Read The Oncoming Storm Online
Authors: Christopher Nuttall
The Oncoming Storm
Elsewhen Press
The Royal Sorceress
The Royal Sorceress (Book I)
The Great Game (Book II)
Necropolis (Book III)
Bookworm
Bookworm
Bookworm II: The Very Ugly Duckling
Bookworm III: The Best Laid Plans
Inverse Shadows
Sufficiently Advanced Technology
Stand Alone
A Life Less Ordinary
The Mind’s Eye
Twilight Times Books
Schooled in Magic
Schooled in Magic (Book I)
Lessons in Etiquette (Book II)
Study in Slaughter (Book III)
Work Experience (Book IV)
The School of Hard Knocks (Book V)
Love’s Labor’s Won (Book VI)
Trial By Fire (Book VII)
The Decline and Fall of the Galactic Empire
Barbarians at The Gates (Book I)
The Shadow of Cincinnatus (Book II)
Henchmen Press
First Strike
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2015 Christopher G. Nuttall
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by 47North, Seattle
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of
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, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503947085
ISBN-10: 1503947084
Cover design by Ray Lundgren
Illustrated by Paul Youll
PROLOGUE
Admiral Junayd passed through the security field and stepped into the conference room, careful to remove his cap as he bowed to the First Speaker and the Lord Cleric. They nodded in return, pressing their hands together in greeting, then motioned him to a chair at the round table. Junayd sat down and composed himself, despite the growing excitement running through his mind. The greatest military operation in the Theocracy’s history was about to begin. It was no time to allow his enthusiasm to overpower his common sense.
He looked up at the giant painting behind the First Speaker. Hundreds of men and women, some bound, others in chains, were making their way towards a giant starship that was sitting on the ground like a common aircraft. It was a lie, he knew, a fanciful depiction of a carefully planned exodus from Earth, but the essential truth shone through. The Believers had been forced into exile, forced to leave God’s chosen world. Many of the exiles had lost the will to live in horror at what had been done to them.
But others had understood. God would not have allowed His faithful to be removed from their homeworld without a reason. It would be safer for them to be elsewhere. And now Earth was scorched rubble: the great cities of Rome, Jerusalem, and Mecca little more than blackened marks on a dead world. The religious leaders who had failed to realize their time was over were gone. And the United Nations, the force that had served as their enforcer, was gone too. The True Faith could begin its expansion into the galaxy—and no infidels would stand in its way.
He nodded in greeting as Inquisitor Samuilu stepped into the room, unable to avoid feeling a cold shiver running down his back as he met the man’s eyes. Everyone was secretly guilty of something, the Inquisitors believed, and innocence was no defense if one caught their ever-roaming eye. Even a high-ranking admiral was not immune to suspicion. The Inquisitors spent most of their time rooting out heresy on the occupied worlds, but they had never relaxed their watch over the Believers.
And a word from them would be enough to condemn anyone to the stocks—or the gallows.
“Let us begin,” the First Speaker said.
He spoke the words of a very old prayer, echoed by the other three men in the room, then looked up at Junayd. “Admiral,” he said. “How fares our planning?”
Junayd took a long breath. “We will be ready to launch the offensive in six months, Your Holiness,” he began. “Planning has been completed for a short, sharp campaign that will bring the infidel Commonwealth to its knees. We will trap and destroy their border fleets, then advance towards their homeworlds before they know what has hit them. Victory will be assured.”
“Only God can assure one of victory,” the Lord Cleric said.
That, Junayd knew, was true. Other religions, the shadows of the True Faith, had believed that God granted victory to his followers without forcing them to work for it. But the True Believers knew that God only helped those who helped themselves. What was the point of victory—or redemption—if it was just handed out on silver platters? But he dared not seem uncertain, not now. There was no shortage of others who would take his place if he ran afoul of his superiors.
“We have been watching their deployments to Cadiz ever since they annexed the border world,” he said, instead. “Their readiness levels are at the lowest we have observed since we started monitoring them closely. The admiral in command spends most of his time on the planet, training and exercising schedules are not followed, and morale is incredibly low. We would not wish to wait long enough for the Commonwealth to appoint an effective commander to take Admiral Morrison’s place.”
The First Speaker smirked. “That would be inconvenient,” he agreed.
“We have allies on the planet’s surface,” Junayd continued. “They will be ready to go on the offensive when our fleet arrives in the system. Cadiz will be cut off from the StarCom network, her command and control systems crippled, allowing us to score a decisive victory before the infidels can mobilize. Their long-term potential is staggering.”
He kept his face impassive, refusing to admit how much that bothered him. The first conquests made by the Theocracy had been easy. They’d largely been primitive worlds, with no spacefaring capability at all. It had taken little more than a destroyer to crush formal resistance, then the Inquisitors had gone to work, digging out all who would dare to resist their place in the Theocracy. But the Commonwealth was different. It was a multisystem political entity with a growing trading fleet as well as a formidable military machine.
The Theocracy’s industrial base was geared to support the colossal war machine they intended to use to conquer the settled galaxy. It was limited, more limited than Junayd cared to admit, yet they would never be able to relax some of the restrictions on economic and social development. It would give people ideas. But the Commonwealth didn’t have that problem. Somehow, the infidels had created an economy that was growing by leaps and bounds. It presented a formidable threat as well as a challenge.
And it wasn’t the only state to emerge from the ashes left by the Breakaway Wars. It was quite possible that the Commonwealth and the Theocracy could batter each other to pieces, and then watch helplessly as another state moved in and took over. Or, for that matter, that the other states would block expansion of the True Faith. It could not be allowed.
“But nothing compared to ours,” the Lord Cleric said.
The First Speaker smiled. “Six months,” he mused. “Can you not attack earlier?”
“We would need to call up freighters to support the military offensive,” Junayd said. “It will take several months to assemble them without damaging our economy too extensively.”
Junayd paused. “Besides, we would also need to position our forces on our side of the border,” he added. “And then place our agents in the right locations to do harm.”
The First Speaker looked at the Lord Cleric, who nodded.
“You have permission to start assembling our forces,” the First Speaker said, firmly. “And may God defend the right.”
“I thank you,” Junayd said. He stood, placing his hand on his heart. “And I pledge to you, Your Holiness, that the Commonwealth will be ours within a year.”
“The Hotel Magnificent, My Lady,” the shuttle pilot said. “I’ll drop down on the roof?”
“Yes, please,” Captain Lady Katherine Falcone said. She felt a tingle from her implants as security scanners swept the shuttle, confirming her presence. “I believe they should already have cleared us to land.”
She looked down as the shuttle dropped towards the landing pad. It had been four years since she’d seen Tyre City from the air, but it never failed to impress. The designers had covered everything, from the Royal Palace to the military barracks and giant apartment blocks, in white marble, creating a glittering haze as aircars and shuttles flew overhead. Only the brooding presence of the giant planetary defense center, carved into a nearby mountain, spoiled the impression of a city out of fantasy. But then, the kings of Tyre had had the money to make their fantasies reality.
The shuttle touched down gently, allowing Kat to stand up and make her way through the hatch and out into the warm morning air. A pair of bodyguards stood there, their faces hidden behind black masks; her implants reported that she was being scanned, again, before the bodyguards stepped aside and allowed her to walk through the door into the hotel. She sighed inwardly as they followed her. They knew who she was. It was the paranoia of living in a goldfish bowl, among many other things, that had caused her to seek out her own career, as far from her family as possible.
She caught sight of her own reflection in a mirrored door before it opened and tried not to wince. Her family had the very best enhancements sequenced into their genes, ensuring that she had an estimated lifespan of over two hundred years, but she looked young, as if she were barely out of her teens. The long blond hair she had refused to cut, despite years on various starships, fell around her heart-shaped face, drawing attention from everyone who looked at her. The black uniform she wore, complete with the golden star on her shoulder that designated starship command, fitted her perfectly. But then, her body was perfect too.