“Yes, she certainly did.” Katahl’s gaze met the floor, doubtless in honor of the thirty-eight souls who’d given their lives to get the Triton free of danger before her caldrasite relays blew out. “In any event, our engineers at beta dock managed to get her core online last hour. The rest of her is still pretty banged up, but she can fight, which means I need her.”
Wyatt handed the form back to Katahl. “She needs a chief.”
“She does, indeed,” Katahl said. “Recommendations?”
Wyatt didn’t miss a beat. “Give her to Lunley.”
Lee arched an eyebrow.
“Are you sure?” Katahl asked. “You’ve had Assistant Chief Lunley on your staff for—what, four years now? We’ve got ACs on other ships with twice that experience.”
“Maybe,” Wyatt said. “But none of them have Lunley’s mind. Sir, Hamish is one of the most gifted engineers I’ve ever seen, and it’s completely natural. To steal a line from Lee, he thinks outside of the box in ways that few can, and he knows what it means to work under pressure. Trust me, Admiral; the Triton will be in good hands with Hamish Lunley at the wrench. He’s ready, sir.”
Katahl turned to Wylon, who shrugged and said, “Your people, your call, Markus.”
“Very well,” the admiral said. “Have Assistant Chief Lunley work with you to form his team, then have them all report for duty on the Triton by 0800.”
“Very good, sir.” Wyatt saluted, and the room was dismissed.
* * * * *
Chapter 34: Flag of White
Danny could still taste the bile as the guards dragged him away, though he was thankful at least the vomiting had stopped. He glanced down at his navy-blue boxer shorts. Now, if I could just get some damn pants.
A quick jaunt around the base via prisoner transport, and Danny soon found himself back in the familiar confines of a Fort Donner detention cell.
“Hey, you.” Danny waved a finger at the pudgy guard who’d shoved him into his cage.
The guard didn’t acknowledge him. Instead, he moved to a nearby wall terminal and punched in his access code.
“Yo, Private Pyle, I’ve got something to say.” Danny pounded at his bars with the heels of his hands. “You gonna hear me out or what?”
The guard threw him a glare and put in an earpiece for privacy.
“Yeah, whatever.” Danny laughed. “If that’s your idiot chancellor, I want you to give him a message from me. Tell him ASC Staff Sergeant Daniel R. Tucker, aka The Rogue, sends his regards. He’ll know what it means.”
There was a lull in the conversation as if the person on the other end had heard that, and the guard’s face went abruptly pale.
Now we’re getting somewhere. Danny was fairly sure this wouldn’t take long.
“Sir, are you certain?” The guard waited for an answer.
Come on, big dog, we’ve been due a sit-down for almost a year. Danny coughed another glob of goo into his fist. Give the order already, and let’s do this.
The guard turned his back to the cell. “Yes, sir…I understand. Tell the chancellor it’ll be done at once. Donner Security out.” He tapped his earpiece and started for a locker across the room. From it, he pulled a black T-shirt and a pair of old gray trousers. He tossed them into Danny’s cell. “Get dressed. The chancellor wants a word with you.”
Danny picked up the garments and slid them on. Yeah, friend, I’m sure he does.
Once he’d gotten dressed, Danny was recuffed and escorted out of the cell block into the main yard, where he was handed off to a second prisoner transport bound for the airfield. There they picked up a shuttle, which—based on a bit of eavesdropping on Danny’s part—was headed for the orbiting warbird Vanxus. Danny recalled the vessel’s status as the Kurgorians’ flagship though he didn’t know why he was being taken there instead of the Kamuir.
The blue hues of sky became the pitch blackness of space outside, and Danny felt the ship turn hard to port then straighten out toward the largest of twenty-two specks.
Holy crap, you’re huge. Danny watched the ship grow nearer in the portholes. He’d seen the Vanxus during his escape with Briggs and Zier, and, while he remembered her being substantially larger than her sisters, the ship’s immensity still caught him off guard.
As the shuttle drew in closer, Danny studied the spires on the portside-aft section and guessed them a good eighty meters in length. And you’re old, too. The needled exterior peeled back, and the entrance to a docking bay appeared. The shuttle started its approach.
When the shuttle set down, Danny rose to his feet and waited for the imperials to come retrieve him.
“Come on—let’s go.” The guard nudged Danny’s back with a stun baton.
Danny threw him a confused look. “I’m sorry, but did I miss the part where everybody got a mask? You do know the air on these ships is toxic after a while, right?”
“The chancellor’s made a few changes.” The guard shoved Danny again. “Now, move.”
Comforted by the sight of no guards wearing masks and resigned to the fact that he didn’t have much choice anyway, Danny shuffled ahead, in his restraints, toward the debarkation ramp. Once outside, he quickly noticed what the guard had meant. The bay was in fact filled with predominately oxygenated air—reeking, stale, sulfuric air that smelled like the butt-end of a Boston terrier, sadly. But it was breathable nonetheless. The metasteel floor felt cold and wet under Danny’s bare feet though the air, for all of its foulness, didn’t stick to his skin as it had on the Axius. Nor, for that matter, did it seem as warm. None of that jibed with Danny’s understanding of the native climates, which tended to be hot and humid per the needs of Kurgorian physiology. What happened to the sweatbox?
A Kurgorian officer entered the bay, and Danny was startled slightly by his appearance. Gone was the usual crystalline clarity of the alien’s skin. Instead, the scales there presented a muted translucence that made him look dried out and ill. He was also wearing a breather mask.
“The chancellor is expecting you in the Combat Information Center.” The alien coughed with visible discomfort. “Right this way.”
Following his guards and the alien guide out of the bay, Danny trailed them through a series of corridors that eventually ended at the Vanxus’ central atrium. He glanced upward. Remarkable. The space was every bit the architectural wonder he’d recalled from the Axius, only bigger. Whereas the former’s atrium spanned just shy of twenty levels, the Vanxus soared to thirty-two, each one connected by the same expansive network of webbing, scales, and opaque tissue that Danny had seen the year before. The result was the same: a giant honeycomb of metasteel, flesh, and sinew that still to this day gave him the creeps.
The lift continued its ascent then ground to a halt at the top-level catwalk. Another baton nudged Danny’s back, and he shuffled forward, restraints clanking on the steel-grated bridge, until his bare feet hit the solid flooring of the level itself. Ahead, two centurions waited at the entrance to the CIC.
Danny threw them a look as the doors swooshed open.
“In you go,” the guard behind him said.
Inside, Danny observed the same layout he’d seen in Axius’ CIC: circular room, all one level, with multiple stations before the forward viewport down front. However, in keeping with the rest of the ship, it was several square meters larger. Danny traced the room with his eyes. He counted nine imperials plus the two centurions outside. Also among them was a lone Kurgorian officer—a ceda, according to the glyphs on his uniform. By the look of him—all shriveled and crusty looking—he felt every bit as horrid as his counterpart from the docking bay.
Why are you still here? Danny studied the alien officer. He didn’t appear to be assigned to anything, nor did he have any kind of task or function to fulfill. He just sat there, huddled in the corner, helpless to do anything but watch.
The alien wheezed into his breather mask as the light went off in Danny’s head. You’re the witness.
“Sergeant Tucker.” The v
oice came like solid ice.
Danny recognized it instantly, and his blood ignited at the sound. Gotta stay cool. Can’t lose it yet; got a job to do. Slowly, Danny turned his gaze toward the dim sliver of light at the chamber’s center floor. “Chancellor. Been a while.”
“Indeed, it has.” Masterson strode forward, midnight-black cloak flowing regally at his heels, the chancellor’s saber draped at his side.
Danny eyed the latter and saw a faint speck of green atop the ceremonial hilt. Its color matched that of the stain next to the command chair. So, that’s how you took command.
“I must confess, Sergeant,” Masterson said. “Even with the bounty I put on your head, I was beginning to wonder if this promised little meeting of ours would ever take place.”
Danny scoffed. “Yeah, what’s that up to these days—three hundred, four hundred thousand credits?”
“A hundred.”
Danny frowned. “Damn, I could’ve sworn it was at least twice that. Guess I should’ve smoked more of your goons while I had the chance.”
A baton smashed the backs of Danny’s knees, crumpling him to the floor.
“Well, regardless,” Masterson said. “Imagine my surprise to learn of your capture right here on Alystier. And for what—some half-cocked endeavor to reach me in a stolen centurion’s armor? Come now, Tucker; I thought you were smarter than that.”
Danny shrugged. “What can I say? I heard about your invasion plans for Aura, and I had an opening, so I took it. Was it my finest hour as a strategist? Hell no. But I figured the clock was ticking, so here I am.”
“Yes.” Masterson gloated through a thick smile. “Here you are. If only your friend Summerston could see you now.”
“Ah, still got a woody on for Lee, I see.” Danny heaved a sigh. “Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, chico, but I can’t help you there. He and I parted ways some time ago. Don’t fret, though. You can always imagine him whacking your kid while you’re jerking it in your office.”
Without warning, save for a quick nod from Masterson, another baton slammed into the back of Danny’s head, toppling him over. Unlike before, however, the assault didn’t end there. A second shot sent a lightning bolt through his right clavicle, then another to his chest and another to his arms, his legs, his knees, his torso, his shoulders, and yes, even his groin.
Danny gasped for a breath, any breath, his muscles and nerve endings on fire, when the beating finally ended.
Masterson seethed over him. “The time for your insolence is over, my mouthy little friend. Soon enough, it’ll be Summerston’s head at the end of my saber, followed closely by those of Katahl, Wylon, Zier, that traitor, Briggs, and anyone else who would dare stand against me. The Alystierian Empire will be reborn. The gods have decreed it, and nothing can stop that from happening. Not even you.” Masterson drew the chancellor’s saber, its long, ceremonial blade glinting in the starlight. “You should know, Tucker, that initially it was not my intent to kill you quickly. Alas, I’m afraid that some forms of gratification are just too sweet to delay.” He gripped the saber tightly in both hands and held it high over his head. “Good-bye, Sergeant Tucker.”
“I’ll give you the armor!” Danny cringed, having just played the only card he had left.
Masterson held. “You’ll what?”
“The Kurgorian armor,” Danny repeated. “I can give you access to it.”
“I don’t need you for that.”
“Oh, really?” Danny spat a mouthful of crimson onto the deck and risked a glance upward. “Pardon me for saying so, Chancellor, but you’ve had your people on that project for how long? And they’ve yielded what in the way of results? And in all that time, I’ve been running roughshod over your guys because none of them could stand against me. I can give you the technology; I can show you how it works…if you let me walk.”
Masterson lowered his saber and planted the tip in front of Danny’s face. “You negotiate from a faulty position, Sergeant. I don’t need you alive to learn the secrets of your Rogue armor. Once you’re dead, I’ll turn your body over to Dr. Kerns for analysis on those interesting little ports in the back of your skull.”
“Anybody who knows anything about Kurgorian tech knows there’s a bio component to everything they do,” Danny rushed to say. “The armor’s no different.”
Masterson cocked his head. “Explain.”
“The suits use a chemical cocktail to facilitate the neural link between the armor and the operator. It’s what makes them so efficient. Problem is, the cocktail was never designed to bridge the armor with a human. That’s why the suits run like crap with us inside. But my people changed that. We altered the formula to bridge with our physiology.”
Masterson pursed his lips. “And you would give me this formula in exchange for your release?”
“I would.”
Masterson turned his attention back to the viewport to weigh Danny’s offer.
Come on, you arrogant prick. You know you can’t turn this down.
The chancellor’s reflection formed a grim smile. “And how can you trust that I’ll honor my end of the bargain to let you go when this is all over?”
Please. I’m deader than Julius Caesar the minute I give you the juice. Danny smirked and presented his shackles. “Do I really have a choice?”
Masterson turned. “Let’s say, for the sake of discussion, that I do agree to your terms. What assurances do I have that you won’t retake your armor and come after me again?”
“The centurions you sent after the colony on Thawnose trashed my armor after they caught me, so I wouldn’t expect that to be a problem.”
“I can appreciate that, Sergeant, but you’ve proven yourself quite resourceful on your own. Rogue armor or no, you’ll find a way if you mean to.”
Danny closed his eyes and once more allowed the memory of Madisyn to flood his thoughts: the majesty of her eyes, the warmth of her smile, the sense of purpose he felt while he was with her. Then came the memory of her end, brutal, cold, and savage as it was. Danny let it all in, unfiltered, then he crumbled under the weight of it. “I’m done, Masterson. I’m done doing this. Once the Aurans are gone—and we both know that’s pretty much inevitable at this point—I’ll have no allies and no safe harbor left to me. For all intents and purposes, I’ll be an orphan.”
Masterson cocked his head. “But better an orphan than dead.”
“That’s the thought, yeah.” Danny dropped his head. “I just wanna go home, man. That’s it. Let me go my own way, and I’ll give you what you need to have fully functioning centurions of your own.”
Masterson considered. “And what of your friends—Summerston and the others? Do you intend to just leave them here to their fates?”
Danny shrugged and let his dejection sink even further. “It is what it is. If they’d listened to me six years ago, we’d have never gotten into this mess to begin with. So, do we have a deal or not?”
Masterson rose to his full height, all but radiating pride. “Indeed, Sergeant Tucker. A deal we do have. Provide my people with this formula you speak of, and you have my word that I’ll let you go.”
Danny nodded and lowered his head. “So, where’s the brig around here, anyway?”
“Oh, I have no intention of letting you out of my sight.” Masterson gestured the guards toward a rail roughly two and a half meters up the CIC’s starboard wall.
“Whoa, what is this?” Danny jerked his head from side to side as the guards picked him up by his restraints. They dragged him across the floor and locked his wrists to the bar.
“Please, Sergeant Tucker.” Masterson chortled. “What kind of host would I be if I left you alone to your devices while everything you know is wiped from creation?”
Danny raged against his restraints. “You son of a bitch!”
“Comm.” Masterson spun to the imperial officer down front. “What is the status of the fleet?”
The officer spun in his chair. “All ships report green to jum
p, Sire.”
“Excellent.” Masterson clasped his hands. “Ready your finest wines and songs of victory, friends, for this war ends today. Helm, lay in a course for Aura, and prepare to jump on my mark.”
* * * * *
Chapter 35: Indebted
The Praetorian’s flight deck was abuzz with activity, which was typical in the hours leading up to combat. Lee could feel that this was different, though. There was a sense of grandeur in the air, a sense of finality. Judging by the faces of the scurrying personnel around him, Lee was pretty certain they felt it, too. So, now we come to it.
Stopping by the hangar’s far side, Lee connected with the shuttle pilot who’d been assigned to take him back to the Kennox and signaled to her that he needed a minute. She nodded back but gestured to her watch that they couldn’t stay long.
Lee crossed the deck’s central runways and found Briggs, Zier, and their team gearing up at a maintenance pod for their black-ops run on the Kamuir. Their newly assigned code breaker was among them, and just as Lee had feared, it was his wife.
He locked eyes with her as he approached.
“Hey, babe; what’s up?” Mac dropped her rucksack. She wore black fatigues and full tactical gear like the rest of them.
Lee smiled and considered his words. “The captain in me totally gets why you’ve got to do this, but that don’t mean the husband in me has to like it.”
“No arguments here.” Mac made a face. “I’m not exactly wild over the idea of a spacewalk between ships via a pneumatic jetpack built for a mechanic. But it’s our best shot at boarding the Kamuir undetected. We take a ship, even a small one, and we’re toast.”
“And if Masterson’s people enter the system gunnin’?” Lee asked. “Pretty sure you’re toast then, too.”
“Probably. But Wylon’s always been a smooth talker where negotiations are concerned, so you can bet he’ll be ready with his A Game. If all goes well, we should be through the debris field and to the hatch before anyone knows we’re there.”
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