Dreadnaught: A Military Sci-Fi Series (Omega Taskforce Book 5)

by G J Ogden

  “I don’t mean just because of that,” said Banks, suddenly stopping in the corridor. Her expression had hardened and she looked like she was spoiling for a fight. “If this thing works then it means that Keller didn’t die for nothing. It means that his dumb heroics in retrieving Colicos’ personal data assistant actually helped.”

  “Death is always empty and meaningless, Mercedes,” said Sterling. He understood his first officer’s point, but it was sentimental nonsense. “Whether this gadget works or not, it doesn’t make Keller’s death any more noble or any less senseless. Dead is dead. It’s only the living that make a difference.”

  “I disagree,” replied Banks. There was still fire in her eyes. “How we die matters as much as how we live. If it didn’t then why the hell are we out here, making sacrifices and risking our lives to save humanity?”

  “I’m not out here on some virtuous crusade to save humanity,” Sterling hit back with matching fire. “Hell, I don’t even know if we’re a species worth saving,” he added, throwing his arms out wide. “What I do know is that I don’t like bullies and I don’t like losing. Whether humanity survives or dies, it will be on our terms, not at the whim of some alien assholes from half a galaxy away.”

  Banks sighed and gave Sterling an acquiescent little nod. “At least on that we can agree,” she said.

  Sterling then resumed his journey to the med lab with his first officer at his side. Neither spoke again for a full minute, during which time thoughts of Ensign Kieran Keller flooded into Sterling’s mind. As much as he had preached to Banks about the futility of death, deep down part of him agreed with his first officer’s assessment. If the firewall worked, Keller’s death would end up being a little less meaningless. Even so, Sterling’s overriding emotion was anger - anger that the ensign had foolishly got himself killed.

  “At least tell me that killing that piece of shit Marshall Masterson felt good,” Banks said, out of the blue. Sterling stopped and met his first officer’s eyes. “Maybe Keller’s death was meaningless,” Banks went on, “but at least give me the satisfaction of knowing that the asshole who killed him suffered.”

  Sterling held Banks’ eyes for a moment then tapped his neural interface and reached out to her. Banks accepted the link at once and Sterling felt her fill his thoughts. The intensity of their link had grown stronger over the time they’d served together, so much so that it now felt like they were one mind. Taking Banks’ hand in his own, Sterling thought back to the moment in the Hotel Grand when he had strangled Marshal Ed Masterson to death with his bare hands. Suddenly, Banks’ hyper-dense muscles tensed up and her expression twisted into a frown. The closeness of the link meant that she was able to feel what Sterling had felt as the Marshal’s life slipped away. It was an experience that could never be explained with words or images or through any other medium of communication. Neural emotion transference was the most powerful and intimate connection that two human beings could share.

  Sterling progressed his memory to its conclusion, reliving the moment when he pulled the blue face of the Marshal closer and roared the words, “Die you cowardly son of a bitch!” into the man’s face. Banks’ grip was now so strong it threatened to break Sterling hands and fingers, but he didn’t let go or try to pull himself free. He wanted Banks to feel what he had felt. He wanted her to know the satisfaction it had given him. Sterling then pushed the memory back into the deeper recesses of his mind, and Banks’ grip relaxed. She opened her eyes, chest heaving as if she had just run a hundred-meter dash.

  “Does that answer your question, Mercedes?” Sterling asked, though their neural link.

  Banks held Sterling’s eyes; her hands still clasped around his. He could feel a deep and profound sense of gratification through their link. Added to his own, it was exhilarating and near overwhelming.

  “Aye, Captain,” replied Banks, still holding Sterling’s hands, though her touch was now more tender. “Yes, it does...”

  Chapter 3

  An ignoble deed

  Sterling walked into the med bay and spotted Commander Evan Graves in one of the laboratory spaces. In the two weeks since they had surged into the Void, the damage to the facility had been largely repaired. Even so, the medical bay still looked tired and worn, much like many other parts of the ship. Sterling caught his own reflection in the mirror and was reminded of how he had aged in a similarly accelerated manner. War… he thought to himself. It’s not good for you.

  “Captain, in here if you please,” said Commander Graves, leaning out of the door of the lab space.

  Sterling glanced at Commander Banks, who appeared as intrigued as he was, then set off toward the lab, passing medical bays that were still occupied by members of his crew who had been severely injured in the battle at F-sector. He knew not all of them would survive, and many would need augments in order to function anywhere near normally again. However, with the Invictus cut off from the fleet with no prospect of reinforcements, he needed every man and woman he could get, even if they were no longer fully whole.

  “What do you have for me, Commander?” Sterling asked, stepping beside his medical officer. He was keen to hurry the meeting along, conscious that every minute brought them closer to the Vanguard and a potential encounter with the Sa’Nerran Raven.

  Commander Graves held out a small computer chip, clasped delicately in a pair of tweezers. Sterling and Banks both stepped closer to get a better look, though to Sterling it simply looked like every other computer chip he’d ever seen. If there was something remarkable about the device, he couldn’t tell.

  “As innocuous as this seems, this chip may be the key to thwarting the Sa’Nerran neural weapon,” said Graves. The medical officer had apparently noticed the unimpressed looks on his audience's faces.

  “That’s the neural firewall device?” said Sterling, not even making an effort to disguise his disappointment.

  “Yes, Captain,” Graves replied. “You were expecting some sort of helmet, or armor plating for your cranium, perhaps?”

  Graves didn’t do humor, but like many erudite and high-ranking medical officers Sterling had known, the man was perfectly adept at condescension.

  “I was expecting a straight answer, Commander,” Sterling replied, taking a sterner tone with his chief medical officer.

  “My apologies, Captain,” Graves replied, though to Sterling’s ears he didn’t sound particularly apologetic. “When inserted into a neural implant, this device should create an effective shield against the neural weapon,” the medical officer went on. “James Colicos, for his many flaws, was indeed a genius. Without Doctor Colicos’ notes from Far Deep Nine, it would have taken years to develop, assuming we even managed it at all.”

  “You said it ‘should’ create an effective shield against the weapon, Commander,” Sterling replied, picking up on the one key piece of information in Graves’ statement. “I take it that it’s untested?”

  “That is correct, Captain,” said Graves, carefully placing the chip back into its tray as if it were a fragile antique. “Which brings me to the reason I asked to see you.”

  Commander Banks’ eyebrows raised up on her forehead. Sterling wasn’t still connected to his first officer through a neural link, but he still knew she’d comprehended the macabre reason Graves had requested an audience.

  “You want to test this out on a member of the crew?” Banks said, beating Sterling to the punch.

  “It is the only way to be certain that it is effective, Commander,” the medical officer replied, coolly.

  “And if it’s not?” asked Sterling.

  “Then we will have inadvertently turned a member of our crew and will be required to terminate them,” Graves answered.

  In truth, Sterling already knew the answer to his own question; he just wanted to make sure his medical officer understood the implications of his proposal. However, the prospect of potentially condemning a member of the Invictus’ crew to death appeared not to have fazed Commander Graves in the sligh
test.

  “Commander, there aren’t many of us left as it is,” Sterling replied. “We’re about to mount an operation to take back the Vanguard and are racing an alien warship full of warriors that have that same objective. I can’t just give up members of the crew for experimentation.”

  “Needs must, Captain,” Graves replied, unmoved by Sterling’s speech. “If this device works, it will prevent members of the Invictus’ crew from being turned. One or two lives lost will save dozens more.”

  Sterling shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. He hated to admit it, but Graves was right. It was a numbers game. In war, that's what it always came down to.

  “Fine, Commander, though I need a better option than having the crew draw straws,” Sterling said. “What did you have in mind?”

  Commander Graves gestured to the rows of medical bays outside the lab space. “The most humane option I can give you is to test the device on an already injured member of the crew,” the medical officer said. Sterling followed Commander Graves out of the lab and to the bedside of one of the wounded crewmembers. “Right now, many of these patients have little prospect of returning to duty. They are simply occupying space and resources,” Graves went on. He was talking about the injured crew like they were items on a grocery store shelf that were past their ‘best if used by’ date.

  Sterling looked at the bed board and read the patient’s name. “Crewman First Class Morgan Clay,” Sterling said out loud. “Multiple fractures and internal injuries. Loss of her left foot above the ankle. Currently in an induced coma.” Sterling turned to Graves. What’s her prognosis?”

  “Crewman Clay requires a new liver and lung, in addition to a replacement stomach,” Graves said, responding immediately without the need to check the notes. “I have already exhausted the ship’s supply of synthetic organs and the Invictus lacks the facilities to fabricate more.”

  Sterling nodded. “So you’re saying that she’s going to die, no matter what we do?” he said, stating the doctor’s meaning in blunt terms.

  “Yes, Captain,” Graves replied, still maintaining an icy-cool detachment from the implications of his answer.

  “What about the Vanguard?” Banks chipped in. She had moved around to the other side of the medical bay and had her arms folded across her chest. “The Invictus may not have the facilities or supplies you need, but the Vanguard almost certainly does,” she went on. “That ship could support a crew of two thousand. It’s almost as well-equipped as a COP.”

  Sterling raised an eyebrow and glanced over to Commander Graves, awaiting his medical officer’s response.

  “It is highly probable the Vanguard possesses the supplies and equipment I need to save this crewman’s life, Commander,” Graves replied, still without a flicker of emotion. “Quite simply if you’re asking if the death of this crewman, or any other in this room, is inevitable then the answer is no,” the medical officer went on. “However, we do not yet have access to the Vanguard’s medical facilities. Nor do we have any information on the condition of the equipment or supplies contained therein.”

  Sterling held up a hand to cut-off any further discussion. Banks’ question had only revealed what Sterling already knew – nothing was certain. However, it also didn’t alter the fact that he still had to make a decision. And the simple truth was that if they were not to test the neural firewall on Crewman Clay then it would have to be someone else. Sterling was aware that the moral thing to do would have been to offer himself as the guinea pig for Graves’ experimental device. However, such fanciful notions of nobility and righteousness were best left to the story books, he told himself. The pragmatic reality of war was different. Was Crewman Clay’s life worth less than his own? No, but that was not the question Sterling needed to answer. Was the mission best served by using Clay as a test subject for a device that could prevent others from being turned by the enemy? Or was it best served by leaving her in a medical bay, with only a slim prospect of survival? Sterling already knew the answer, and he already knew what he had to do.

  “Whether or not the Vanguard has what we need changes nothing, since we do not yet have command of the Vanguard,” Sterling announced, making his decision. He locked eyes with his medical officer. “You are authorized to proceed, Commander Graves. Inform me of the results as soon as you have them.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Graves replied, adding a respectful nod of the head as he spoke the words.

  Sterling felt a link form in his mind from Lieutenant Shade. He could see that Banks had received the connection request too. Feeling his heart start to race, he tapped his interface and allowed the link.

  “Captain, the Sa’Nerran Raven has just opened fire on the Vanguard at long-range,” Shade said. As always, her tone was calm and measured, but Sterling could practically feel the adrenalin rushing through his officer’s veins.

  Banks cursed out loud then responded over the link. “They don’t want to risk letting the dreadnaught fall into our hands,” she replied. “They weren’t trying to beat us to it so they could capture the Vanguard for themselves. They mean to destroy it.”

  “Adjust course to intercept the Raven, maximum speed,” Sterling replied, already on his way out of the medical bay. “And return fire, Lieutenant.”

  “Aye, Captain, though at this range we are unlikely to do much damage, even if we do manage to hit the Raven,” Shade replied.

  “We just need to get their attention, Lieutenant,” Sterling said, as Banks hammered the call button for the elevator. “We need the Raven to break off its attack and come after us instead of the Vanguard.”

  “Aye, Captain, I’ll make sure they know we’re here,” Shade replied.

  The link went dead, then the elevator door swished open. Banks hustled inside first and hit the button for deck one. The doors almost closed on Sterling before he was even inside.

  “We’re in no shape for a fight against a phase-four Skirmisher, Lucas,” Banks said, meeting his eyes.

  “We don’t have a choice,” Sterling hit back, feeling his heart-rate climb as the elevator ascended. “We have to stop them from destroying the Vanguard, even if that means losing the Invictus.”

  Banks nodded. “Well, it looks like one way or another, the Vanguard is going to be our new home,” she said, as the elevator doors slid open again. “I just hope the damned thing isn’t as crippled as it looks.”

  Chapter 4

  Do whatever you have to do

  The door to the bridge opened just in time for Sterling to witness a blast of plasma thudding into the Vanguard’s titanic hull. Moments later, flashes of energy raced out from the Invictus’ cannon, aimed at the Sa’Nerran Raven that was attacking the dreadnaught. However, the Raven was still far in the distance making it easy for the Skirmisher-sized alien vessel to evade the attack.

  “Report, Lieutenant,” ordered Sterling, as Lieutenant Razor stepped away from the command platform and hurried to the bank of engineering consoles at the rear of the bridge.

  “The Raven is targeting the reactor core in sections five and six, sir,” said Razor, while quickly accessing her engineering readouts. “It’s the most heavily-armored section of the hull, but they’re managing to drill through. If they breach the reactor, it’s game over for the Vanguard.”

  “Time to intercept?” said Sterling, aiming the question at Commander Banks, who had raced ahead to occupy the helm controls.

  “We’re still five minutes out,” Banks replied, turning to face him. Her face was bathed in the crimson alert lights, which only added to the palpable sense of urgency and apprehension. “The Raven could have punched through the hull in that time.”

  Sterling cursed then turned back to his chief engineer. However, Lieutenant Razor had already anticipated what Sterling was going to ask.

  “I can’t give you any more power to the engines, sir,” Razor said, getting straight to the point. “We’d risk blowing the plasma distribution grid and rupturing the reaction chambers.” She paused for a mom
ent to address her captain face-to-face. “In short, sir, if we push any harder, we’ll end up dead in space.”

  “Once again, Lieutenant, this is the part where you tell me your genius solution to the problem you just raised,” said Sterling. In the past, he might have doubted that Razor had such a plan. Now, he knew in his bones that she did.

  “The Invictus combat shuttle is fully operational, Captain,” Razor continued, returning to her work at the consoles. The viewscreen then displayed a schematic of the diminutive yet powerful combat shuttle. “The shuttle’s reactor and engines can handle a temporary increase to one hundred and ninety percent capacity,” Razor added as the relevant sections were highlighted on the screen. “That will give it enough thrust to catch up with the Raven in a fraction of the time we can.”

  “The combat shuttle’s weapons are no match for the Raven, Lieutenant, so what good will that do us?” asked Sterling, discouraged by his engineer’s obviously flawed suggestion.

  “We don’t use the shuttle’s weapons, sir,” Razor replied, speaking confidently. “We use the shuttle as a weapon.”

  Sterling smiled, realizing he should have never doubted the white-haired engineer. “Launch the shuttle and give remote piloting control to Commander Banks,” he said, clearing the schematic from the viewscreen. It was replaced by the image of the Raven, which was still firing on the Vanguard. With every passing second the distance between all three ships became narrower, and the damage the Raven was delivering to the dreadnaught increased.

  “Lieutenant Shade, now it’s your turn to impress,” said Sterling, glancing over to his weapons officer. “Hit that damned Skirmisher and buy us as much time as possible.”

  “Aye, sir,” Shade replied, though it was more of a growl than her usual, crisp reply. The fact the phase-four alien ship continued to evade her guns was obviously a source of anger and frustration, even embarrassment.