Othello slid his bare feet back across the floor, obviously lost in the sensation of feedback through his newly-connected nerves. “Marveling; taking it all in,” he said, smiling. “It’s incredible.”
“They look a whole lot more like you than your implants did.” Scott nodded and took a seat across the small alcove from him.
“You’ve got that right. No scars; no nothing. It’s as if the whole thing never happened. In fact,” he added, flexing at his knees, “I haven’t felt this good in years!”
Othello paused, seeing a look of concern on Scott’s face. “What’s eating you?”
Scott leaned forward as if to share a secret. “I can’t let this get around, but I think we might not have been told the whole story by the Lyrans or Omega,” he whispered and continued through the notes on his investigation, his approach with the commanders and their subsequent dismissal.
The miner followed along until the end. “I know you’ll hate to hear this,” he started, “but they probably made the right decision. They’ll be time enough for this kind of work soon enough. I think they’re looking out for Earth a whole lot more than they are for us. Truth be told, that’s what all of us should be doing.”
The engineer nodded, attempting to convolve the multiple responses together into something acceptable to his mind. “What are you planning on doing during the attack?”
“I’ll be putting my company back together from Extortion. Well, at least what’s left of it.” Othello balled his feet and grinned. “Hopefully they try some of their shit again and sneak their unhappy asses aboard. I’d hate to hang around on defense the whole time. Sit here helpless?” He shook his head. “No thanks, not my speed.”
Scott nodded. “That’s about what I was thinking,” he replied as his voice trailed off.
“Very true. If you’re not planning to fly or shoot, might as well just stay back here.” Othello gestured to the benign alien berth, far away from their expected battlefield. “That’s not how we roll. Grab some ammo and join us.”
“No kidding. There’s a whole lot more to see of the Lyrans and the fleet, but there’s no way you’re going without me.”
“Glad to hear it. Just don’t get yourself shot up,” Othello chuckled. “There’s no telling when the commander will need you to show up and save the day again.”
Scott nervously laughed. “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Either way, we’d better get suited up. I’m not sure what all the guys found in the Lyran armories, but from what I’ve already seen, anything they have will come in handy.”
***
Commander Fox was waiting on the Flagstaff’s flight deck for his fellow commander to return from the planet far below, hopefully with a newfound shred of common sense. When the alien transport landed before him, he had an expectation for who would be on board. That expectation was not a flight chief and a dozen maintainers.
“Chief Robins?” Fox asked, puzzled by the senior noncommissioned officer’s appearance. “Where’s Commander Grant?”
“Sir! Probably on his way back to the ship. We got a message that he wanted us to rally here and get his fighter ready as soon as possible.”
Fox nodded. Of course the commander wasn’t about to change his mind. “Good timing; I’ve been expecting him. The SR-X is on the next deck up.”
“Awesome! Hopefully our friends haven’t done too much damage to it.”
“I don’t think so,” Fox said, turning to lead the way upstairs with the new crew in tow. “He ran preliminary checks on it when we were still in the recovery ward and didn’t lose his shit so you might be in luck.”
“Very good,” Robins replied. “Do you know when we’re planning to launch?”
“Not yet but it’s probably going to be soon,” Fox said as they climbed the stairs to the upper deck just as a second alien shuttle came in to dock below them. The feet had barely touched down on the brushed metallic landscape before Grant bounded out of the airlock with Omega in a hurried stride behind. “Or maybe sooner than that,” Fox added. “Get to what you need, I’ll see what he’s got.” He turned to face the approaching officer.
“What happened?” Fox demanded while Grant sprinted up to them.
“We’ve got to leave now! Like right-effing-now!” he exclaimed, catching his breath, “We just did another signal sweep; the biggest base the Cygnans have is prepping to launch! We don’t have any time to waste!”
“What are you talking about? The ones that are hunting for Earth?”
The commander is correct, Omega stated. The time has come.
Fox’s eyes widened and picked up his fellow commander’s urgency. “How long do we have?”
“None! Launch the Flagstaff now and have the Patriots catch up! The gate across from us is already spinning up.”
Making their way back to the battleship’s bridge, Fox continued to dig for information without risking delay. “What else do we need?”
“Nothing. We don’t have the time to coordinate anyone else,” Grant advised. “Give the order and get us moving.”
Their pilot tore through menus on his screens. “We’re all set. With the kick from the gate, it’ll be 18 hours under way. The Patriots are estimated to take 16 by the same route.”
Fox reached the bridge and opened a communication channel to the other ships. “Patriots!” he shouted through. “Clark, Rans, Sebastian, Wright, Parks! Start your countdown! Flagstaff is launching to primary target in ten minutes. Complete preparations and follow in two hours!” He turned to the pilot as he flipped off the radio. “Get us to the gate. It’s show time!”
Grant nodded in concurrence and glanced back at Omega. He felt something hanging heavy between them. “You’re not coming with us, are you?”
No I am not, the alien confirmed. I cannot allow my presence on this ship during your assault. Fox and the pilot both shared a fleeting glance before they turned to Omega to confirm the statement.
I know that my attendance would be anticipated at this point, but as you know we cannot have a part in any fighting.
“Simply being with us would be too much?”
It is separate from our defense and thus beyond our sight, Omega added. Should you return to us, we will have more flexibility. He watched Grant nodding along, obviously distraught. Do not be troubled. Your forces have been trained well for their duties. You know they will not disappoint.
“Of course,” Fox replied and turned again to the pilot. “Get us moving. There’s no slowing down now.”
Grant followed their towering host off the bridge and back down to the central flight deck. Omega stopped a meter from his ship’s loading platform and pivoted back to face the commander.
“So this is it?”
I’m afraid so. This is your burden to bear. When you are finished, we will start on the bigger issues.
Grant opened his mouth to speak, but Omega cut him off. Don’t be fooled. I know you will serve with honor through whatever awaits. God be with you.
“Thank you, and all the same,” Grant added and reached out to shake the alien’s hand. The creature led with one massive paw, then enclosed the grasp around the other three for a moment. He guessed Omega was trying to mimic the custom and did as well as could have been expected. Even through the layers of armor, he still felt a surge of energy pass between the bond as if every nerve in his hand was coming alive for the first time.
In a flash of grace belaying his mass, Omega fluidly stepped back and slipped aboard his shuttle which dusted off and with hardly a sound slid off into the darkness. The silver body quickly shrank to nothing more than a single speck among thousands and in an odd way, Grant felt strangely alone.
He was still surrounded by the only family he had left. They were still standing resolute against those who sought Earth’s destruction… that could have been it. Grant’s mind centered on the conversations he had with Omega. The alien saw more in him than he did himself. Maybe the being was right; that he did have a grea
ter responsibility than he had accepted.
***
Back on the bridge, Grant walked in as the gate filled the screen ahead. Fox looked up as he switched off his radio. “I just got ahold of Major Kael,” he reported. “He’s getting the rest of his teams around now. Within another hour they’ll split up between the Patriots and follow us as mission dictates. Security forces are already in place on the Flagstaff.”
“Good. Anything else before we go dark?”
“I don’t think so. The first target is punched in, the Patriots have the battle plan and the follow-up gates are waiting on us.”
“Then we’ve got nothing holding us back. Hit it!”
They silently drifted forward, the alien structure wrapping around the skin of their antiquated vessel. The starlight in the gate ahead swirled about in a torrent before quickly dissipating and turning to solid black, as if a hole had been drilled out of the universe. The sparse onboard facilities had a few rows of windows which emanated white light. The ring outside resembled an alien halo which separated the warp from the dusty space on all sides. The sublight engines spun up and Grant felt a kick through the floor. Every exterior screen went dark as they entered.
“Is that it?” Grant asked.
Fox looked around. “I think so. We’ve got eighteen hours on the clock and a good pass to the gate’s wormhole.”
“I hope it goes better than the last jump this thing took.”
“Very funny, but you’re right; this makes every step we’ve ever taken towards space travel look like a shortsighted and boneheaded mistake.”
“One way or another, it was enough,” Grant added. “I’m gonna check on my ship upstairs. Anything else?”
“No,” Fox said, shaking his head. “I’ll cycle what crews we have and make sure they are ready when we drop back out.”
***
Major Kael leapt down the final set of wide, winding stairs to the training facility on his current Patriot. The screens to his right provided another view of the black, expansive sky outside but he paid it no attention. He burst through the main set of dematerializing doors to the minimal surprise of everyone on the other side.
“Listen up!” he shouted to the rows of soldiers on the firing line. “Flagstaff just launched to engage our first target! We’re on the clock! Eighteen hours to engagement! We’ve got two hours until deployment!”
Moving from his position at the end of the line, Mason clarified. “Finish your rotation and standby for instructions.” He turned back, leaving the hundred lanes to their training. Each was populated by a gunner and several soldiers waiting their turn under the guise of a small team of the aliens dressed in blood red armor. “That didn’t take long.”
“No, but at this point I think we’re ready. Any longer and we’d just be wasting time.” He watched as the leading soldiers completed firing and switched with the final round of team members behind them.
“The new rifles are pretty impressive,” Mason remarked, “They gave us practice rounds that don’t have much penetration but are otherwise accurate.”
“As good as a ZiG?”
“It depends on the application. If we had more training, they’d probably have an edge on pretty much everything. Right now I think the ZiG has a little more flexibility for rounds and has a bit more range.”
One of the aliens approached from the rear. Is there anything we can do to better prepare your soldiers?
Kael and Mason shared a glance. “I’m not sure…” Kael thought, “Can we do any tactical training with your weapons?”
Of course, the alien complied and behind him barriers between the firing lanes protruded up from the floor, along with false walls and targets. The Patriot’s training ranges are infinitely reconfigurable. I just reset them from targeting to ship-bound tactics. Each lane is… --The system calculated the numbers-- …four meters wide by… five hundred long.
The major nodded in concurrence. “Perfect. Sergeant Mason, send them through as six-man fire teams. Once we’ve got an hour on the clock we’ll break and move out to the rest of the ships.” Changing tone, he stopped in place, winced, and pressed his wrists against his temples.
“Migraine back?”
“Yeah,” Kael nodded. “You’d think an advanced civilization like this would be able to fix something so damn simple.”
I’m sorry about that, sir, but it takes a great deal of experimentation to make modifications that minute to your physiology. It’d be too dangerous without extensive study.
“It’s okay, I’ll survive.”
They watched as the teams of soldiers reloaded and lined up behind their firing lines. With a flurry of movement and gunfire, they rushed forward, engaging targets as animated and realistic as the enemies they were likely to face.
They are doing very well, the nearest alien reported. Should you be boarded, your men should be able to easily repel any disparate attack.
“What if we go on the offensive?” Kael asked. “How much do you know about the interiors of their ships?”
We have very little actionable intelligence on the layout of their ships. We can guess at volume and armament but without sensors onboard, we cannot give you an estimate. At this time, an assault on a loaded Cygnan vessel is not advised.
Mason thought for a moment. “If we had to, how would you recommend we attempt? Heavy armor and prepare to move slow?”
No. You’d likely never get close enough to successfully drop heavy armor; their defenses are exceptional at short-range. If you took one of our assault landers, you might be able to evade the fire and dock with enough to overpower them.
“Landers? Are they in the lower bay?”
Absolutely. I’ll have the training protocols provided to your men so they can learn them in the interim.
They waited for the firing to die down and the teams of soldiers to filter back to their staging area. The aliens gave them a few pointers on their performance but quickly took their leave from the room and the ship. With forty minutes left until launch, the pair finished parsing the teams between the ships and sent them to their shuttles.
“What do you think?” Kael finally asked the sergeant.
“About what? The mission?”
“No, about the Lyran saying we could scan their ships if we could get aboard.”
“With all due respect, that’d be incredibly dangerous and I think out of scope for the mission.”
“There’d be a lot to be learned. It could come in handy.”
Mason shook his head again. “I’m not convinced. The commanders aren’t here, but I think they’d come to the same conclusion.” He could see it wasn’t the answer the major was looking for. “Remember, our primary mission is in protecting the battleships, but if the Cygnans don’t put up much of a fight, maybe we can push the idea with Grant.”
Kael looked lost in thought. “True.” He paused. “Hopefully we’ll get another chance later on. I just don’t want to see us blow an opportunity to learn something about these bastards while we have the chance.”
“Absolutely.”
The major surveyed the scene around him. “It’s about that time. We’d best get loaded up.”
11
Iin the depths of space, one could always stare out of a ship’s window and see light. Even if just a flicker in the darkness at a million light-years, it was a connection to some part of the larger world. In hyperspace, there was the occasional faint crackle of energy that reminded the intrepid explorers of the outside. Whatever scheme the Lyrans used to jump their ships exceeded far beyond that.
External to every window, there was nothing but solid, inky black, as if all of existence had been erased, leaving the single vessel to float alone forever like a small forgotten island, as if nothing else had ever existed. Othello walked down a long, wide dorsal hallway towards one of the armories, all the while staring out the windows with the dim hope of catching something. Anything; anything at all would do.
Philosophically, he wondered i
f there was a meaning of their location. If the hole in space closed off on them, would the ship be a universe unto itself? Would they ever be found? He had to force himself to trust in their advanced overseers and allow for them to know what they were doing when they built their ships, even more than what his fellow humans did when they designed their clunky equipment.
Thick vault doors sealed off a dozen firing stations before he reached his objective. A few teams of security force officers were already in place, collecting ammunition and staking claim to sets of armor. The first to notice his presence called the room to attention.
Othello waived the gesture off. “Will you stop that shit! I’m a civilian, dammit,” he grumbled. Before he could add another word, another soldier cut in.
“Mr. Harris, are you deploying with us again?” one asked.
The assumption was accurate if nothing else. The miner nodded, “That’s the plan if you’ll have me.”
“Of course!” the soldier exclaimed, enthusiastically. “We’ll take all the help we can get.”
“I’m glad to see you’re all up and moving after Extortion.” Othello glanced about the growing audience of uniforms. “Seems to me, we could barely carry all of you onboard.”
One of the staff sergeants smiled. “Ain’t that the truth? I think I remember five minutes of the trip between leaving Earth and waking up on this side.”
Another added, “Lacerations, a concussion and collapsed lung… and I’d never know it now. The Lyrans sure know what they’re doing; I’ll give them that.
“I think we’ve all been impressed,” he said and looked over a staged set of heavy armor to the side. “Anyone take this one yet?”
“No, sir. It’s all yours.”
Othello nodded and stood in the footprints of the collapsed suit. With a series of clicks, the various panels and plates took their positions and locked into place. As if formed up around him, he cautiously took a step forward and then slowly to each side.
MissionSRX: Deep Unknown Page 11