War Dog

by Andrew Beery

  I explained that the three Marines would make a better rescue team for me—should the need arise, than I would with two enlisted that I barely knew.

  Mike reluctantly conceded the logic. He stepped into my hand and I gave him a servo assisted toss to the air. Private Ryan and Corporal Ramirez caught each of his arms and pulled him the rest of the way up.

  Next, I grabbed the light panel and tossed it up to the others. The idea was we would replace it on our way out. With luck this would delay our hosts as they tried to discover how we escaped. That had been our plan at any rate. It was a good plan as far as it went… sadly, it did not go far enough.

  Mike and Ramirez were holding onto Private Ryan’s legs and just beginning to lower him back down into the brig, so I could jump up and use him as a Marine rope… when I heard the sound of approaching dragon feet. Their four-footed gate made a very unique sound.

  I hand-signed for Mike to pull the Private up and reset the light panel. I proceeded to sit on one of the three rectangular blocks situated about the cell. I tried to look bored… at least as bored as a man can look while wearing a Marine Encounter Suit.

  The panel was just falling into place when I heard the door mechanism begin to open. I debated trying to rush the guards that entered but I decided there was a time to be foolish and a time to be smart… this was most likely a time for the second and not the first.

  The dragon that opened the door was none other than my good buddy the Supreme Guard himself.

  ***

  I have to say, my second meeting with the old boy went a hell of a lot better than the first. It turned out the Rohar detested weakness. They hated interacting with races they deemed as having no scent. It seemed the stronger the Rohar, the more drool they produced… the more scent they scattered. Seriously, the sign of a powerful Rohar is the amount of slobber they can generate – ya can’t make stuff like this up.

  They tolerated membership in the Galactic Order only because membership brought advantages to their people and at the same time there was no requirement to interact with the weaker races. The whole ‘take offense at the drop of a hat’ façade was a way for them to retain a sense of isolation.

  By fighting back and then subsequently escaping confinement, we had established ourselves as a race worthy in their eyes.

  It had taken me about six hours to contact the Colonel again. The Marines had gone radio silent as per protocol. Every six hours they would turn their radios on for sixty seconds. I had my MES send a recall message every fifteen seconds.

  In the six hours we were out of contact, Mike and his men had left a surprisingly long line of tasered and bound dragons in their wake. It seemed they were trying to make their way back to the shuttle… presumably to call for reinforcements.

  Every time a new bunch of bound Rohar were discovered and reported, NicNic, which was the Supreme Guard’s name, would burst out into laughter. After this happened for the seventh or eighth time, I resolved to have the engineering team install visor wiper blades… just to handle the spittle that kept covering me.

  Mike had the last laugh it seemed. As the six-hour blackout window opened up, I was finally able to converse with my Marine Commander. It appeared the trail of tasered dragons had been a ruse.

  “Colonel Morrison, you can stand down,” I said over the comms as I finally got a channel open indicator.

  “Queen to Queen’s level Three,” came the cryptic response.

  I looked over at NicNic. The Rohar was either the best alien actor that I had ever met, or we could trust them. The bottom line was we needed information and allies more than we needed safety. With that in mind, I gave the correct counter sign.

  “Queen to King’s Level One. I believe we may have found some allies.”

  “Understood sir. I’ve been monitoring your situation closely for the last several hours. If you’d inform our host that I’ll be arriving shortly; I’d take it as a kindness if his soldiers would abstain from shooting me.”

  I looked at NicNic again as I checked my friend’s location on my HUD. Now that his locator beacon was back on, I could see that he was indeed close… very close.

  “The Colonel is about to stop by. He’d appreciate it if your men didn’t shoot him when he arrived,” I said with a grin.

  NicNic barked an order at one of the two guards in the room. The Roharian soldier started to move towards the door to relay the command to the guards outside.

  I held up my hand. “I beg your forgiveness Supreme Guardian. When I said, ‘stop by’ I should have said ‘drop in’.”

  I’m not sure what was louder. The ruckus made by the falling light panel or the Supreme Guardian’s laughter.

  Chapter 20: Making Friends with the Dog…

  Back on the Gilboa I held a senior staff meeting. A representative of the Rohar was also in attendance. It seemed the dragons had an easier time breathing our air than we did theirs. The Roharian emissary was sensitive to the intensity of light we used on the Gilboa, so he wore specially fitted contact lens that both filtered the light coming into his eyes. In addition, the lenses provided an augmented reality overlay that allowed him to read the English script that now dominated the Gilboa’s electronic displays.

  The emissary’s name was unpronounceable. Whiskers suggested we call him Jowls and surprisingly the emissary liked the name.

  Jowls stood at the conference table rather than sitting. It seemed with four legs to stand on, sitting was too much of a bother. As a concession to the sensibilities of other races, the emissary stopped the excessive drooling that characterized their race.

  Apparently, the drooling was under voluntary control… much like a human spitting. Remembering the amount of slime, the Supreme Guardian had covered me with, during the course of our second conversation, I vowed to address the issue man-to-dragon the next time I saw him.

  The emissary began laying out what happened while the Gilboa was searching for help.

  I knew most of what was going to be shared but I needed the rest of my senior staff to know what we were facing. Having Jowls conduct the briefing would accomplish two things. First, it would afford me a second perspective on the events of the last year or so in Galactic Order space – I already had the Supreme Guardian’s take on the events that had transpired. Second, it would give my crew a chance to learn what the Rohar were really like.

  The Archons, Mitty and Shella, had been shocked to learn that the dragons had a sense of humor and were actually very easy to get along with once you had earned their respect.

  “Once the Saulites were effectively eliminated by a specially crafted virus, the Galactic Order fell into disarray. An armada of strange ships began sweeping the quadrant. Some worlds they would completely ignore. Others they would attack. It seemed completely random.

  “Our home world was one of the last ravaged. The enemy used our own Galactic Order ships against us. To this day, we do not know if the people crewing those ships were from the Galactic Order or if they were this mysterious enemy.

  “We attempted to defend ourselves. After the Saulite, the Rohar were the only military force left in the Galactic Order. The problem was our operations had always been defensive and never intended to ward off an invasion fleet, especially not one augmented by the resources of our own allies.

  “To make matters worse, the enemy seemed to have access to better technology. We could beat them but only when several ships concentrated their fire on a single enemy craft. We captured a few Saulite attack vessels and attempted to mount a more credible defense, but, in the end, we were too few.

  “After a devastating space battle that saw most of our soldiers killed, our homeworld fell. The enemy paid dearly for their victory, but then, so did we. Much of our world is a nuclear wasteland. From what we have been able to determine, the same is true for other worlds that attempted to resist the incursion.

  “Those of us who survived made it our business to… how do you humans say it? Make the bastards pay. We already control
led several of the natural Skip Space sinks… ones like the system we are in now.

  “If a large armada comes through we remain hidden. If a single ship or even a small group passes through, we take them out. Yours is the first ship to come through that we were not able to easily destroy with our fixed-weapons platform. I’d be curious to know how you defended yourselves so ably.”

  I leaned forward. “Humans are somewhat unusual in that we can excel at a number of tasks. Once we had access to Galactic Order technology, we were able to see ways to improve upon it. The Gilboa is the result of those enhancements.”

  “I see,” Jowls said. “Our partnership may well be a God-sent. With the help of humanity, we may be able to turn the tide of this war… even at this late hour.”

  “That is certainly my intent,” I added.

  “Tell me, Jowls, do your people have any idea who this enemy is or even what they want?” Colonel Morrison asked.

  I smiled slightly. Those had been the very questions I was going to ask next.

  The emissary actuated the conference table’s holographic display.

  “These are representations of the types of ships that attacked our world. The Gilboa is displayed to provide a sense of scale. As you can see, with the exception of the Birther ship, all are considerably smaller than the Gilboa. That said, they each pack as much firepower as several of our more powerful ships. We have never seen the Birther fire its weapons but given the number of gun ports visible on its hull, we estimate its firepower exceeds that of the combined swarm of attack craft that launch from its hangers.

  “We have never been able to communicate with them. Their mode of operation is almost always the same. They arrive and attack. They never ask for terms. They conquer a planet and then begin mining operations.”

  Shella spoke for the first time in our meeting.

  “You said ‘Their mode of operation is almost always the same’. By always, I’m assuming the sterilization of the Saulites and Archon homeworld, represent the deviations from their standard operating procedures.”

  “That is correct Ambassador. As for why the deviation… we are not adept at tactics.”

  “Do we know what they were mining for?” I asked although I had a suspicion I knew what the answer was going to be.

  Jowls used his tongue to taste the air. I think that was the dragon’s way of rubbing their chins in thought.

  “It’s very odd. We see them dig a lot of dirt and rock. Sometimes a cargo hauler, one of ours, will make landfall and then shortly depart. There never appears to be enough time between touchdown and takeoff to load much onto the hauler. Many times, once the hauler departs, the enemy also abandons the dig.”

  I nodded. Jowls had added a new piece to the puzzle.

  “You said many times. What are the exceptions?”

  “There is only one that I am aware of. In the case of the Archon homeworld, a massive dig was conducted… one that dwarfed what we have seen on other worlds. No hauler ever landed but once the digging was done… the enemy glassed the entire dig site with high-yield fusion bombs.”

  Again, I nodded.

  “This would tend to confirm our working theory,” I said to the group.

  Now it was Jowl’s turn to ask us a question. I proceeded to explain our speculation as to what the unknown enemy was doing. That they had somehow come into possession of a limited amount of Ancestor technology and were hellbent on acquiring more.

  I told the emissary about our encounter with the normally peaceful Tas and our speculation that they may in fact be agents of the Ancestors tasked with hiding Ancestor artifacts.

  It was Mike that brought up the elephant in the room. If we were fighting an adversary that had access to Ancestor tech then the best way to counter them would be to have access to our own cache on Ancestor tech.

  “If such delights were available for the taking… they’d already be taken… if ya get my drift,” Whiskers said.

  I smiled. Whiskers caught the twinkle in my eye and asked me point-blank; what was the insane plan I had just come up with. I told them.

  ***

  “Admiral on the bridge,” Commander Shelby barked crisply as I exited the turbolift.

  “As you were,” I said with mild annoyance.

  I had almost broken my First Officer of this particular habit but the arrival of the Roharian emissary had rekindled her adherence to protocol. I responded by grabbing a bag of popcorn and munching it loudly was I sat in my command chair. When she walked over to my chair I offered the bag to her. As expected, she declined.

  “Orders, Admiral?”

  “Are the Roharian ships ready?” I asked. My plan, such as it was depended on the Rohar.

  “Affirmative. They were able to scrape together eight ships. There are four more that our engineering staff says could be made battle-ready with a few more weeks of time and effort.”

  “The eight will have to do. We don’t even know if the Tas are going to be willing to talk with us… much less agree to retrofit our ships with their missile tech.”

  “Understood. I’ll let the engineering staff know to close down repair operations on the remaining Roharian ships. We should be able to get underway within the hour,” Shelby said.

  “Very good Number One. Please advise both of our Ambassadors that their duty stations will be on the bridge during any alien contact situations.”

  “I anticipated your order, Sir. I have had engineering reconfigure two of the rear bridge stations to accommodate each of the Ambassadors. Each station is configured with control surfaces and readouts that are suitable for either Archon or Roharian users. I’ve also taken the liberty of asking Commander McGraw to design a suitable space for a Taserite environmental module. As you might recall, they require a considerably higher atmospheric pressure than we can tolerate.”

  “That’s exceptional work, Commander. Did Whiskers think he and his team can do it?”

  “Absolutely, Sir,” Commander Shelby said with the slightest of smiles. “There is only one minor change to the current bridge configuration that needs to be made.”

  “Great,” I said. “Just for grins and kicks, what would that change be?”

  “Oh, nothing critical, Sir,” she answered evasively.

  “Commander?”

  “They’ll need to remove the popcorn machine.”

  ***

  An hour and fifteen minutes later we were on our way. Nine ships led by the Gilboa. For the second time in my illustrious career, I was the commander of record of a fleet… only this time the ships weren’t mothballed.

  Chapter 21: Tricky Dog

  It took us about a week to make it back to the system where we had previously encountered the Tas. As my small fleet dropped out of Skip Space, I put the first part of my plan into motion.

  “Sensors, do a full active scan. Light us up like a Christmas tree. If the Tas are still here I want them to see us.”

  “Aye, Admiral,” Ensign MacDonald replied crisply. “Full scan initiated. Initial data should be returning from the nearest planetary body in roughly six minutes. Passive scans show no foreign ships within range of our optical systems.”

  “Very good, Ensign. Engineering, you know what to do the moment we get a sensor ping back from that Taserite task force?”

  “Absolutely, Admiral. And I hope this works. If it doesn’t it’s going to be worse than piss’n into the wind.”

  “Thank you for that lovely image, Engineer. If this goes south, I’ll die with that comforting thought on my mind.”

  “We aim to please, Admiral,” Whiskers replied smugly.

  Mitty shimmered into existence next to me.

  “Sir, I’ve run those calculations you asked me to. As expected, they took quite a while. Based on our limited knowledge of the Tas, I estimate only a sixty-eight percent chance that the Gilboa will not be destroyed.”

  “That’s not so bad. Our chances of stopping the enemy from pillaging every nearby system for Ancestor artifacts with
out some way of leveling the playing field is near zero. I’ll take a sixty-eight percent chance of success any day.”

  “You misunderstand my response, Admiral. I was referring only to the destruction of the Gilboa. Our chances of complete success are only twenty-three percent. If we allow for partial compliance with our requests the odds improve to fifty-fifty.”

  “There ya go, Mitty,” I said with a grin and a twinkle in my eye. “Fifty-fifty are great odds in a game where the house almost always wins. Sometimes you have to commit to the dice and allow lady luck a chance to help you.”

  “I’m sure I don’t understand what any of that means,” the Archon said. “But, I trust you know what you are doing.”

  “Contact, Admiral,” Ensign MacDonald reported. “There are a few more of them this time. Counting… Twenty-Four Taserites inbound. Same ship configuration as before.”

  “Thank you, Chris,” I replied.

  “Comms, alert the Rohar that operation ‘Two Dog’ is a go. Whiskers if you would be so kind as to cut power to all non-critical systems besides the running lights, I would be appreciative.”

  “Aye, Admiral. Going belly up, now.”

  ***

  Three minutes later the lead Tas Talon saw the two Galactic Order battleships power down all their systems. One ship sat alone in space. The other was surrounded by Roharian Light Cruisers. It was a curious configuration.

  They, of course, had no way of knowing the ship surrounded by the Rohar was actually a massive holographic projection. One of the reasons the Gilboa had powered down her non-essential systems was to reduce her electromagnetic signature so that the real ship and the decoy appeared more closely identical.

  The commander of the lead Tas Talon thought hard about what he was seeing. The Rohar were not known to be in league with the Defilers. Perhaps that had changed.

  The collective spent the several hours that it took to reach the interlopers contemplating the nature of this threat. There were several possibilities. Destruction of the invaders was deemed the best possible course of action to insure the fulfillment of the prime directive.