Guardian (War Angel Book 1) by David Hallquist (best contemporary novels .TXT) 📕

of the carrier task force. This one is an X pattern, like five dots on a die, where the middle frame is up and in front, and the other four are back, marking the corners. Of course, we only have four, so we’re missing a corner. The whole squadron is five of five, with each flight replicating the pattern in a fractal manner. The standard patterns have the advantage of being drilled into all of us, and they provide good fields of interlocking fire. They’re also predictable, so I hope the probes that went before us didn’t miss a mine or anything. Since we’re in formation, we can communicate with laser bursts without being intercepted, but there’s really nothing to say, so all I’m getting is their frame status.

We’re out here to look for trouble. I enter the mental awareness state that comes only with years of practice. Breathing slows, and I kind of disappear as the whole world comes into sharp focus. Soon, all the concerns and issues seem to drift away in a sea of awareness, and I’m floating in the universe of sensation. Small, previously disconnected bits of information come together in new meanings in ways even an AI can’t replicate. Radio transmissions and sensor data merge to create an awareness of the world. All the tracks and paths of every ship and station come into view at once and merge into a new understanding on an instinctive level.

There’s a tension in the solar system, particularly in the Belt. Small, cobbled-together craft are leaving settlements in a hurry for the safety of the deep black or small anonymous habitats and asteroids. Trade missions are winding down as merchantmen try to figure out where it will be safe to ship, and what will be profitable in the war to come. War fleets are on the move everywhere—Jupiter and Saturn, of course, but Venus is also on the move, and Terra and Luna are mobilizing. There’s the feeling of a storm in the air.

The Saturnine ships have all completed their maneuvers by now. Some docked at their port at Vesta, while others are out patrolling the Belt like they own it. No major forces are moving in on any specific location, they’re just milling around, being uncharacteristically loud and obvious. Usually, you hardly ever see a Saturnine ship, unless it’s under maneuvers or just about on top of you. Their stealth and countermeasures systems are about as good as they get. Now they’re being loud and obvious, effectively issuing a challenge that cannot be ignored.

A Saturnine Cyclops-class frigate is cruising by arrogantly, in missile range, ignoring calls to back away. It’s close enough that on magnification I can see its spidery black structure outlined by the ultraviolet flare of its drive flame. It’s not on a course to intercept our fleet or Ceres, but it’s too close for comfort. More calls go out for it to withdraw. It ignores them, and all I hear from it is the shrieking radio howl of its antimatter boosted drive.

Saturn is messing with us; I’m sure of it. They’re throwing out enough challenges and threats that we have to respond, and they’re doing it all over the solar system. It’s not just to tire us out; they’re spending a lot of resources doing this. They’re not just doing it to get us out of position; they’ve had to redeploy their fleets all over, too. It’s all a giant distraction…but from what?

Contact!

“Obstacle!” I call out as my Guardian jerks out of the way before I’m even fully aware of what it was. Other craft in the squadron maneuver as well, dodging things in their way. Everyone acts in time, and no one gets hit.

A radar scan and telescopic view confirm what it is—a self-torqueing bolt wrench. Someone literally tried to throw a wrench into our plans. If that had hit at the speed we’re traveling, it would surely have done some damage. An accident? Our squadron of 24 is spread out over a hundred thousand kilometers, and there were four objects on a perfect collision course with our frames. That’s no coincidence. Of course, we all came in an even standard formation from over a million kilometers out. They had all the time and opportunity in the world to set this up—we gave it to them. Anyone with a telescope, a computer, and a handful of junk could have done this.

I track the piece of junk, radio-tag it as an item of interest, and send the data to the fleet. They’ll have to sort it out.

Ceres is coming up. For a brief moment, the dwarf planet swells in view. The web-like paths of all the various craft around Ceres swell to fill the space in front of us. We’re about to thread our way through and…

The asteroid world is past us in a flash, along with the streaks of the ships around it. I come close enough to a Belter ship to actually see its angular outline as it flashes past.

Now, Ceres and all those ships are above us and shrinking as they get farther away. Squawks on the radio follow us from ships that are outraged that we blew right through their traffic control. Not that Ceres really has much in the way of traffic control; it’s mostly smaller ships getting out of the way of larger ships, or a vessel owned by a rich magnate. We’d also broadcast our path well ahead. Still, everyone’s irritated that we dared fly through at speed. Maybe we should have slowed way down and taken days to dock, after making sure every space bucket and smuggler got in line first. Ah well, another diplomatic win for the Jovian Navy in making friends, I guess.

It’s time to put on the Gs, and we all go to full thrust, with blue plasma flames coursing along the edges of our wings and back. Six gravities push