Omega Taskforce Series: Books 1 - 3: A Military Sci-Fi Box Set

by G J Ogden

“Request permission to transfer to the advanced research division,” McQueen said, leaning forward and almost sliding off her chair. “I can figure this thing out, Admiral. Just give me a chance.”

  Griffin shook her head and waved McQueen off again. “I need you doing what I recruited you to do, Captain,” she said, not even entertaining McQueen’s request for a millisecond. “There are thousands of doctors and scientists in the advanced research division as it is. But I only have two Omega Captains.” Then Admiral Griffin removed two devices from her desk drawer and slid them across the surface toward Sterling and McQueen. Sterling recognized the objects as encrypted communications chips. “Install these once you get back to your ships. It’s a new scrambled private channel for Omega Directive use only.” Sterling picked up one of the chips and pocketed it. “Based on the ambushes at Artemis and Vega Two, we have to assume someone inside the Fleet is already feeding intelligence back to the Sa’Nerra,” she went on. “I’ll deal with implementing tighter communications within the regular Fleet, but I need to be doubly sure our exchanges remain private.”

  “So, what’s our next move, Admiral?” said Sterling. He knew Griffin well enough to understand that everything she’d said up to this point was just a preamble.

  “In light of this information, the Omega Taskforce has never been more necessary,” Admiral Griffin replied, suddenly sitting more upright, as if she were giving an address to conference delegates. “However, this new neural weapon is not our only problem. Recon probes from within the Sa’Nerran half of the Void recently picked up what appears to be a massive ship-building project.”

  Griffin entered another command on her console and a group of blurry, long-range recon images appeared on the wall to their side. Sterling examined the images, but nothing about them appeared to stand out.

  “Why are they building a ship in the Void?” asked Captain McQueen. “Surely it would be safer to build inside their own territory?”

  “We believe their resources are already stretched, and that this location in the Void is a rich source of materials,” replied Admiral Griffin.

  Sterling was only half paying attention to McQueen’s question. He was still studying the images, looking for the reason Griffin considered them so important. However, the answer eluded him.

  “It just looks like a regular ship, on a regular shipyard,” Sterling said, sounding almost disappointed. He was expecting some bigger news. “The design of the vessel is similar to a Sa’Nerran Heavy Battlecruiser. Perhaps it’s a new phase four design?”

  “Look again, Captain,” said Griffin.

  The Admiral also sounded disappointed, but her disappointment was directed at Sterling, rather than the seemingly anticlimactic news. Like a child seeking the approval of his mother, Sterling was duly spurred on to impress. He looked at the images again, then noticed the scale bar in the bottom corner. At first, he thought he’d misread it and so stood up to get a closer look. However, the scale appeared to be correct.

  “This can’t be right,” said Sterling, turning back to the Admiral. “If this is accurate then that ship would be over ten kilometers long. That’s way more than double the size of the Hammer.”

  “The scale is correct, Captain,” said Griffin, flatly.

  Sterling shook his head, marveling at how such an enormous vessel could be built. Then he noticed something else in the background of the recon images.

  “Are they building this new ship inside a planetary ring system?” He shot Griffin a perplexed frown.

  “We believe so,” the Admiral replied. “But where and how they are building it is not what concerns me,” she added, darkly. “The Sa’Nerra have always focused on fighting in greater numbers, not in the might of individual battleships,” Griffin went on. “This is a major tactical shift. We need to know what the purpose of this vessel is.”

  McQueen then also stood up and scowled at the images. However, she appeared unimpressed, and even a little annoyed. “So, send a regular Fleet ship to scout it out. Recon is hardly work suited to our talents.”

  Griffin sat back and folded her arms, suddenly appearing even more hacked off than usual. “I can’t. The United Governments have ordered that all regular Fleet actions in the Void must cease.”

  “Why the hell would they do that?” said Sterling, throwing his hands up. “If we don’t engage them in the Void, we’re inviting them to invade our borders.”

  Griffin let out a sort of half-sigh, half grunt, then opened a large desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of Calvados. “The UG knows we’re losing and wants to push for a diplomatic solution,” Griffin replied, speaking the words, “diplomatic solution” in a mocking tone. “They believe that continued incursions into the Void are provocative, and that to establish a dialogue, we need to take the first step in de-escalation.”

  Sterling snorted. “A dialogue? We haven’t worked out what a single one of their hisses means in over fifty years! We need to crush the Sa’Nerra, not chat with them around the campfire.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that, Captain?” snapped Griffin, wearily. She then slid three tulip-shaped glasses onto the table and filled each of them from the bottle. “That’s why it’s up to us. You are the ‘Void Recon Unit’, after all. As of right now, I’ve managed to convince the war council that the Invictus and Imperium still be allowed to gather intelligence, but that may not last for long. We have to act fast.”

  Sterling slid back into his chair and accepted the glass that Griffin offered him. “I’ll get under way as soon as my repairs are complete,” he said.

  “No, Captain McQueen will take the Imperium,” said Griffin, handing a glass to McQueen, who frowned. However, Sterling wasn’t sure if she was frowning at the order, or at the drink. “I want to take the opportunity to refit the Invictus while you’re in repair dock,” Griffin continued, sitting back in her chair and relaxing for the first time since Sterling had entered the room. “I had intended to introduce additional Omega Taskforce ships in the coming months, but this new order blocks me from adding to the ranks of the Void Recon Unit.” She paused to take a drink from her glass, and Sterling used the opportunity to do the same. The taste had become familiar to him, like a well-worn sweater. Then Griffin turned to Captain McQueen. “The Imperium leaves at twelve hundred hours,” Griffin added, “so, I suggest you get some rest.”

  Captain McQueen nodded then downed the contents of her tulip-shaped glass before standing up. “I’ll brief my officers,” she said. Then she turned to Sterling. “Do you have any time to grab some food? The wardroom here is pretty good.”

  Sterling shrugged and also downed the rest of his calvados. “It appears that I’m not going anywhere soon,” he said. Then he turned to Griffin. “With your permission, of course, Admiral?”

  Griffin just frowned back at him. “You don’t need my permission to eat dinner, Captain,” she said, crabbily. “But if you mean are you dismissed, then yes, you can go.”

  Seizing the opportunity to leave early, Sterling stood up and headed to the door with Captain McQueen. It slid open and they stepped out into the corridor, immediately attracting interested stares from passersby. The door slid shut behind them, and Sterling felt like a weight had literally been lifted from his shoulders.

  “I’d happily take on squad of Sa’Nerran warriors by myself than deal with Griffin’s erratic moods,” he said, as they set off toward the wardroom.

  “We’re lucky to have her,” replied McQueen. “If the United Governments have their way, we’ll all be hissing like Sa’Nerrans in a few months’ time.”

  Sterling laughed, though it was a half-hearted, despairing sound. The only thing funny about McQueen’s quip was that it was probably true.

  “Come on, I need a proper drink,” said Sterling, quickening his pace to the wardroom.

  Chapter 15

  I’ll take a twenty-seven

  Sterling opened the compact wardrobe in his quarters on the Invictus and grabbed a clean tunic off its hanger. The on
e he’d worn the previous night was still in a bundle on the floor, creased and crumpled. He was in the process of pulling the tunic on when the door chime sounded.

  “Computer, who is at the door?” said Sterling. The door then slid open and he tutted loudly. “Damn it, computer, I said ‘who is at the door’, not ‘open the door’.”

  “Apologies, Captain,” said the computer, cheerfully. “My analysis of your question suggested that once I explained who was at the door, your next response would be to ask me to open it. Therefore, I thought that it would be more expedient to simply open the door straight away.”

  “What have I told you about thinking, computer?” Sterling said, while fastening the buttons on his tunic.

  “You have mentioned nothing specific about me thinking, Captain,” the computer chirped back. “Though you did say I talked too much.”

  “Well, you do too much of both,” Sterling hit back. He then swung over to the door and saw Commander Mercedes Banks standing outside. He froze up, as if he’d seen the ghost of his mother and father in the corridor.

  “So, you're still alive then?” Banks said, hands on hips.

  “Mercedes…” said Sterling, anxiously glancing over his shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

  “Your neural link is off,” replied Banks, now sounding a little peeved. “I always call you in the morning, remember, and today you didn’t answer.”

  Captain Lana McQueen then appeared beside Sterling. She was also buttoning up her tunic. Commander Banks straightened up, though Sterling could see this was more out of surprise than in response to the presence of another superior officer.

  “Captain McQueen, I didn’t…” Banks began, but then she quicky started falling over her words. “I mean, I didn’t know you two. I didn’t know…”

  Captain McQueen reached out and slapped Banks on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Commander, no need to feel awkward,” she said, returning to fastening her buttons.

  “Well, I don’t feel awkward,” replied Banks, though Sterling thought that she couldn’t have looked any more awkward if she’d tried. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror beside his door and realized he looked like a man who’d just been caught cheating on his wife. Then he felt ridiculous for thinking this; there was no reason for him to feel guilty.

  “That’s great then,” said McQueen. She then turned to Sterling, straightened his tunic and smoothed the fabric down with the palm of her hand. “I’ll have to skip breakfast. The Imperium ships out in an hour on this damned recon mission,” she said, adopting a more formal, ‘captainly’ pose.

  “Hopefully you won’t need us to save your ass this time,” replied Sterling, casting a glance across to Banks, who still looked like she’d seen her parents snogging in a nightclub.

  Captain McQueen just snorted in response then stepped out into the corridor. “Enjoy your downtime, while the Imperium does all the hard work,” she said before turning and strolling away down the corridor without another glance back.

  Sterling waited until McQueen was out of earshot then turned his attention to his first officer, who had her hands pressed to her hips again. The shock of seeing Captain McQueen in his quarters appeared to have worn off, and any embarrassment she had shown had been replaced by irritation.

  “You could have warned me,” said Banks.

  Sterling frowned. “The last time I checked, Fleet regulations don’t require me to report my personal relationships to my subordinates.” Banks shot him a look that could have turned milk sour. “Look, it’s no big deal, and frankly it’s also none of your business,” Sterling added, taking a forceful tone with Banks. He felt like he was being judged, and he didn’t like it.

  Commander Banks straightened up again, though this time it was in order to stand to attention. “My apologies, Captain,” she said, pressing her hands to the small of her back. The apology seemed sincere, which for some reason made Sterling feel worse. “I only came to ask if you wanted to join me for breakfast, but since you’re busy, I’ll see you at the refit update briefing in an hour.”

  Sterling threw his arms out wide. “I’m not busy, but I am hungry.” Then he folded his arms around his chest. “Unless you and I now have a problem, Commander?”

  “No sir, no problem,” replied Banks, crisply.

  Sterling studied Banks’ expression for a moment, but she was unflinching. If they had been paying poker, he would have had no clue as to the strength of her hand. “Okay then,” said Sterling, inviting Banks to take the lead out along the corridor. “How about we head into the outpost and find out what meal packs they’re serving on F-COP this morning?”

  “You’re just after that elusive number twenty-seven meal tray, admit it…” said Banks, stepping out in front.

  “Guilty as charged,” replied Sterling, smiling.

  The journey to get breakfast on F-COP took considerably longer than the short hop to the Invictus’ wardroom. Sterling and Banks filled the time with their typical mixture of work-related chat, news and gossip from around the Fleet. As usual, their conversation was frequently interrupted by the need for both Sterling and Banks to acknowledge greetings from the crew. However, once they had traversed the docking tunnel into F-COP, the dynamic shifted quickly. Instead of respectful nods and smiling faces, they were met with suspicious glances and deliberate attempts by other Fleet crew members to avoid them. It was the space-station equivalent of crossing the street to dodge having to meet someone.

  “Considering the way people look at us, you’d think we were Sa’Nerran warriors wandering the station,” said Banks, jumping onto one of the trams that extended throughout the vast command outpost.

  “It’s gotten worse, especially in the last few weeks,” said Sterling, grabbing the handrail beside Banks. He then noticed four Fleet crew jump off the tram coincidently straight after they had gotten onboard. The remaining passengers were trying hard not to look in their direction, or were subtly edging themselves away from the two officers with silver stripes on their uniforms. “At least now we have an inkling about why,” he continued, lowering his voice.

  Banks leant in, bringing her lips so close to Sterling’s ear that he thought she was going to bite it. “Why are you whispering…” she said, the breath of her voice barely brushing his face.

  Sterling then felt stupid and tapped his neural implant. “Sometimes I forget about this method of talking,” Sterling said, reaching out to Banks in his mind.

  “Do you think the Sa’Nerra turned someone who knows about the Omega Taskforce?” Banks replied, picking up the thread of the conversation again.

  Sterling had already briefed Banks on the pertinent points from the meeting with Admiral Griffin the night before. This had been before Captain McQueen had convinced him to do shots, which had been the main reason they’d ended up in bed together.

  “Honestly, I don’t know,” Sterling admitted. “Besides the Omega officers and crew, Admiral Griffin herself, and perhaps Captain Blake from the Hammer, I don’t know who else knows.”

  Banks nodded then caught the eye of a Crewman who was looking at her furtively. The Crewman’s head spun away so sharply that Sterling thought he heard the vertebrae in the man’s neck snapping. The tram then slowed to a stop and the computer announced their destination.

  “Command level fourteen, section alpha, zone one,” the computer announced. The synthesized voice was dreary and monosyllabic compared to the Invictus’ irksome computer. However, Sterling much preferred his quirky gen-fourteen AI to the drab regulation-standard computers the rest of the Fleet relied upon.

  “This is our stop,” said Sterling, loudly enough that others in the tram carriage could hear. He was then sure he could detect audible gasps, as if some of the other occupants had been holding their breaths since the moment he and Banks had boarded.

  Banks hopped off onto the platform and Sterling followed, still feeling the eyes of the other passengers drilling into his back. Sterling then looked around the wide, open spac
es of F-COP’s command level fourteen and suddenly felt exposed. It was like he had walked on stage in the middle of a play then forgotten his lines.

  “I’ve gotten used to the Invictus and it’s narrow spaces and compact decks,” said Sterling, again noticing that other Fleet crew were giving them a wide berth. “I’d almost forgotten how huge these COPs are.”

  “Why do I feel like this is a zoo and we’re the animals?” replied Banks, glowering at the many people who were surreptitiously sneaking looks at them. “I think I prefer the Void to Fleet space these days.”

  Sterling led the way through the crowds, separating them like Moses parting the Red Sea. When the entrance to the wardroom finally came into view, he was glad to get out of the public eye. However, as soon as he’d set foot inside the wardroom, Sterling realized that they were not about to escape scrutiny there, either.

  “Damn, they could fit the entire crew of a Dreadnaught in this place,” said Sterling, heading further inside the wardroom. Sterling noted that the wall, floors and ceilings were all constructed from the usual, staid-looking silver-gray composite materials Fleet employed in all its ships and bases. However, he had to admit it was certainly grander than most wardrooms he’d seen.

  Banks headed up to one of the serving counters, which was generously staffed, unlike the mostly automated serving hatches Sterling was used to, and perused the menu options.

  “One number nine and a fourteen, please,” Banks said to the crewman behind the counter. Like pretty much everyone else they’d seen, the man appeared anxious in the presence of the fabled “Void Recon Unit”. The crewman nodded then slid the trays Banks had ordered into the processor.

  “I’ll take a twenty-seven, if you have it,” Sterling said. He noticed Banks rolling her eyes at him. “What, we haven’t had twenty-seven on the Invictus for over three months,” said Sterling shrugging. “I love that grilled ham and cheese.”

  The crewman behind the counter then let out an apologetic cough. “I’m sorry, sir, I thought the commander ordered for both of you,” the crewman said. “Regulations state only one meal tray per person, sir.” The man then added, looking like he wanted the deck to open up and swallow him.