She turned toward me, capturing my eyes in her fading purple ones, their intensity outshining the sagging eyelids and creasing crow’s feet framing them. “I kept telling myself you’d come. Through it all. Then, when I saw you, chained up…at the warden’s mercy.” She grimaced. “Mercy—something he never had…”
I interrupted her as she took a breath. “Janice, I’m glad I came. Found you. But I’m not a knight in shining armor. I’m just a Relic. A stubborn and angry one.”
“Doesn’t matter, Kra, what you think I think.” She looked at the Chicher commandos around us, and the blood and bodies. “Look at where we are. What’s happened. We might be dead ten minutes from now, but I wanted to thank you for saving me…again. You killed those Crax on the Kalavar. Fought against that armored one even when Chief Brold ordered you not to. I can only imagine what part you played in forcing their retreat on Tallavaster. And then you came here, where I was, and because I needed you.”
What could I say? She wasn’t the main reason I came. Being a prisoner for years, she had no idea of my part in bringing Capital Galactic down, and the wrath the loyalists intended for me. All of that didn’t matter. I shrugged. “Janice, as long as I’m drawing breath, Capital Galactic, and the Crax, can expect to pay.”
She smiled deeply and we embraced. “Maybe not in the same way,” she whispered, “but they can expect the same from me.”
She wasn’t the same person I’d met upon boarding the Kalavar. A new-found determination, even in the face of terrible odds had grown, despite Heartwell’s bid to break her spirit.
“Hey, knight and damsel,” McAllister said. “In ten minutes they’ll override my infiltration program. When they manage that, we don’t want to be here.”
We split up into two groups. The objectives being the modular dock’s transport, its two detachable components: aft thrust engine section and forward cascading engine compartment. Both were currently attached to the central of three modular sections. The transport’s thrust engines weren’t powerful enough to move all three dock modules with any efficiency, and the cascading atomic engine of the forward section wouldn’t be able to generate a sufficient antigravity field, let alone initiate condensed space travel for such a large midsection.
I was part of McAllister’s cohort, along with, Tahgs, Gerard, Marguerite, and fifteen Chicher commandos, five of them wounded with three attached to bearers, and two of the wounded secured to Gerard’s back. Wounded Chicher would fare better if in contact with a pack member, but having unencumbered fighters outweighed this temporary concern.
Our objective was to capture the modular transport’s forward section, detach it and move to rendezvous with the rear section. Guymin, Vingee, and Simms, along with the Chicher commando leader and the rest of his pack, were to capture the rear thrust section.
Guymin and Vingee got Chicher escorts as they had to travel farther and faced greater obstacles. Plus, almost any competent pilot could handle the rear thrust section, which was basically a small living area attached to four massive thrust engines along with their accompanying metallic hydrogen fuel tanks.
McAllister was a Senior Engineer and an expert in numerous areas, including cascading atomic engines. One of the Chicher commandos had rudimentary knowledge. A Relic Tech with rudimentary knowledge of what is, in essence, an Intermediate Tech component of space travel? Being a genius, McAllister probably knew as much as the Chicher Engineering Tech trainee upon her graduation from grammar school.
The other advantage McAllister’s group had was her computer expertise. She’d mapped a route for Guymin’s team, but CGIG units were on the move and situations changed. Vingee was more than competent once McAllister had gotten her into the dock’s system. McAllister, however, was better, hands down.
Four Chicher commandos were in the lead. I ran on McAllister’s right and Tahgs kept pace on her left. I had my MP rifle and McAllister had picked up a medium duty laser carbine. We each carried two holstered MP pistols scavenged from fallen enemies. Behind us were the three Chicher carrying a wounded pack member each, followed by Gerard and Marguerite. He had an MP rifle and she carried an MP pistol. An unburdened Chicher trio brought up our rear.
McAllister spoke as we jogged, glancing at her computer. “They just sealed off the area we left, Keesay. Decompression initiated.”
“Didn’t even bother to check for any survivors?”
“I looped some surveillance,” she replied with a wicked grin. “Apparently worked and they thought we were still there organizing our breakout.”
She checked the screen and spoke into her collar to the lead Chicher. “Left up here, then down the access ladder.” The leader’s translator did its job and he chattered instructions to his team.
To me and Tahgs, McAllister said, “We’re in the Capella system. This particular area was a scrap metal navigational hazard even before we arrived.”
“Debris from multiple engagements during the Silicate War,” I said. “Where the Iron Armadillo carved its way into history.”
McAllister rolled her eyes and checked her computer clip’s screen.
The Armadillo was a first series intragalactic military scout. Twenty-five years ago it was considered a very fast ship. It still would be by current I-Tech standards with a sub-condensed space speed of .38 percent the speed of light. It was the first vessel designed and built with direct Umbelgarri assistance and carried its own cascading atomic engine for initiating condensed space travel.
The Armadillo first saw action late in the Silicate War, eight years after the Umbelgarri recruited humans in what was termed the Carbon Cause. She was one of the first human vessels sent into action against the Shards without Umbelgarri or other allied support. Until that time, humanity had been restricted to a very miniscule corner of the Milky Way because humans were incapable of condensing space. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on who is asked, the Umbelgarri contacted Earth through its Mars Colony and sponsored mankind into Interstellar Society.
Initially mankind was recruited for ground combat with human ships limited to rear echelon support. Humanity’s violent history ever honed its combat resourcefulness, and the Umbelgarri directed that against the Shards. Human ships, like the Colonial Marines, bristled with effective weaponry. The Umbelgarri helped humans design the first series scout to add speed and mobility to humanity’s arsenal.
After detecting a Silicate fleet exiting a wormhole near the double star Capella, the Armadillo outfought two Shard frigates, destroying one, damaging and outrunning the second. The Armadillo escaped to warn a mixed Umbelgarri-Felgan fleet. The heroic action stalled a Silicate flanking maneuver. It also earned respect among several alien races.
The combat damage sustained necessitated emergency patching over forty percent of the Armadillo’s hull. The result wasn’t pretty, with the dockworkers dubbing the hastily repaired ship the Iron Armadillo. The name stuck.
That wasn’t the only battle fought around the double star Capella. Two others had been fought there. The second engagement sent a combined fleet to disrupt development of a Shard supply depot. The third battle started with a combined fleet surprising and destroying a small Shard patrol. Named Poseidon’s Trident, at least by human admirals, each race involved in the action was symbolized by one of the trident’s tines. It was also the place the attack fleet waited for less than a day to enact its primary mission. The famed military strategist Maximar Drizdon Sr. had anticipated a Shard created wormhole’s formation. That allowed the staged Umbelgarri task force, supported by human and Felgan war and supply ships, to overwhelm the Shards as they exited the wormhole, and then enter the intergalactic conduit before it closed.
Exactly what happened on the other end, where the Umbelgarri-Felgan-Human attack fleet appeared, thought to be the Andromeda Galaxy, remains unknown. It’s believed the ships participating in Poseidon’s Trident survived the transit and took the fight to an unprepared enemy. What’s known for sure? From the date of the combined fleet’s dep
arture, moving forward, no created wormholes have been detected and Shard reinforcements ceased. That allowed the carbon-based races to get the upper hand and ultimately defeat the silicon-based invaders.
The key had been Dr. Drizdon’s accurate prediction of the wormhole’s appearance, the Shards’ mode of travel between galaxies. No known races hailing from the Milky Way have either the knowledge to create or the technological prowess to harness the power necessary for a wormhole’s formation, both stable and large enough for intergalactic travel.
McAllister tapped a few places on her screen, altering the angle of security cameras apparently observing our movement.
“They already think we’re two decks below our current position,” McAllister said. “We’ll turn left up here. They’ll see us turning right.” With that, she spoke orders to the lead Chicher commando through her collar mic. “Left ahead, then straight. Almost there.”
I was still curious, but also getting winded. With the Chicher leading, I could adequately watch for an ambush while listening to McAllister. Taking a breath I realized I wasn’t thinking straight. Insignificant as it was, her voice added to our tromping boots and the rattling equipment attached to the Chicher harnesses as they scampered along on all fours. And adequately watching for an ambush?
I gripped my MP rifle and began closer observation of the narrow corridor we traversed. Ahead we were to turn left, into a wider corridor. With a tap on her screen, ahead of us panels to ladder accesses slid closed, ensuring our safety.
McAllister slowed and worked her screen. “The other team blew through a random patrol. I wasn’t able to stop the position report, only truncate it.”
“Bad news for them,” Gerard said, working hard to keep pace.
“Lethal news for us if they don’t make it,” McAllister said. “Even with a cascading atomic engine, we won’t get anywhere fast with a pair of class three auxiliary thrust engines.” She focused on her computer readouts again. “That’s if we manage to outrun the remaining corporate fighters, and the armed freighters chasing down what’s left of the Chicher battlewagon and surviving Felgan destroyer.”
“Get down and behind me,” I ordered McAllister while stepping in front of her. “Nobody but you knows how to operate a cascading atomic engine.”
The Chicher commandos pressed forward, two of them going down to laser blasts. Tahgs and I added our fire down the wide corridor. It led to the hatch connecting the forward section of the modular transport to the dock.
The corridor was oval shaped, wider than it was tall with a platform floor and wide conduits running beneath it, and in conduit bundles along the concave sidewalls. What wasn’t covered by the multicolored and labeled conduits was metallic and polished to a sheen. A thirty-yard run without cover. The two male guards must’ve expected us. They had partial cover near the hatch.
We had to rush. Dock Security must’ve figured out McAllister’s electronic ruse. She reported thirty armed and angry loyalists closing in, less than two minutes away.
Our fire kept the two guards ducking and flinching, and from taking careful aim. That didn’t matter to them. They knew help was on the way.
The Chicher advance faltered as another two went down. The rest of our lead team took up positions beneath two conduit bundles running along the walls and opened fire.
I dropped my MP rifle and picked up one of the fallen Chicher. He’d taken a blast through the eye, cooking his brain. Smoke rose from the singed fur and charred flesh. Holding the rat-alien in front of me like a shield, I charged forward, yelling incoherently. Words didn’t matter. Closing the remaining twenty yards did.
Luckily I’d gripped his harness by the bottom. That meant the limp tail didn’t drag along the floor as I pounded forward. The body offered me about sixty percent cover. I hoped none of the Chicher commandos took exception to my tactic and shot me in the back, which was one hundred percent vulnerable—except for the built-in body armor. If they wanted to avenge the crude use of their fallen pack member, they’d nail me in the back of the head.
Pretty morbid thoughts as I closed.
One laser blast caught the top of my right shoulder, causing my aim to stray off target. My Chicher shield absorbed three shots, turning into flash-broiled meat in the process. I shoved the alien into the face of one guard while I sent two MP pistol rounds into the panicked face of the other.
A Chicher commando that must’ve been hot on my heels shot past me and brought down the guard trying to shove back against the singeing hot flesh. That was the difference between a light and medium duty laser. A heavy duty one would’ve burned through to me by the second shot, if I were lucky. Those were used to take down Gar Crax shields.
A thunk sounded above the dying guard’s screams, silenced when the commando slit his throat. McAllister had worked her computer magic. The reinforced steel hatch swung open.
Two more Chicher commandos scampered past me, into the ship. The sound of their gunfire and snap of MP rounds said we weren’t home free, yet. I followed them in, keeping low.
Tahgs was right on my heels. “I’m behind you.”
“Be sure of your target,” I warned over my shoulder.
“Right,” she agreed, but it didn’t matter. The instant everyone still alive was through the hatch, McAllister closed it and overrode the local security network and ordered the dock’s clamps to release the forward section of the modular transport. It was a good thing she wasn’t on Capital Galactic’s side.
The CGIG pilot and engineer, unconscious and bleeding out, were the only two on board. The Chicher ahead of us took them down within ten seconds of the hatch closing. We didn’t know that until several minutes of searching. I counted only four healthy Chicher, two of them burdened with a wounded pack member. Gerard and his two didn’t make it, but Marguerite had. She stood, her back to everyone, staring at the closed hatch.
McAllister shouted. “Team!”
Everyone looked her way. She pointed to me. “Keesay, I’ve got to crash start the cascading atomic engine. I want you to man the pulse laser above the cockpit, after you get everyone organized.” She took a Chicher with her, probably the Apprentice Engineering Tech.
I’d read about the modular dock project. The transport ship was a modified interstellar tug, stripped down to support a skeleton crew with minimal facilities. Three decks, with the pilot compartment top and up front with fuel and storage behind. The mid deck where we’d entered had three compartments. One for cold sleep, a common room for dining and recreation, and an office area. The bottom deck housed the cascading atomic engine in the bulbous chin, maintenance and machining equipment behind that, and the auxiliary thrust engines aft.
“Tahgs,” I said, “help the Chicher unbind from their wounded.”
“You,” I continued, snapping my finger and pointing at one of the Chichers. Then I pointed to at the silver disk on his harness.
He spun the plastic knob, switching it on. From experience, I knew it’d take a moment to warm up. It reminded me how much it would’ve helped to have my old com-set.
Marguerite hadn’t moved from her spot. I strode up to her. “I’m sorry about Gerard.”
She stared down at me, eyes wide and brimming with tears. “His face…” she whispered shakily. “It’s gone.”
“Piloting,” I said, taking her hand and trying to gauge how hard to press her. We were floating away from Capital Galactic’s modular dock. We needed to get underway. Join up with Guymin and his team aboard the drive half of the transport. Any moment, the ships chasing the Felgan and Chicher vessels would be receiving a recall order to take care of us.
Gerard had been slated as our primary pilot, experienced with intrasolar mass transit as a ferry pilot. We’d lost the ranking pack member who’d served several seasons as a midget frigate pilot, an oversized twin-boomed fighter. While we were deciding how to divide our forces, Marguerite claimed experience piloting her personal intrasolar yacht.
I pulled Marguerite across the room, to
ward the ladder leading to the pilot’s cockpit. “We’re counting on you.”
Marguerite’s nostrils flared and she resisted, twisting her arm.
Tahgs joined us. She replaced my grip with her gentle hands. “She and I will take care of it, Kra.” A reassuring smile spread across her wrinkled face. “Come on, Marguerite, I’ll copilot, okay?”
A hum ran through the ship, a steady vibration penetrating the soles of my appropriated boots. The Chicher exchanged looks and chittered. They noticed it, too.
I pointed to the one with the translator. He’d just plugged in the wire and stuck in the earbud. I’d find out if they had a problem with me using one of their fallen pack members as a shield. “You, select a pack member to care for your wounded.” I chose my words carefully, knowing complex translations confused the inexperienced. “The other will have to monitor the thrust engines, located aft, bottom of this ship. Engineer McAllister will control them through forward engineering.”
I waited for the device to translate. When the alien nodded once, I continued, being direct and concise. “You, with the translation disk, help your pack member assigned to the auxiliary thrust engines establish radio communication with the Engineer. Then act as runner of messages for Engineer McAllister. I will be manning the pulse lasers above the pilot compartment.”
The Chicher bowed once, his tail twitching to the left twice. “I hear and track your path, Pollinated Pack Member.” Before I could say anything else he turned and scampered over to the other Chicher and began issuing orders.
Rather than wait to see what they did, I made my way to the ladder and climbed up to the pilot station. There, Marguerite and Tahgs were strapped into their seats and working through the startup sequence. They wore headsets plugged into the flight data console. Tahgs was reading from a screen displayed checklist, and Marguerite verified or enacted a system as directed, repeating the directive when finished. Their voices were hurried and stressed.
Relic Hunted (Crax War Chronicles #2) Page 42