me my lawyer?”

  “We’re just having a friendly conversation,” Wyndham-Keating replied, looking as though he was concerned at her statement, as though this was the first time she’d asked for her lawyer. “We’d like to keep this informal.”

  “You’ve kept this ‘informal,’ to use your word, for coming on fifty-six hours straight,” Tamara said, her voice still conversational. “I’ve been patient and cooperative, but honestly, how much longer is this going to go on?”

  “Until I’m satisfied with the information you’ve given us,” the man told her. “I know it’s an inconvenience, but there has been a major attack on this star system. Several hundred people were killed in an attack that you were at the very center of.”

  “I happened to be on the Leytonstone at the time of the attack,” Tamara agreed. “So were thousands of Navy crew. There was also a major attack on this system eight months ago,” she pointed out, her patience finally starting to fray. She’d held out for an amazing amount of time, but even her mountain of self-control was worn away. “No one from the government seemed all that interested then. Never saw either of you two in the aftermath from that attack. Funny thing, though. During that attack, it was only First-Principles’ property that was destroyed, nothing owned by the government.”

  Wuani reddened, clenching her fists. “Don’t make accusations, Samair. You don’t know all the facts. And you certainly don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “All the facts?” Tamara asked, raising an eyebrow. “The battlecruiser Leytonstone was boarded by hostile forces. Very well armed and disciplined forces who tore through the security troops on the ship, then they blew the whole thing up. Not only that, they did so by ripping apart the keel of the ship, not even hitting any of the reactors. On top of that, the Seylonique Navy failed to either locate or stop the invaders.” Tamara paused. “Did I miss anything?”

  “And you just happened to be aboard the Leytonstone at the time,” Wuani stated, accusation dripping, as though Tamara’s presence alone meant something.

  “In a meeting with Colonel Gants, at his request, as I’ve explained in detail, multiple times.”

  Wyndham-Keating consulted his datapad. “Yes, about… a new cruiser design.” He spoke in such a way as to indicate he’d never heard that information before.

  “As I said,” Tamara told him, crossing her arms over her chest. As though you didn’t know that. “In fact, why am I here? Or rather, why am I still here? You exhausted any fact-finding you engaged in over a day ago. What is it that you think I know? I didn’t destroy that ship. I had nothing to do with the pirate soldiers boarding it. So, what is it that you’re looking for?”

  Wuani glared at her. “You’re really not being very cooperative, Ms. Samair. We’re just trying to get a clear picture of what happened.”

  “No, you’re not,” Tamara snapped. “You’re trying to find someone to blame. I happened to be on the battlecruiser at the time of the attack and inconveniently managed to survive. I know most of the admin council doesn’t like me-“

  Wyndham-Keating cut her off. “That’s enough of that, Ms. Samair. This is not a witch hunt.”

  “Good,” Tamara replied, patience finally at an end. “Then we’re done here.” She got to her feet and started for the door.

  “Stay in the star system, Ms. Samair,” he told her, putting a hand on Wuani’s arm to stop her from getting up. She shot a look at him that was pure daggers but didn’t say anything and she didn’t try to move. “And make sure we can contact you if needed. We may have some additional questions for you.”

  Tamara grunted and pressed the control on the keypad. The door slid open and she stepped out of the compartment. She heard the door hiss as it shut behind her.

  Four days. Four stars-bedamned days she’d been stuck on this station with no outside signals, so this whole time she couldn’t send or receive messages. They’d kept her in a holding cell at the beginning, “protective custody,” she’d been told. Then that ridiculous interrogation…