Prodigal (Starship Gilead Book 2)

  CONTENTS

  Also in Series:

  Overture

  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

  Coda

  Thank you for reading Prodigal

  Want More Starship Giliead for Free?

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Grand Patrons

  PRODIGAL

  JOHN GRAVES

  ©2022 LITERARY OUTLAWS, LLC

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the authors.

  Aethon Books supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact editor@aethonbooks.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  www.aethonbooks.com

  Print and eBook formatting, and cover design by Steve Beaulieu. Artwork provided by Vivid Covers.

  Published by Aethon Books LLC. 2022

  Aethon Books is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead is coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  ALSO IN SERIES:

  [1] RELICS OF UTOPIA

  [2] PRODIGAL

  [3] THE LAST BATTLEFIELD

  For Russell Summers

  OVERTURE

  The Third Fleet was dead.

  The ruined hulks of thirty-nine starships floated lifelessly at the edge of the Neutral Zone between Affiliation space and the outer baronies. The fleet had engaged the starship Babylon and her fleet of Brethren warships in the Trappist system, but they’d fallen quickly when their shields inexplicably went offline. Now the shattered wrecks would drift through the black until the gravity of Trappist-1 pulled them into orbit around that red dwarf star. In a century, in another millennium, this battle would be forgotten, and the origins of the Trappist debris belt would be known to only a handful of scholars.

  Those future scholars, and Kokabiel, the undying emperor whose reign would last for all time.

  Captain Lilith turned to look at the man to whom she had sworn her allegiance almost three hundred years before. Of course, it didn’t feel like centuries. He had somehow opened a wormhole and they had traveled forward in time. Hundreds of years had indeed passed, whether she had experienced them or not. Everyone she ever knew, everyone she ever loved, was now centuries in the grave, and Callan Lilith had nothing to live for but her duty and her honor.

  Everyone, except Babylon’s crew and the Emperor.

  Kokabiel was sitting in the first officer’s chair, his face pale and his forehead beaded with sweat. He looked sick, exhausted—whatever psionic energy he’d used to drop the Third Fleet’s shields had left him utterly drained. Lilith had seen him like this before, after their battle with the starship Gilead and her gunship Chamberlain. But that had been a much smaller conflict compared to this, and the effects on her emperor much less marked. At the moment, Kokabiel looked awful.

  “Captain,” said Michael Hodge, Babylon’s tactical officer. “There’s one ship left.”

  The emperor didn’t look up. He just sat there, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow. He was in no shape to disable this last vestige of the Third Fleet.

  Lilith watched her view screen as the lonely starship crept away on impulse thrusters alone. Babylon’s sensors indicated that this vessel was the Agincourt, a Marathon-class starship built in 2974.

  “I’ve got a lock on her engines,” said Hodge.

  He was tall and handsome, with a rich voice that exuded confidence. There was no hesitation in that voice, no mercy for the enemy. All Lilith had to do was give the order, and the Agincourt and her crew would be destroyed like the rest of the Third Fleet.

  Fire.

  The word stuck in the back of Lilith’s throat. Kokabiel would not have hesitated, she was certain of that, and he wouldn’t want her to hesitate either. But she couldn’t help herself. Back in the past, when the Union was collapsing and half the fleet was out to overthrow the democratically elected president, Lilith had been perfectly willing to engage Union ships in mortal combat. She took no pleasure in their destruction—many of those ships were captained by personal friends of hers—but she did what had to be done because she believed she was doing the right thing. But now, nearly three hundred years later, she was less sure. What had the Third Fleet done to deserve this fate, other than defend their territory? The United Planetary Federation was long gone, and the Affiliation, the current government that stood on the ruins of the old Union, had done its best to put the pieces back together after civil war had torn the galaxy apart. Did Kokabiel really have a claim to the Peace Palace after all these years?

  Everything had seemed so clear before. Now the way seemed muddied.

  “Let them go,” she said.

  “Captain? Are you sure?”

  “I’m certain.”

  The Agincourt moved slowly through the debris field, away from Earth and toward the Neutral Zone. There was nothing for her out there except pirates and warrior kings whose time had come and gone. Perhaps it would be a mercy to destroy the ship, but enough blood had already been spilled that day, and Lilith just wanted the slaughter to end. She would let the Agincourt slip away, and perhaps her conscience might let her sleep tonight.

  On screen, the wounded ship crawled away through the black. Now the way to Earth was open, at least until they encountered another Affiliation fleet. And by the time that happened, Kokabiel’s strength would be restored, and Captain Lilith had no doubt that Babylon would stand triumphant once more. They already held significant territory in the outer baronies, and after today, they would claim all the worlds in the Trappist system. It was only a matter of time before the Union was restored, and her president—her emperor—sat once more upon his rightful throne.

  1

  Everything was different now.

  Windham Manthus had endured plenty of loss during his sixty years, most notably the loss of his treasured wife, Eowyn, but in the days after his son betrayed him, a mantle of despair draped over the old man like a cloak of mourning. He hardly slept, hardly ate, and his eyes became dark and hollow. So much had happened in such a short time, and most of it was bad. Tragedy piled upon tragedy, and the plans Windham and his crew made for another day or another week felt like futility.

  “I have seen all the works that are done under the sun,” whispered the captain, “and behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit.”

/>   Katherine Evans, his communications officer, looked up as if to say, What was that?, but she had the good sense to keep her mouth shut.

  “Sai, sensors are picking up a starship nearby.”

  “Is it Jericho?” Windham sat upon the captain’s throne as a starscape twinkled and shifted all around him. Six months had passed since the Battle of Elden-2, when the richest planet in Gilead’s barony had fallen to Emperor Kokabiel and the starship Babylon. They might have had a fighting chance in that battle if Captain Gaines of the starship Jericho had honored his commitment and fought alongside Gilead, but Anton Gaines had turned his back on Windham and his crew, and the old man vowed he would have his revenge on the traitor.

  “No, sai. It’s. . .” Evans paused as she scanned the sensor readout. “It appears to be the Lionheart, one of Jericho’s gunships.”

  Windham’s eyes narrowed. He was relieved Gilead had escaped the Battle of Elden-2 in one piece—living to fight another day—though the cost of defeat was terribly high. They had lost the Chamberlain, their own gunship, along with a hundred rangers who had been on board during the fight. Chief among those was General Hollis Garner, the commander of the rangers of Gilead. Windham and Hollis had been friends for decades, and how bitterly the old man now felt that particular loss. Hollis had been a brilliant leader among the crew and had often been a confidant to the captain. There were plenty of men on board who would be happy to tell Windham exactly what he wanted to hear, but very few willing to speak the truth to their captain.

  A man needed to hear the truth once in a while.

  “Activate the cloaking device and lay in an intercept course,” said the captain.

  “Yes, sai.”

  Katherine Evans had taken on extra duties in the months since Elden-2, but the same could be said for the rest of the crew. With Hollis gone, Gilead’s tactical officer, Tully Silk, had been promoted to general, leaving a major vacancy on the bridge. Kat was doing just fine in her new duties; she was a fighter, and the respect she garnered among the crew gave Windham hope that his people would accept his daughter, Adrienne, when the day came that she took over command of the ship.

  “Course laid in. We should engage the Lionheart in approximately one hour and nine minutes.”

  Hollis was far from the only loss that had stung Windham in recent days. Harrison Ward, Gilead’s first mate, had been lost just a few days before the battle, falling to space pirates on the poisoned wasteland of Cheron-4. That world and its prime settlement, Avalon, had been a home away from home for Windham. His late wife had been born there, and although she had been dead for many years, the old man had almost been able to feel her presence there among her relatives. No longer. Now even those relatives were gone, along with the entire settlement of Avalon—over forty thousand souls. They were wiped out, every man, woman, and child, by a religious cult known as the Brethren, fanatics who worshipped Kokabiel, the ancient emperor of the old United Planetary Federation, a man who had somehow come forward in time almost three hundred years.

  It didn’t make a lot of sense to Windham. But then, he had never been one to require a great depth of understanding. He was a warrior, and instinct was his guide. It was instinct that had kept him alive all this time. Unfortunately, those same instincts had cost him the lives of many who had been dear to him.

  Including his son, Jeremy.

  Windham touched a button on his throne, activating a virtual computer interface in the air before him. He searched through folders of stored data until he found the one he was looking for. Videos and still images of a happier time scrolled across his display. Images of his son, before the years slipped away.

  Now Jeremy was a man. A man whose ambition and foolishness had gotten the better of him. Jeremy had challenged his father for the captain’s throne, citing an ancient law set in place to prevent tyrant captains from oppressing their people. Windham had defeated his son soundly, proving that God—or the spirit of Gilead, as the tinkers believed—did not approve of Jeremy as her captain. The father could have seen his son executed for challenging his authority—that was the ancient custom—but the old man could not bring himself to hang poor Jeremy like a common criminal in front of the entire crew. It broke his heart, but Windham had sent his son away.

  Now he wondered if he could ever forgive himself for letting things get this bad. He wondered if Eowyn was watching him from the afterlife with that same look of disappointment on her face that she had sometimes worn in life.

  After three days, Windham was so overwhelmed with regret that he couldn’t stand it anymore. Gilead returned to the coordinates where Jeremy’s prison pod had been left behind, but there was no trace of the boy. He was gone.

  Gone.

  All Windham had now was Adrienne, the new heir of Gilead. Never before had a woman been groomed to command the ship, and neither father nor daughter was completely confident that the people of Gilead would embrace her as their captain and queen. True, Windham’s grandmother and Adrienne’s namesake had been called the Crimson Queen, and she had commanded the ship for a short time after the death of her husband. She was even considered by many as one of the greatest captains Gilead had ever had. But at the same time, everyone knew she was only keeping the captain’s throne warm until her son could assume command. The situation with Adrienne was entirely different. And the Crimson Queen left big shoes for his daughter to fill.

  A new message popped up on his interface: Jon Galen, the bard, was calling from his quarters on Deck 19. Windham sighed and pressed a button that sent the transmission to an away message. Galen had come aboard Gilead on her last visit to Avalon, a decision that had saved his life. He was damned lucky to make it off of that planet before the Brethren bombed Cheron-4 into oblivion.

  Galen had been trying to talk to Windham for weeks, but as far as the old man was concerned, the bard didn’t have anything to say that was worth listening to. Galen knew plenty of lore, but his explanation for Babylon’s return was so over the top that Windham simply could not take it seriously. Windham didn’t have time for a lot of superstitious nonsense. The Brethren were worshipping ancient aliens as far as Windham could tell, and that was just as stupid as Galen’s theory about fallen angels. Neither option made much sense to the old man. It wasn’t their religion that would matter in a fight, but their technology. And whatever device the starship Babylon had used to deactivate Gilead’s shields, it wasn’t supernatural in origin.

  In any case, Babylon had now moved out of the area, and by all accounts she was now headed toward the inner baronies and Earth. Windham didn’t much care about Earth, or about the Affiliation, the interplanetary government that controlled the inner baronies. He cared about Gilead and her people. And the citizens of Elden-2, those were his people too. Windham intended to rescue them from beneath the boot heel of Captain Gaines and the starship Jericho. Anton Gaines had betrayed Gilead and aligned with Babylon in the battle for Elden-2, and the Barony of Gilead was the reward for that betrayal. Windahm meant to take back what had been stolen from him, but first he had to figure out how to defeat a weapon that could render his shields useless. Perhaps the answer he sought was on board the Lionheart.

  Everything had gone wrong in the last few months, but Windham still had time to set it all right.

  At least, he hoped so.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  The screen read “Transmission Ended,” which was Gilead’s way of saying that Captain Manthus had declined to speak with him yet again. Jon Galen stared at the words for several moments, then hurled his watch across the room. It shattered against the wall.

  Galen had half a mind to storm all the way up to the bridge and give Windham a piece of his mind, but of course that would only make the situation worse. Windham was a stubborn old fool who thought he could kill anything that got in his way if he just kept shooting at it long enough. That might work if they were talking about pirates or Brethren terrorists, but Kokabiel wasn’t mortal. He was a supernatural being, a Watcher f
allen from Heaven, and his heart devised evil continually. The only way he could be stopped was to turn to ancient lore that had been forgotten by men when they replaced their gods with modern inventions.

  Galen crossed the room, his mind spinning at warp speed. He had encountered Kokabiel several times during his long, strange lifetime. In some ways, the emperor was even responsible for Galen’s condition, but Galen had learned over the centuries that he couldn’t blame anyone but himself for the choices he had made in life. Kokabiel was a catalyst, nothing more.

  The bard knelt and picked up the shattered watch that had been his connection to Gilead’s computer. It was foolish what he had done, but it wasn’t like the damn thing was doing him much good anyway. He’d explain it to the steward Windham had assigned to look over his shoulder, and she would probably roll her eyes and get him a replacement before too long.

  “Musicians are all eccentric,” he said, mimicking her voice.

  But it wasn’t eccentricity. Galen had the answers—some of the answers, anyway—that Captain Manthus was looking for at this very moment. At least, the answers the captain should have been looking for. Galen didn’t know if Windham was planning another confrontation with the starship Babylon, but if he wanted to fight Kokabiel and not end up all kinds of dead, then Galen was the only person on this ship who could help him.

  “Perhaps there is someone else with ears to hear me,” Galen said.

  The story going around was that Windham Manthus had chosen his daughter as the new heir of Gilead after his son had challenged him for the captain’s chair and failed. Galen had expected the citizens of Gilead to be skeptical of this idea, but most of them seemed to embrace their future leader, and Galen understood why. He had seen the fire in the girl’s eyes—he’d even had that fire turned on him.