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

by G J Ogden

  “Nice work?” Colicos replied, as indignant as ever. The scientist raised the hand and flexed all the joints, revealing the intricate inner workings of the device. “This is an abomination!” he screeched. “Once we are back in Fleet space, I demand a proper replacement.”

  Sterling took a step closer to Colicos, causing the man to recoil and knock into a cabinet to the side of Razor’s bed.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” Sterling said, raising a finger to his ear, as if he’d suddenly gone deaf. “But I was sure you just made a demand?”

  Colicos quickly changed his tune. “Apologies, Captain Sterling, I did not mean to speak out of turn,” the scientist hastily replied.

  “I suggest you work on your manners, doc,” said Sterling, managing to keep a lid on his own resentment. “Because whether I take you back to Griffin, or cast you out of an airlock, depends entirely on how useful you are over the next couple of days.” He gestured to Lieutenant Razor. “As a case in point, what have you been able to do for my chief engineer?”

  With his organic hand, Colicos gestured to a medical scan of Razor’s skull on the screen above her bed.

  “Truthfully, it’s actually remarkable that she’s not already a gibbering wreck,” the scientist began.

  Colicos was smiling as if he expected the others to find his comment amusing. Sterling remained stony-faced, as did the others. The smile fell off Colicos’ face and he coughed apologetically before adopting a more serious tone.

  “The use of a firewall to prevent the Lieutenant’s implant being infected by code from my neural translation matrix was actually quite inspired,” Colicos continued. The switch to attempts at flattery in order to ingratiate himself was as obvious as it was unsubtle, Sterling thought. “Naturally, if I had devised the firewall it would not have failed, as this one did,” Colicos added, seemingly unable to talk for ten seconds without making it about himself. “As it is, the level of corruption to Lieutenant Razor’s implant is minimal, and, thanks to a rather clever technique I just developed, it is currently contained.”

  “Cut to the chase, doc, can you fix the damage or not?” Sterling cut in. He was already sick of hearing the man’s self-aggrandizing, soft-spoken voice.

  Colicos’ puckered-up expression demonstrated his obvious irritation at being interrupted. However, the genius scientist was smart enough to bite his tongue, rather than verbalize his grievances.

  “In short, yes,” Colicos said. “However, I will need access to a far more sophisticated medical facility than this quaint little ship offers.”

  Sterling felt like knocking the scientist out cold then and there, but managed to hold back. He could see that Banks’ hands had already balled into fists and judged it best to end the conversation, before either of them murdered the man.

  “I will need access to a facility on a command outpost at the very minimum,” Colicos went on, unaware of just how close he was to being tossed through the bulkhead. “Though in order to do my best work, I will require a generation-three medical cruiser or access to the Fleet medical research facility on Earth,” Colicos concluded.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” said Sterling, speeding things along as best as he could. “Is there anything else you can do right now?”

  Colicos peered around the Invictus’ medical bay, his nose scrunched up as if he’d just caught the scent of fresh dog crap in the air.

  “Not in here, no,” Colicos replied, snootily.

  Sterling gestured for the commando who was on guard to come over.

  “Take our esteemed guest back to the brig,” he said to the commando, whose name and face he did not recognize. Colicos opened his mouth and looked ready to protest before Sterling quickly added, “and if he causes any trouble, shoot him in the leg.” This last part of the sentence caused the scientist to swiftly clamp his jaw shut again.

  The commando acknowledged the order then roughly ushered James Colicos out of the medical bay.

  “If I’m not needed here anymore, I’d like to continue repairs to the ship, Captain,” Lieutenant Razor said, sliding her legs off the bed.

  “Granted, Lieutenant,” said Sterling. Colicos hadn’t magically healed his engineer, as he secretly wished the scientist was capable of doing, but the fact Razor was no longer in immediate danger was reassuring.

  Lieutenant Razor made her apologies to the room and departed. As the number of crew in the medical bay began to thin out, Sterling was suddenly aware that there was a patient missing.

  “Where’s the hound?” he asked, looking at Banks. He immediately felt a lump in his throat, worrying that the dog might have died on the operating table and he’d just put his foot in it.

  “She’s in the bar outside with Fletcher and his crew,” said Banks. Sterling let out a silent breath of relief. “Fletcher asked to see you, once you were done in here.”

  Sterling nodded. “Let’s not keep our mutinous savior waiting then,” he said.

  Sterling was about to head for the exit when he noticed that Commander Graves had already returned to his work. Sterling was not good at giving praise, especially where it concerned talking to his creepy chief medical officer. However, on this occasion, as on many others, he felt the effort was warranted, if not expressly required.

  “Good work, Commander Graves,” Sterling said, causing the dour-faced physician to look up from his console. “I’m going to need you to continue piecing us all back together with the same skill you’ve demonstrated over the last few days and weeks.”

  Commander Graves bowed his head graciously. “No thanks are necessary, Captain,” the doctor said. “Though I appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.”

  The medical officer returned to his work and Sterling took his leave without another word. However, they’d only made it a few paces along the corridor outside before Banks highlighted his rare act of appreciation toward Graves.

  “I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you speak to Graves without looking worried he was about to suck out your brains with a straw,” said Banks, smiling.

  Sterling laughed and returned his first officer’s smile. “He’s earned it,” he replied, honestly. “All the crew have. Graves, Keller, Razor, Shade. They’ve all proven they deserve to be on this ship.”

  “Aye, sir, that they have,” Banks replied, her own voice and body language reflecting the same pride and admiration that Sterling had expressed.

  Sterling was not surprised that Commander Banks hadn’t highlighted his obvious glaring omission. He’d intentionally left out his first officer from the round of praise, simply to see whether vanity would compel her to fish for a compliment. However, as expected, Mercedes Banks did not fall into his trap. The respect and admiration that existed between the two of them did not need to be expressed. Yet, oddly, it was Sterling who found himself compelled to say more.

  “And I’m glad you’re with me, Mercedes,” Sterling added. “I need you by my side, now more than ever.”

  He immediately regretted speaking the words, as it made him sound mawkish and sentimental. However, he had nearly been forced to kill his first officer on the alien prison station, an act that was suddenly playing on his mind. He half-expected Banks to react glibly and rib him for his sudden outpouring of emotion. However, his first officer was also unusually maudlin.

  “Hey, you have me, Lucas,” she replied, stopping and turning to face Sterling. “No matter what, remember?”

  The two of them continued to look at each other, suddenly lost for words until another contingent of repair engineers bustled around the corner. This forced captain and first officer to separate and press their backs to opposite walls, like the parting of the waves. It was an unexpected, but timely interruption that cut through the awkwardness and allowed them to move on, as if nothing had happened.

  “I feel it’s my duty as first officer to highlight a concern, however,” Banks then said as they as they entered the cargo hold.

  Sterling stopped and scowled at his
first officer, unsure of whether she was serious or being facetious. “And what’s that?” he queried. He was curious, but also a little wary.

  “This last mission has finally proved to me that your heart isn’t pure ice after all,” Banks said, her lips now curling ever so slightly up at the corners of her mouth.

  Sterling snorted. “Nonsense,” he hit back. “What makes you think that?”

  Banks flashed her eyes at Sterling then continued on toward the lowered rear ramp.

  “When I found Jinx injured in the corridor, you said, ‘bring her with us’, not ‘bring it’,” said Banks, her smile growing wide.

  “I did not,” Sterling hit back, wafting his hand at her. Then he stopped, genuinely unsure as to whether Banks was correct or not. “Or did I?”

  “You did,” replied Banks, smugly.

  Sterling snorted again then stepped onto the ramp. He was suddenly hit by a blast of cool air from Bastion Colony, which made his entire body shiver. It was a late autumn evening in Bastion and the sudden drop in temperature took Sterling by surprise.

  “It doesn’t matter if I said, ‘he’, ‘she’, ‘it’ or any other pronoun,” Sterling added, increasing his pace in the hope of escaping the conversation. “The fact remains that if I step in that hound’s crap while I’m on the ship, it’s still getting airlocked.”

  Sterling jumped down off the rear ramp and onto the landing pad at Bastion spaceport. However, while one boot made a satisfying thwacking sound on the asphalt surface the other was cushioned by something soft and malleable. Sterling cursed then peered down at his boot. Smeared across the sole was a smooth, dark-brown substance that he knew could only be one thing.

  “That doesn’t count,” Banks said, breezing past Sterling a moment later. “It wasn’t on the ship…”

  Chapter 32

  Blood and port wine

  After a brief detour to wipe the muck off his boot, Captain Sterling and Commander Banks arrived at the door of “Unsinkable Sam”, the bar that Chris Fletcher and his twelve other former Fleet warships frequented.

  “It looks like a chunk of this spaceport is devoted to Fletcher’s ships and crew,” said Sterling, peering up at the neon sign. In addition to the words, there was a picture of a black cat with a white chest sitting on a piece of debris floating in an ocean.

  “I have to admit, I half-expected people with pitchforks chasing after us by now,” said Banks, glancing around the exterior of the bar.

  The bar was busy with numerous drinkers standing outside, chatting and smoking. No-one paid Sterling and Banks any attention, despite their Fleet uniforms and the modern Fleet warship on-stand a couple of hundred meters away. Suddenly, the distinctive howl of a beagle filtered out of the door, which was still open by a crack. Sterling saw Banks’ tense up and his first officer immediately pushed inside, presumably worried that Jinx was in trouble. Sterling cursed and followed her in, hoping that their first act on Bastion wasn’t getting into a bar fight. However, it soon became apparent that there was no cause for concern. The dog’s curious vocalizations were howls of happiness rather than distress. Jinx was merrily playing a game of “fetch” with Fletcher and several of the other patrons in the bar, all of whom wore similar outfits to that of the famous Fleet mutineer. The dog was clattering across the wooden floor of the bar in pursuit of an old tennis ball. The sound of her feet on the hard floor was accentuated by the fact that one of her legs was a metal, cybernetic replacement. However, the dog appeared entirely unconcerned by this fact and carried on as if nothing about her body had changed.

  “See, everyone loves a ship’s dog,” said Banks, moving further inside and drawing up a stool at the bar.

  “Not everyone,” Sterling hit back, pulling up a stool beside his first officer.

  “You’re just the exception that proves the rule,” said Banks, smiling.

  Fletcher noticed that Sterling and Banks had entered and tossed the ball to another member of his crew, who continued the game.

  “Captain, Commander, what can I get you?” Fletcher asked, leaning on the bar beside them. “It’s on the house, considering I own the bar and all.”

  “Thank, you, Mister Fletcher,” replied Sterling, but the old Fleet officer was quick to interject.

  “Please, either Chris or preferably Fletch,” the older man said. “No-one calls me Mister Fletcher except the rookies, and even then, I hate it.”

  “Okay, Fletch,” Sterling said, feeling immediately more at ease. “We’ll take whatever is good. Your choice.”

  Fletcher nodded then spoke to the barman, who placed three small wine glasses on the counter before moving off to fetch whatever the former officer had asked for. However, it was Fletcher’s mention of “rookies” that had really piqued Sterling’s interest, rather than the mystery drink he was about to be served. Fletcher had previously hinted that the forces under his command numbered more than just the thirteen mutineer ships. Yet he didn’t want to immediately start off by grilling the man so soon after he’d warmly extended his hospitality toward them.

  The barman returned and uncorked a bottle of port wine that looked at least as old as Fletcher’s venerable warship.

  “I haven’t seen a bottle of port for a long time,” said Sterling, accepting one of the glasses from Fletcher.

  “I don’t think I’ve seen one ever,” remarked Banks, peering at the ruby red liquid.

  “It’s an old tradition from sea-faring nations of Earth’s history,” Fletcher said, finally picking up his own glass. “We had to invent, or at least repurpose, a few traditions of our own when we separated from UG and the Fleet.” He raised his glass. “To a bloody war or a sickly season,” he said, before drinking from the glass.

  Sterling and Banks frowned at each other but followed Fletcher’s lead and drank. The wine was sweet and – at least to Sterling’s uncultured palette – had a powerful kick to it too. Fleet ships had been prohibited from serving liquor since the outbreak of the Sa’Nerran war.

  “Thank you again for responding to my request for aid,” Sterling said, setting the now half-empty glass down on the counter. “I honestly wasn’t sure if you’d come.”

  Fletcher bowed his head then raised his glass again. “Well, you seem like a decent fellow,” the older man replied. “Besides, I still have more of a beef with those alien bastards than I do with Fleet.”

  “Fleet could really do with someone like you right now,” Sterling said, unable to stay off the subject of Fletcher’s fighting force for long. “With the Sa’Nerran armada capturing G-sector, you command the only viable war fleet in the Void.”

  “I’ll stop you right there, Captain,” Fletcher said, raising the palm of his hand to Sterling. “I have no problem helping you out, but my responsibility is to Bastion and Middle Star. If I take my Fleet from this system, there’s nothing to stop the Sa’Nerra rolling in and trying to finish the job they started back when I was a Lieutenant.”

  “If Fleet loses this war, the Void will fall next,” Sterling countered.

  “Then you’d better make sure you win it,” Fletcher replied with a smile. He took another swig of port and topped up all the glasses. “I know what you’re asking, Captain, and I understand why. But I can’t help you without abandoning these people, and that’s something I swore I’d never do, no matter what.”

  This time it was Sterling who bowed his head and raised his glass. “I understand, Fletch,” he said, earnestly, “and I’ll see what I can do to help Bastion too. There must be the remnants of other Fleet outposts and hidden storage vaults on this planet and on Colony Two. I can give you the means to find and open them.”

  “That would be appreciated, Captain, thank you,” Fletcher replied.

  “Please, if I’m to call you Fletch then you can call me Lucas,” Sterling said, starting to feel uncomfortable at the older man’s formality. However, the veteran former officer just laughed and shook his head.

  “A Lieutenant calling a Captain by his first name? Not a chan
ce in hell!” Fletcher said, raising an eyebrow. “I may be a mutineer and a disgrace to the Fleet name, but old habits die hard.”

  Jinx then came trotting over and dropped the tennis ball at Banks’ feet. The dog then sat down and peered up at her with its large, brown eyes. Fletcher laughed again and looked down at the cybernetically-enhanced hound.

  “It looks like you have other duties to attend to, Commander,” Fletcher said, nodding toward the dog.

  Banks downed the rest of her port then yielded to Jinx’s doe-eyed requests for attention. She picked up the ball and rolled it underneath the tables, sending Jinx scampering across the floor in pursuit.

  “So, where to next, Captain?” Fletcher added, as Banks slid off her stool to continue the game with Jinx.

  Sterling shrugged. “Back to Fleet space, if I can get there,” he replied. “Unfortunately, there’s an entire Sa’Nerran armada between us and F-sector.”

  “Any idea how you’ll get past it?” Fletcher asked.

  Just at that moment, Lieutenant Shade pushed in through the door. She scanned the room then met Sterling’s eyes and approached, appearing ill-at-ease in the crowded and bustling surroundings of the bar.

  “I’m hoping my officer just walked in with the answer,” Sterling replied, acknowledging Shade’s arrival.

  “I’ll leave you to it then, Captain Sterling,” Fletcher said, sliding off his stool. He then refilled Sterling’s glass and set off toward one of the tables occupied by his crew, bottle in hand.

  “Mister Fletcher,” Sterling called out after the older man. The mutineer commander stopped and raised an eyebrow. “Fletch, I mean,” Sterling corrected himself. It still seemed wrong to refer to the man in such familiar terms. “I know you’re not able to join the fight, but if you were to…”

  “I’m not, Captain,” Fletcher was quick to interject.

  “I know, but indulge me,” Sterling hit back. The older man shrugged and nodded to him to continue. “If you were, just how many ships are we talking about? Whether with rookie or experienced crews?”