He hoped the commander wasn’t watching him. The weapons specialist didn’t dare look back.
Find the weaknesses, he implored himself.
Lord Mantis immersed himself once again in the tactical map of the enemy. A massive space station. A sprawling shipyard. A Gate half a day’s journey away. More than a hundred ships in and around the shipyard. Not all would be a threat.
Passive information suggested that fully half were on minimal power, unmanned and disengaged. The commander didn’t believe it. He expected they could be activated and thrown into the battle on short notice. He wasn’t sure they needed crew.
The aliens were more technologically advanced than the Myriador, yet it never crossed his mind to negotiate with the infiltrators. They needed to be removed, and that was final.
The Gate had to be closed. They couldn’t abide any more aliens spreading the cancer.
And that one ship that stood by itself. It surged with power. Heavily armored. It wouldn’t go down easily. Kill you first or last? he asked himself, shaping the battle in his mind, analyzing the possibilities, and calculating his best chance for success.
For the glory of Myriador.
“What to do with you, my love?” Felicity drawled as Ted stood in the doorway to her office. Her office looked toward Spires Harbor, the shipyard named in honor of her first husband. As station manager, she had the biggest office on Keeg Station. She used it to entertain those who wanted to do business with the station, now that its existence had been made public and it had been added to the trade routes.
Business was booming—so much so that she needed to expand the station. Ted wasn’t happy, since he now had to contend with people who had no business knowing that the Federation had a branch of the R2D2 research facility on the station.
“Return the station to the way it was,” Ted repeated for the seventh time.
Felicity made a kissy face at her husband. “That horse has left the barn, the door is closed, and the barn is burning down. The horse shall run free like the stallion he is!”
Ted looked blankly at her, then opened his mouth to make his point for the eighth time. Felicity threw her hands up in surrender, standing to saunter toward the engineering genius. She’d learned his foibles over the years, and sometimes an impasse remained an impasse, no matter how much she wanted it to be something else.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him fully and passionately. Someone nearby cleared their throat. Felicity finished when she finished, taking the time to look into Ted’s eyes afterward. He looked back, and finally, his expression softened. “I’ll move the lab to the War Axe.”
“That sounds like a perfectly reasonable accommodation until they give you one of those nice ships out there. If you had one all your own, we could go on a vacation, a lover’s retreat...” She let the last words dangle, but Ted’s mind had already gone to a different place, one where his own ship could be outfitted to test the latest breakthroughs.
Where no one would bother him and Plato.
He smiled awkwardly before turning and walking away. Felicity accepted the smile as genuine. She didn’t need to hear his words. She knew he cared about her and the children. So deeply that it had altered who he was. She smiled to herself, thinking back to the day he had accepted her marriage contract, one of convenience for both of them.
“See you soon,” she whispered as she watched him walk away.
A gentle thrumming broke through her thoughts. In the outer office, a man waited impatiently, tapping his foot to not-so-coyly grab her attention.
She smiled at him, and he started to approach. She held up her hand to stop him and shook her head. “You can go away until you learn some manners. Have a little respect. Reschedule with my assistant.”
Felicity stepped into her office and closed the door on his protests. By the time she made it to her desk, he had burst in behind her.
“Dionysus, send Security to my office to arrest an intruder,” she said casually. The AI was always listening. Ted had insisted on that.
“Do you know who I am?” the man blustered.
“I’m sorry that you think I care who you are. Get out of my office.” Felicity was done playing, and her cold voice had a sharp edge.
“We had an appointment!” the man declared. Felicity still didn’t know who he was, and would confess to being mildly surprised that he hadn’t enlightened her.
But she was honest in saying that she didn’t really care. It was her station, and its success or failure rested solely with her. Judging by the exponential growth, she was doing just fine without Mister Blusterbottom’s assistance.
Two security guards appeared and forced their way past the man to stand between him and Felicity. Harborians. New recruits, larger than the average Harborian. The station manager approved.
“I had an appointment,” the man grunted before turning to leave. The guards grabbed him from behind and deftly cuffed his wrists together. “Wait a minute!”
“Decorum must be observed in all things, whoever you are. Until you decide to respect this office and abide by the rules of decent society, you’ll remain in custody. Do you understand me?”
The Harborians yanked the man around to face Felicity.
She wasn’t smiling. She was deadly serious.
“But...” His voice faded.
“Take him away.” Felicity punctuated the order with a flick of her hand. “And thank you for getting here so quickly. My safety is in your hands when such barbarians enter the gates.”
“We have ordered one of our shift security personnel to remain in the outer office while you are in yours, ma’am.”
“That is very kind, but you don’t have to call me ‘ma’am.’ It makes me sound old!” she declared in her unique southern twang. Little did they know that she was upwards of two hundred years old since she still looked to be in her thirties.
Felicity sat at her desk and accessed the comm system. “Colonel Terry Henry Walton, please.”
“Now’s not a good time, Felicity,” Terry replied. The voice was reproduced since he was using his internal comm chip, something he rarely did.
“I wanted to tell you that Ted is transferring the R2D2 research facility to the War Axe. He thinks the station has gotten too crowded with ne’er-do-wells.”
“Not sure when he’s going to be able to get over here. There’s an enemy ship out here, and we can’t track it. It’s got some kind of cloaking system and is invisible. We’re going to General Quarters, and we’ll try to turn the tables, but we can’t find it. We need Ted, but we can’t risk him getting hurt trying to transfer him.”
“You bet your ass you can’t risk hurting my husband!” Felicity blurted. “A ship? I didn’t hear anything about a ship.”
Felicity scowled at the screen.
Terry Henry didn’t reply. He was already gone.
“Dionysus, please explain what Colonel Walton was saying.”
“A Harborian ship exploded a short while ago. Despite the combined scanning systems of the Bad Company fleet, I was unable to determine the cause of the explosion. Shonna and Merrit thought it might have been caused by a mine, but I could find no evidence. I do not have any other information to corroborate Colonel Walton’s claims. I’m sorry, Felicity.”
“Don’t be sorry, Dion. I expect TH knows what he’s talking about. Continue your analysis with the presumption that an enemy ship is able to defeat our systems. Coordinate with Smedley to get Ted to the Axe. If they want to defeat an enemy they can’t see, they will need him.”
“I agree with that wholeheartedly,” the AI replied.
“Wholeheartedly. What a strange thing for a machine to say.” Felicity walked to her window and looked out. “Who are you, and what are you doing out there?”
Chapter Five
Captain San Marino was not amused.
“How come we can’t see it?” he asked.
Terry and Char stood in front of the captain’s chair and tried to convinc
e him of the danger.
“I saw wisps in the Etheric. Things that shouldn’t be there.”
“But is that a ship?”
“It’s not something that has been here before. I’m pretty sure,” Char stated.
“Good enough for me. Sound General Quarters,” Micky ordered. He leaned back in this chair and interlaced his fingers in his lap “And now the big question. Can you tell us where?”
“I wish I could. Maybe if I sat with Joseph, Petricia, Aaron, Yanmei, and Christina, we’d be able to figure it out.
Terry used his comm chip to order the five to the captain’s conference room. “I’ll head out with the company in Christina’s place after we’ve picked Ted up. I think we’ll need him for this one.”
Char wasn’t sure. “He thinks he’s moving his lab here. I don’t think he’s expecting a running gun battle.”
“Who said anything about a gun battle?” Micky interjected.
“They’ve already blown up one ship,” Terry started.
“At the edge of the fleet, one that was in mothballs. That’s not my idea of a gun battle. Maybe a little terrorist action, but no one’s been hurt. If they—whoever ‘they’ are—come after us, they’ll have their hands full.” Micky crossed his arms and scowled at the main viewscreen. He glanced at his board, which was still red. Not all of the crew had returned to their GQ stations and reported ready.
“Maybe you can broadcast a message in all languages on all frequencies to see if we can get them to talk before this goes too far. If they start hurting our people, we won’t be able to dial it back.”
Smedley replied, “Will do. Broadcasting a message of peace and goodwill.”
“I doubt they’ll talk to us.” Micky slowly shook his head.
“I do, too, but how would we feel if we hadn’t tried?”
“Like shit,” Micky answered unnecessarily. “We’ll keep running it until we don’t need to. I expect it will be clear when we’ve reached that point.”
Terry looked at Char one last time. She tipped her chin to him, and he nodded back. She disappeared into the captain’s conference room, while Terry headed out the main hatch on his way to the hangar bay. It was time to suit up. He wanted the firepower that the mechs provided. He wasn’t sure the Bad Company’s Direct Action Branch could take out a spaceship with just the weapons carried by the armored suits, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try.
Somewhere out there, a faceless enemy waited.
The weapons specialist started to sweat. The computer had efficiently helped him to map out the target locations on each of twenty-odd different enemy hull-types, including the Gate and the main space station. The bottom line was that the Traxinstall didn’t have sufficient weaponry to destroy the enemy.
He knew the commander had come to that same conclusion.
And the magnetic grapple installation had slowed significantly with his departure. He was being set up for failure—a spectacular downfall—because he couldn’t come through. He exposed the fangs encircling his rounded mouth. Once he accepted that he could not deliver what the commander wanted and that he would be summarily executed for his incompetence, better options were available.
He pulled up the tactical maps and rolled through the enemy targets. His breathing slowed as he stood. Prepared to accept his fate, he turned and faced the commander.
“Lord Mantis, I am incapable of achieving total destruction of the enemy, but if we want to drive them from the system, there may be another way.” The Myriador weapons specialist stood at attention, counting his remaining life in seconds, not years.
“Finally, the truth,” the commander replied. “Before we dropped our first mine, I had already come to that conclusion. Do you think I am half-assing this?”
“Of course not, Lord Mantis!” the specialist blurted. The bridge crew was silent, trying not to be caught watching as the scene played out. The specialist didn’t flinch. He lowered his voice and said firmly, “We can win this fight, for the glory of Myriador.”
“Explain,” Mantis commanded. His expression suggested he wanted a fresh opinion.
“We leave the Gate and drive them to it. Hit and run. Scare them into fleeing. The Traxinstall can destroy ten, maybe twenty ships before they hazard a guess where we are. And we hit the station when they are in disarray. We hit it hard, and then issue an ultimatum.”
“You want us to talk to the aliens?” the commander replied suggestively.
“It is yet another course in a series of tactical maneuvers, Lord Mantis.”
The commander motioned for the weapons specialist to join him at the three-dimensional tactical display. “My thinking was to hit them here and here,” he pointed at the outer sectors of the shipyard, “to drive them toward the minefield. We need to attain a certain level of attrition in order to instill fear. Once they are properly afraid, they will bend easily to our will.”
“And then we hit them along this flank, to channel them toward the Gate. Once it has been opened, we’ll let as many of them as possible leave.”
“But not before they evacuate their station. I doubt they would leave their people behind,” the specialist answered.
“What makes you say that?”
“Because I would not. We cannot assume the aliens are less honorable than we are. If they do leave their people behind, we destroy the station with energy weapons. At our leisure. But if we believe that they will want to evacuate their people, then we can’t let them open the Gate until the evacuation is ready. If they call for reinforcements, our mission will fail.”
The commander lifted his head to look down his nose at the upstart.
“You say what we are afraid to. There is a high risk that this mission will fail.” He faced the bridge crew, studiously avoiding looking at him.
“Eyeballs,” he demanded, and started to pace, walking past each station as he spoke loudly in defiance of his own rule about silence. “There is also a chance that this mission will succeed. The glory of Myriador! It is what we have served our entire careers for.
“Now is the greatest chance any of us have ever had. This isn’t a lone scout ship with a small crew digging in the rocks. This is a military force with a gross tonnage that exceeds the entirety of the Myriador fleet, and we are but one ship. Yes, it has been said right here on this bridge: our mission could fail. It should fail, but when we stand, one against many, we stand for our people and the sanctity of our space. We cannot allow this infestation to continue. For the glory of Myriador!”
Terry struggled into his suit, which smelled of sweat. He had only himself to blame. He should have cleaned it better after its last use. The suit powered up, welcoming him with a series of diagnostics, all resulting in green lights. He flexed the systems and reveled in the power the suit brought. He ran through his weapon systems, including hoisting the railgun, then strolled through the oversized corridors leading from the mechs’ maintenance and storage space to the hangar bay.
The company was milling about, not doing anything productive.
“Capples! What the hell do you have going on here?” Terry blared over the suit’s external speakers.
“Company, Fall in!” the sergeant ordered. The mechs stopped playing their various games of grab-ass and hurried into two platoons of three squads each. Kimber appeared from the shadows, with Auburn close by.
Terry clicked over to a person-to-person channel.
“We’ve got an enemy ship out there!” Terry started. “What the hell are you guys doing?”
“Trying to figure out what the hell is going on. No one, including you, is telling us anything!” Her retort came as a stinging rebuke. “We were digging in with Smedley to figure out what the hell is going on.”
“Point taken,” Terry conceded. “Form the company.”
Kimber pointed at the company, which was already in formation. “Are you okay, Dad?”
Terry’s eidetic memory was renowned throughout the Federation. He missed nothing, usually. He r
emained trusting and even naive regarding certain things, but when it came to war, he was laser-focused. A sponge for information, and a super-computer who turned that into intelligence before delivering a battle plan that had always guaranteed victory.
“I think so,” he replied softly. “Maybe my brain hit max density.” He made a show of shaking his head sideways as if trying to get water out of his ear.
“You should have the docs check you out.”
“I love those guys,” TH stated, sarcasm heavy with each word.
“I’m telling Mom.”
“Of course, you are.” Terry chuckled at the leverage his daughter used to bend him to her will. It ran through the women in his family. They all knew how to manipulate him.
Appropriately so.
“What do you say we get ready to kick some ass?”
“Just let us know what that ass looks like and where it is, maybe why it needs to be kicked, and all the information.”
“Jeez! You get that knife blade into the crack so you can keep wedging it in there, twisting and turning.” Terry gestured for Kimber and Auburn to lead the way. They both clumped ahead in their suits. When they were in place, Terry looked from left to right, taking in his warriors, who were identical in their heavy armor.
So much firepower. More than any regiment of Marines from his past. Inside the suits, the men and women of the Bad Company were driven, like him, like the Marines, but they didn’t wear the eagle, globe, and anchor. They weren’t even a formal military.
But they were his comrades in arms. He would continue going to war with them until war was no longer needed, and then he’d fade away, as all warriors do.
Over time, because times change. Wars change. Generations embrace someone new. That day had not yet come. This was still his day.
Destroyer: A Military Space Opera (The Bad Company Book 5) Page 4