Hidden enemy, p.1
Hidden Enemy, page 1
EARTH HAS NOW BEEN A MEMBER OF THE GALACTIC ALLIANCE FOR TWENTY YEARS
It has its own Shadow Warrior organization, a part of the Alliance military that protects members from military threats in the galaxy. Since the Great Galactic War, which ended when the Caretakers, who had been attacking the Alliance, became allies, two decades of galactic peace and prosperity have ensued. Because it is new to the Alliance, Earth still operates its Shadow Warriors under the umbrella of Molethan, the largest and most influential member of the Alliance.
Chris, Jason, Kali (a Molethian), Terry, and Zeke all enlist in Shadow Warriors. They all bring their problems or “baggage” into the Shadow Warrior Academy. Chris enlisted despite his father’s insistence that he complete high school. Jason, a transgender who wants nothing more than to be a girl, was a target of hatred and abuse and became a large, body-building troublemaker. Kali, a rare aggressive Molethian, enlisted to remove the embarrassment of her parents after she had a fistfight—horrors!—with a fellow student. Terry is extremely timid, often hesitant to make a decision. Zeke’s family didn’t have the funds for college, so he enlisted to build up a nest egg for education. They are formed into a team, destined to become a Shadow Warrior crew—if they can manage to graduate from the Academy.
They have immediate problems. Jason and Chris can’t stand each other, arguing and refusing to cooperate from the first, and the rest take sides. The constant conflict imperils their future, bringing the team close to expulsion from the program—and another problem looms even before their graduation. The Xzorn, an extremely aggressive species whose whole existence is based on expansion of their empire, attacks the Alliance with enormous forces. Suddenly the Alliance faces the first real threat in decades.
Can this new Shadow Warrior team, who can’t even get along among themselves, overcome their differences, graduate, and then survive immediate battles with this new, dangerous enemy?
HIDDEN ENEMY
A SHADOW WARRIORS NOVEL
WAR OF THE XZORN TRILOGY
BOOK 1
NATHAN B. DODGE
Hidden Enemy
Copyright © 2022 Nathan B. Dodge
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the copyright holder, except where permitted by law. This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
The ebook edition of this book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share the ebook edition with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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EBook ISBN: 978-1-68057-387-9
Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-68057-386-2
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Cover design by Miblart
Kevin J. Anderson, Art Director
Published by
WordFire Press, LLC
PO Box 1840
Monument CO 80132
Kevin J. Anderson & Rebecca Moesta, Publishers
WordFire Press eBook Edition 2022
WordFire Press Trade Paperback Edition 2022
WordFire Press Hardcover Edition 2022
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Printed in the USA
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CONTENTS
1. Admiral Alexander Sharapov
2. Christopher Novak
3. Jason Walters
4. Teresa Acevedo
5. Zaire “Zeke” Tedesse
6. Kalliah Led G’Delliel
7. Chris
8. Kali
9. Chris
10. Zeke
11. Terry
12. Jason
13. Chris
14. Zeke
15. Kali
16. Terry
17. Kali
18. Jason
19. Zeke
20. Terry
21. Chris
22. Kali
23. Jason
24. Chris
25. Kali
26. Terry
27. Jason
28. Jason
29. Kali
30. Terry
31. Terry
32. Zeke
33. Chris
34. Kali
35. Kali
36. Chris
37. Terry
38. Chris
39. Zeke
40. Jason
41. Terry
42. Zeke
43. Jason
44. Commander McGregor
45. Kali
46. Chris
47. Terry
48. Zeke
49. Jason
50. Chris
51. Kali/Zeke
52. Zeke
53. Terry
54. Kali
55. Zeke
56. Jason
57. Kali
58. Chris
About the Author
Other WordFire Press Titles by Nathan B. Dodge
1 ADMIRAL ALEXANDER SHARAPOV
Admiral Alexander Sharapov looked up sharply as Captain T’Kledder stuck his head in the door of his admiral’s office. T’Kledder knew that he hated to be interrupted, so it must be something important.
He put down his stylus, trying not to appear as irritated as he felt.
“Sorry, sir,” the captain said, actually not sounding sorry at all. “A courier from the Venela system has arrived with serious news. One of their military outposts has been attacked.”
Sharapov straightened in surprise. There had been quite a long period of peace and stability within the Alliance, after what people now referred to as “The Great Galactic War,” which had ended some two full decades ago.
The admiral’s annoyance vanished. There had been virtually no armed hostilities in the last twenty years. Oh, there had been a few skirmishes over jointly claimed systems, but all had been settled with minor, if any, conflict. He felt a sudden rush of adrenaline, something not felt in years.
“Casualties?”
“Yes, sir, quite a few. The courier just landed and should be here in a few moments.”
Sharapov considered. “Show the courier into my office as soon as possible. And have Admiral Ar’Gellor join us, Captain. She needs to hear this as well.”
T’Kledder left to summon Admiral Ar’Gellor. As he waited restlessly, Sharapov’s eyes played over the familiar environment of his office. It sat aboard the naval command satellite, an enormous artificial moon kilometers in diameter that orbited Molethan. His office was equally neat, although some few adornments decorated the walls. Due mainly to his wife, of course. He would never bother with such things himself. Once-clear walls had acquired a few items, mainly pictures of former fighters and carriers, plus one photo of a very young-looking crew of Shadow Warriors. His desk held a photographic portrait of Admiral Tishellia Ar’Gellor, his wife, in an evening gown, the only thing he had personally added to the collection.
The office walls themselves were a uniform cream-white, the standard color for the interiors of all Molethian military dwellings and offices, chairs a dark brown to match his desk and the conference table in the far-right corner of the room. Chairs were available now that were fractionally wider than formerly, a concession to human body measurements, far less slender than the standard Molethian frame.
Admiral Tishellia Ar’Gellor breezed into Sharapov’s office within minutes. Tall and slender, she was quite attractive, in human terms, for a Molethian. Flashing him a smile—a Molethian would never show any stronger affection in public—she commented, “My, this must be important. Captain T’Kledder said to drop everything and come down immediately.”
Wives and husbands did not work so closely together in Earth military services—except for the new arm of Shadow Warriors. But this was the Molethian Navy, and Molethians were so stiff and formal that spouses working closely together was quite common.
He lifted his shoulders a fraction. “Not sure. A courier is coming into the station and needs to see us. Apparently, there’s been some sort of attack on a Venelan outpost, by an unknown attacker of all things.”
She lifted her eyebrows, something Molethians did every bit as well as humans. “It’s been a long time since an Alliance member reported any sort of attack. More than twenty years since the Horde became our friends.”
Sharapov nodded. “Agreed. I’m interested in what the courier has to say.”
As Admiral Ar’Gellor seated herself in one of the chairs before his desk, the intercom buzzed. His aide’s voice came over the small speaker. “Courier has arrived, Sir.”
“We’re ready.” The admiral looked inquiringly at his office door.
The Venelan entered, crossing the office to stand before the admiral’s desk, giving Sharapov a moment to size her up. Like most Venelans, she stood as tall as her Molethian female counterparts, her skin more brown and less gray than even Admiral Sharapov’s wife.
Something about her body suggested a litheness that humans lacked. Also proud and self-sufficient, from her posture. The admiral knew very little about Venelans in general, but he had been told that they were independent and as strong-minded as Molethians.
From her uniform, the admiral deduced that she was the equivalent of an upper lieutenant in her service. He smiled, hoping that the expression was interpreted the way he meant it (you never could tell with many alien species). “Lieutenant, I understand that you wish to report a military incident. First of all, please take a chair and relax. Then tell us your story.”
The Venelan’s eyes widened at his casual attitude, but she did seem to relax just a bit. After slight hesitation, she moved to the other chair before his desk that sat beside the one occupied by the admiral’s wife. Her eyes shifted sidewise at Ar’Gellor, then back to Sharapov. She seemed to understand that having another pair of ears in the room made sense.
She began immediately. “Sir, you probably know that Venela maintains a military presence in a small star system barely more than half a light-year from our own.” Sharapov nodded, as he did know of it. He knew, in fact, every major military base in the Alliance.
“We decided to establish that presence due to the nearness of the system,” she continued. “It has no intelligent life, and in fact the most hospitable planet supports little life of its own. We established this base when we were first involved in a war against what we knew then as the Horde.
“A very short time ago, less than two Venelan days, a large force of spacecraft attacked our patrols orbiting that planet and also bombarded the base we maintain on its surface.”
Sharapov frowned. “Could the attackers be identified?”
“No, sir. The fleet of ships appeared suddenly, quite a large number, attacking our patrol first and then the installation on the planet. I was piloting one of the patrol fighters in the unit on patrol duty. Once we realized that the group of attackers meant to do harm, we responded. Shortly, as it became clear that we were heavily outnumbered, the patrol commander directed me to return to Venela to report the attack. When reinforcements arrived, we were able to drive off the remaining attackers.
“When we had repelled the enemy, my commander ordered me to proceed here to Molethan to bring news of the attack and ask for immediate assistance.”
She handed Admiral Sharapov a memory cube. “This is gun camera footage of my part in the battle until I was directed to go for help.”
Plugging the cube into his desk unit, Sharapov directed the video to the screen on the opposite wall.
The video, very dimly illuminated, showed most of the enemy fighters as mere shadows, although there were several clear outlines. The ships were relatively small, perhaps the size of one of the original Shadow Warrior fighters, V-shaped in outline and dark-colored. They appeared to have beam weapons of considerable power and range.
Sharapov glanced up at the young woman, whose anxiety level had climbed as she watched the display. “Did you get an accurate count of the number of your attackers?”
She shook her head no. “But my console estimated at least a thousand. I think it might have been somewhat higher, perhaps twelve hundred, but it’s only a guess.”
Hmm. Up to twelve hundred enemy attackers. “And your numbers?”
“We had about a hundred in three squadrons, sir.”
So it had been a scrap between a midget and a giant. Or, since it had been an encounter in the atmosphere over the Venelan base, one between a sparrow and an Eagle. Whoever had attacked had come prepared to do damage. Lots and lots of damage.
Admiral Sharapov killed the display and gave the young lieutenant the once-over. “What is your commanding officer’s specific request?”
“Sir, Commander Eleiamon requests that Molethan dispatch a full wing to Venela to assist in defense against possible future attacks. I came to you, sir, as Molethian Command informed me that Admiral Washington, the fleet commander, was not currently available, but that supplying our request lay within your authority.”
And it was. As acting field commander, Admiral Sharapov could move his navy’s resources around like so many chessboard pieces. He could, of course, refer the request to Fleet Admiral Washington, but he rarely did.
The young lieutenant was clearly exhausted, and the admiral suspected she had not slept since the beginning of the battle she described. After regarding her silently for a moment, he said, “We can dispatch one carrier by 0600 Molethian standard tomorrow. Meet me at zero-five-thirty, and I will be able to tell you the additional extent of our deployment.”
She half rose. “Sir, please, I need to return as soon as possible to my home world to help—”
Sharapov cut her off. “You have beaten back the initial attack, Lieutenant, and a lone ship could not possibly contribute that much additional firepower. Have a good dinner in our mess hall and get a solid night’s sleep. When you join me, I will give you additional information and a message to your fleet commander. My aide will find you accommodations. Any questions?”
His hard stare made it clear that his words were not a suggestion, so after a moment’s uncertain hesitation, she held her tongue. With more than one glance back at the two admirals, she stood stiffly, saluted—the Venelan salute consisted of a horizontal arm across the chest, not the head-dip bare minimum salute of the Molethian Navy—and backed out of Sharapov’s office.
Turning to his wife, Sharapov said, “Comments, Tish? Anything I missed?”
Her eyes sparkled. “My dear, you rarely miss much. I will say that the video, even though it is a bit dark, shows several silhouettes of the attacking spacecraft that have no similarity to any Alliance models. I think this is a species which we have not previously encountered.”
“I agree.” He reached a hand up to scratch his silver hair.
“One other thing,” she said after a moment. “The form of attack indicates that the species is military-oriented and exists specifically to enlarge and broaden their empire. This attack aimed at overwhelming defenders and eliminating Venelan presence in the solar system.”
Sharapov considered. “But why would they want such a small and barren system?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Tishellia said with a smile. “Venela is a next-door neighbor. They plan to establish a jumping-off point for the attack on their next target.”
“Hmm.” Sharapov considered some more. After a moment, he nodded decisively. “We haven’t seen Letty or Cal for some time.” Since they were now alone, he used the given names of Admirals Washington and McGregor. “I know that Letty is in a conference on Preozil. No idea about Cal, except that he’s flitting around in the dwarf galaxy, consulting the Caretakers. I suggest we send couriers to get them both. Let’s grab Opi and Tony for a quick supper, at least to get their advice on how to respond to the Venelan’s request in the morning. If they agree, I plan to send out dispatch orders for Wing Seven.”
He stood. “As a matter of fact, since I moved past merely hungry to ravenous about an hour ago, I suggest we walk over to their offices and suggest dinner. I’m sending Carrier Seventy-three back with the lieutenant in the morning, as I promised. The rest of Wing Seven will proceed to Venela as soon as possible, unless our colleagues want to make a few last-minute changes.”
Tish joined him as he rounded his desk and took his hand, quite an intimate gesture for a reserved Molethian. “And then perhaps, after a nice dinner with our friends, maybe we could actually return to our quarters a bit early tonight to spend an evening together, alone?”
