Ghost Fleet (Constellation Book 3), page 1
CONSTELLATION 3
T.E. BUTCHER
Copyright © 2024 by T.E. Butcher
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
CONTENTS
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
Chapter 25
A Word From The Author
ONE
2022 hours, October 15th, 2050
Constellation Survivors Facility
Yeager Space Force Base, Montana
Jim walked along the back deck, the cold Montana air whipping across the stubble on his head. He leaned on the railing, the treated wood rough on his hands. Three years.
The reunion with Lynn hadn’t gone according to plan. She’d cashed in on her survivor’s benefits, courtesy of being his beneficiary, met someone else, and been married by the time Jim returned. He didn’t feel bitter, just . . . hollow. I wouldn’t trade the bonds formed on Constellation for anything.
“Take-out’s here,” Doc Baker—Mel—called behind him. “You should eat something. No sense in moping on an empty stomach.”
Jim nodded and turned to walk inside the small, rustic home he shared with the medic and her mother. A pull-out couch in the “office” wasn’t so bad, and they hadn’t had any work or follow-on assignments yet. Just endless debriefs and mandatory training. They still had to pass PT tests, they still had to do marksmanship, zero-G combat, and certify they were space capable.
“You think she’s alright up there?” he asked as he walked into the dining room and sat down. “Minerva, I mean?”
“She would have said something in her messages,” Baker replied as she popped open the bag. The smell of seasoning and a lot of salt roused Jim’s stomach, and he realized he’d forgotten to eat lunch.
“I’m sorry if I pig out,” he said. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“I know,” Baker replied. Seeing her out of uniform still jarred him. The woman kept her hair out of her face with a simple headband, and the rest fell all the way down to her waist. “That’s why I doubled your order and ordered more rice.”
“That’s . . . insightful,” Jim replied. “You didn’t have to do that on my account.”
“I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t see our people’s needs met,” she replied. “Even if it’s helping you get over your broken heart.”
Jim shrugged and sat down. They talked business for a while, specifically their medical readiness.
“So, they want you, Oliver, Ogden, and Griswold to all get cholesterol tests,” she said. “According to them, you’re all in the age bracket to do that.”
“Are we really?” he asked. “I know it’s been three years for them, but it was six months for us.”
Baker shook her head.
“They don’t care. You guys were born in the late teens, early twenties—you need to take the test,” she replied. “Look on the bright side: you’ve delayed any health issues you’d otherwise have from aging for two years and some change.”
Before Jim could answer, there was a knock at the door. He frowned and stood up.
“Shouldn’t be anyone knocking at this hour,” he grumbled. “It’s late as hell.”
“I can get it,” Baker said, but Jim shook his head. Stepping over to his cubby, he grabbed the Smith and Wesson M&P 5.7 M2.0 he used as a concealed pistol and tucked it into the back of his waistband.
“If it’s some crazy, I’d rather it be me,” he said. “You’re our medic, after all.” He strode past the kitchen, the stairwell, and the living room area.
Instead of an overtly crazy man, he found himself face-to-face with a military-aged man in a trench coat and hat. Probably a Security Department guy.
“Can I help you?” Jim asked.
The stranger nodded.
“You can, but I’m going to need you to step inside, Sergeant,” the man said. “It’s urgent.” He adjusted his hat, and Jim blinked.
“You’re Major Card,” he replied. “What are you doing here, at this hour, dressed like a detective?”
The major glanced around and leaned forward.
“This conversation is best had inside,” he said.
Jim pursed his lips and stepped aside.
“Just know: do something threatening and I will shoot you,” he said. “Officer or not.”
“Why’s he dressed like that?” Baker asked as she emerged from the dining room. “If you’re trying to avoid attention, you picked a bad look.”
“I’m trying to—” He paused and looked around. “Does this house have any smart devices?”
“Nothing they record gets through,” Jim said as he closed the door. “Minerva put in a backdoor program that replaces the audio logs sent to the company with deep-faked routine traffic and small talk. Our privacy is safe here.”
“Very well,” the major replied. He followed them to the dining room table and was surprised when Baker tossed him a box of fried rice.
“We have plenty extra,” she said. “And it would be rude to eat in front of you.”
Jim sat down, his stomach roaring as he tore into his chow mein.
“And your mother’s nurse?” the other man asked.
“She’s been dismissed for the evening,” Jim said. “And Mrs. Baker is sleeping.”
“Very well.” The major took a seat across from them. “General Nellis believes an attack on our space infrastructure is imminent.”
“Here? As in Montana? The US? Or does he mean in orbit?” Jim asked. “Minerva’s up there, and she’s got a good eye on things.”
Major Card shook his head.
“No, this is closer to home,” he said. “And we may need to evacuate key personnel to Constellation for their safety.”
Jim narrowed his eyes and stopped eating for a moment. Constellation, a ghost ship from a tomorrow that would hopefully never come, was a veritable fortress. While he’d been stuck on her for six months in his time, it had been three years for the people left behind.
“What is it? More SLiCs?” Baker asked.
Major Card swiveled his hand in the universal gesture for more-or-less.
“They’re involved, without a doubt,” he replied. “But the main perpetrators are the group funding them. We’ve found them, finally.” He looked between the two Espatiers before him and took a deep breath. “They’re called the Leviathan Group, and we’ve connected them to several other organizations, but they’re the purse behind the Space Liberation Corps, and they’re finally going to make their big move.”
Starfield ranch
Somewhere in North Dakota
Miles Davis starred up at the night sky, his hands perched on the fence that marked his property line. The stars called to him. He could afford to live anywhere, and indeed, he had small apartments and townhomes near all of his worksites just in case he had to stay a few days. City lights, however, drowned the beauty of the cosmos, the expanse of space that was increasingly home to humans. Is the light of some future humanity shining down? Will some child watch the night sky, staring back at us in the future as our light reaches them? In the distance, he heard a four-wheeler.
He stared into the past as he looked up, with the future staring back at him—the paradox of watching the night sky. Chilly autumn air ruffled his salt and pepper hair. The crisp breeze tugged at his windbreaker, and he breathed deeply of the scents of fall.
North Dakota had been a compromise between him and his wife. He would have preferred Alaska—more isolation from the press and more nighttime to view the stars. His wife insisted they live close enough to family for support and that the kids be able to have a social life.
So they settled on North Dakota, and so far they loved it. His oldest had found gainful work in the employ of an on-call doctor who visited some of the older families that lived out this way, while his son had a stable social network and went to a nice school.
“Dad,” Lanna called as she approached. She’d parked her four-wheeler next to his buggy and walked over in a thicker jacket. “Mom said by the time I found you and we got back, dinner would be ready.”
A thin smile stretched across his face. “That time, huh? I’d hardly noticed.” He sent another glance towards the sky, and his daughter wrapped him in a hug.
“Hey, thanks again for letting me stay. I’m sorry I never went into the business,” she said.
Miles wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“I can’t be upset that you decided to do what you wanted to do,” he replied. “After all, it’s what I did.” His hug tightened. “And once this last project of mine launches, it’s almost irrelevant who succeeds me as CEO. Once humanity has stepped out of the cradle, there’s
His daughter pressed her head against his shoulder.
“Are you going back to space soon?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“The project’s behind the curve, but I managed to get some of our people on a new project.” A thin smile spread across his face. “Hopefully it makes the trip for the colonists much shorter.” His smile broadening, he patted Lana on the shoulder. “Come on, no sense in eating cold dinner. I’ll race you home.”
Lanna ran back to her four-wheeler with a smile. Miles jogged over to his buggy and was just taking it out of park when she shot off. Maintaining a relationship with his children while managing what some would disparage as a “mega-corp” had been a trick act. He’d had to be proactive, making time for his children when he was home, making all the little moments special, while also running his business. If that meant that occasionally another company or a government department thought they’d outmaneuvered him, so be it, but he firmly believed his long-term mental health gave Pinnacle Rocketry much more stability than its competitors. His wife had played a key role in all of that, and he could credit more than a few surprise recital appearances and similar acts to her.
Sparing one more glance at the night sky, he smiled at the hope of possibility and the promise of tomorrow before he backed out of his spot and raced after his daughter.
TWO
“I don’t like this cloak and dagger stuff,” Jim said as he laid out his kit. The lights from the captain’s car had barely faded, and he’d already pulled out all the gear he needed to make trouble. Nothing crazy, just a cheap plate-carrier he used for training and an M&P 10 Volunteer chambered in six-five that served the same purpose. An Aimpoint red dot sight performed close enough to the CCO that had sat on his M4 when he’d first enlisted that he couldn’t tell the difference. He had an aiming laser to help him at night, a cheap thing he’d bought off the shelf the last time he’d gone into a gun store.
“So why are you kitting up like you’re about to raid Bin Laden’s compound?” Baker asked. “I mean, don’t you think you can just drive up and warn him?”
Jim shook his head.
“We may be too late,” he replied. “We could drive up and the bad guys are in the middle of trying to hit him and his family, but I’d rather have gear and not need it—”
“—than need it and not have it,” Baker finished before sighing. “What are you even going to say? ‘We’re from the space force, and we’re here to rescue you?’”
Jim rubbed his head.
“Honestly, I haven’t thought that far,” he said. “There’s so much we don’t know. Why aren’t law enforcement doing something? Or the FBI? Or his own private security, which by the way, a man of his status definitely has.”
“Maybe they’re all compromised?” Baker asked. “Or otherwise unable to protect him from whatever this is? It sounded like just some hired goons with guns.” She raised an eyebrow as she watched him check and recheck his gear. “You’re really about to go out there, just you and a rifle.”
“Someone has to,” he said.
Baker folded her arms.
“You’re sure you don’t want me to come with you?” she asked.
Jim nodded and tucked his Smith & Wesson Model 29 into a chest holster on his rig. The oak-handled revolver would get him ragged on by a lot of the gun nuts in the Espatiers, but having grown up in Idaho, he was a sucker for cowboy guns.
“If you had your own guns, you’d have an argument,” he said as he dumped some speed reloaders for the revolver in his cargo pocket. He’d changed into a Crye Precision combat shirt and old FRACU pants he saved for range day, but he could be anyone in Montana, Idaho, or the Dakotas just going out to shoot his guns. “But there’s the danger, and when push comes to shove, you’re the only person I trust treating our injuries.” He shrugged. “Flora’s cool, but she’s back on Earth, with her own priorities and drives. You’re one of us and always have been.”
Baker shook her head and wrapped him in a hug.
Jim didn’t return her embrace at first but allowed himself to lean his head into her shoulder. She’d opened her home to him at a time when he couldn’t be alone but also didn’t want to be around Oliver’s family. Seeing his big family, even after three years, and how happy they were . . . Jim felt like his chance to have that had slipped by, and he didn’t want his own issues to cloud his best friend’s reintegration with his family. He also couldn’t bring himself to visit Alice, much to Zhou Song’s chagrin.
“You aren’t alone out there,” Baker said. She opened the FamilyWeb03, a family tracking app he’d reluctantly agreed to put on his phone so that he, Baker, and Baker’s mother could all see each other’s location. In addition, his smart watch relayed his heartbeat and breathing to the app, which would tell Baker if he was badly wounded or worse. “I’ll be keeping my eye on you. Be safe, Jim.”
Without another word, he banged on his plate carrier and slung his rifle. He carried four magazines, plus one in the rifle itself. Jim didn’t feel like he was going to war but rather trying to prevent a tragedy. Besides, ammo was expensive, especially since six-five never caught on on the civilian side.
His ear-protection also had Bluetooth capability, and he synched it to his phone as soon as he put it on over his ball cap.
Baker tried to smile, but a look of permanent indigestion crossed her face as he made for the door.
“Please, please, please, be careful,” she said. “You’ve survived an ugly war, SLiC attacks, and the Constellation incident. It would suck for you to get shot in some field in your own backyard.”
“Trust me, I’m always careful,” he replied.
Baker raised her eyebrows but said nothing despite her obvious skepticism.
After walking out into the garage, he took a seat behind the wheel of his truck, a late 2010s Ford Ranger, and fired her up. He’d been doing his best not to think about Lynn, but occasionally she crept her way back into his thoughts. The unreality of driving a car, still surreal after living on Constellation for what felt like a year and some change, was one such vulnerable moment.
She’d nagged him about switching to a trendier electric or hydrogen car, but Jim still liked the ability to drive across the country without waiting on a charger. That and those were expensive. He let out a slow breath as he pulled out into the drive. Alone at night, driving in his truck with only the radio to keep him company, made him want to rush back into the house. To sit on the couch and drink coffee with Baker.
His world had crumbled to ash the moment he’d touched his home planet. Lynn had moved on months after he was reported missing, his father had gone on to join his mother courtesy of a heart attack, and the first thing beltway brass wanted to do was interrogate them for hours on days before trying to split them up and just cycle them into the regular military churn. Thankfully, General Nellis had put the kibosh on that.
Keeping them together had other benefits, one being that whatever questions the spooks came up with, they could cross-reference and ask all of them right there. They could also monitor their health and psych profiles for any long-term health concerns. They’d been confined to a spaceship for longer than anyone else in human history, even accounting for Constellation’s different sense of time relative to Earth. They’d also been exposed to Renaudin waves before getting nanites, as well as being the first people in their recorded history to travel faster than light.
Sure, Minerva was in orbit with a lot of the information that the space force was looking for, but she was also playing tour guide to research teams. That and the med teams from the space force wanted to verify that the information she had was correct. “Trust but verify,” as Ronnie Raygun used to say. He chuckled at his dad’s old nickname for Ronald Reagan, but it also reminded him his father had passed while he was gone.
As if the big man had a sixth sense for when Jim’s headspace was terrible, Oliver Knight lit up his phone.
Goon shit tonight? the text read. Jim almost rolled his eyes at the way his friend asked him if he was on an unauthorized mission.
“Just checking something out,” he replied after activating the voice-to-text for his phone. “Should just be helping an old man move some stuff, nothing serious.” He left it at that.
