Tycho saluted, smartly, heading for the lift to the rest of the ship. He paused while passing Calico.
“Uh, black?”
“Yeah,” Calico muttered, distractedly. “Thanks.”
Tycho nodded and stepped into the lift, shutting the doors and starting down to the habitation decks. As the sound of the lift faded, a short electronic blip chimed from the command console. Gordon turned around, cycling up the data from the probe and buffering in the visual data. The vidscreen lit up with a clear starscape. And highlighted against it were hundreds of glimmering, almost crystalline starships. Under the probe's magnification, the screen was filled, edge-to-edge with profiles. Hundreds of ships. Haven Alpha's targeting computer started clicking off classifications based on weight, singularity drive outputs, visible weapons, and hull markings. The readings came back with an impressive range of ships; scout cutters, relay hubships, destroyers, interdictors, troop transports, carriers, and one big, eclipsing battleship-sized Man-Of-War, commanding a tenth of the vidscreen with its gigantic dome-shaped hull. All the ships were from the Sktish Empire. The bridge continued to play the marching song of their glassy warships as they drifted together through the cold ocean of stars. The powerful Armada seemed proud… yet, melancholy.
“Where are they going?” Calico asked, idly curious. Gordon didn’t need to check his starcharts.
“Vigal Space,” he spoke, solemnly. He leaned back in his chair and watched the vidscreen. “The Sktish Armada has a protected rallying point at Junction, ten hours from here. They’ll try and stage an assault from there to recapture their foothold in Var Dartum.”
Calico stepped away from the wall and stopped several paces behind Gordon’s chair. “How brave.”
“Bravery should not be an excuse for going into a battle which you cannot win,” Gordon replied, grimly. “For every ship you see here, the War Hive will have ten waiting for them.”
He spread a hand at the vidscreen. “This is a foolish act of desperation.”
Calico looked at the starship captain, then stared at the image of the slow Armada.
“Why doesn’t Humanity help them?”
Gordon leaned against his armrest, propping his head on a fist. “The Sktish thought to help the Vigal against the War Hive. Now they themselves are the victims. Humanity could suffer the same fate if we get distracted by concepts of compassion.”
Gordon resolutely switched off the feed from the probe, rolling the image of the Sktish Armada into blackness.
“We have our own enemies to think about.”
For a long moment, Calico was silent. Gordon endured her silence, waiting for the inevitable hammer to fall.
“Gordon Bryor,” the speaker said, as if saying the name for the first time. “I’ve heard that name before.”
“Few people haven’t, these days,” Gordon countered.
“That was the name of our ambassador to the Yew Alliance. At the time of the attack on Navpoint Vantage.”
Gordon slowly sat up and turned, facing the implied accusations. He locked eyes with the translator.
“Go on.”
Calico paused, measuring what she was about to get into.
“Some say you’re a traitor.”
Gordon chuckled without amusement. “Only some?”
“Well,” Calico said with a shrug. “Are you?”
Gordon didn’t answer. Instead he drew his gun.
Calico’s body tensed as the captain, lounging in his high-backed chair, smoothly drew a line toward the ceiling with the barrel of his Karl 9. His left hand stroked the armrest of his command chair as if he were petting a dog, fingers twitching as the rocket pistol swayed methodically, like a boat rocking in the waves. His expression was thoughtful, as though contemplating whether to answer Calico’s question with words, or a bullet. At long last, with a dismissive sniff, Gordon leaned forward resting his elbows onto his knees and cradled his long-snouted gun sideways in his hands.
“Do you know what this is?” he asked, hefting the heavy pistol. Calico edged a little closer and nodded, uncomfortably.
“Karl 9 custom magazine pistol, cartridged rocket rounds. Made by the Galleon Gunsmiths. Master craftsmanship and machining. One of a kind, each artistically built to represent its wielder. Awarded to Naval military heroes for acts of uncommon valor, or sacrifice.” She hesitated, arching an eyebrow at the weapon. “Hardly a traitor’s tool.”
Gordon smiled. He stood, tossing the weapon lightly in his hand as he approached Calico. “When I was ambassador to the Yew, I was expected to bring our races together. A bridge between worlds. I had my doubts, but it was inconsequential. I lived among them, a diplomat and a negotiator, building a connection that would bring prosperity to us all.”
Gordon held the rocket pistol up, pulling his fingers back to display the golden emblem built into the gun. “This. This is a Yew Alliance Peace Medallion. It’s a symbol of friendship, honor. And immunity. It meant I had nothing to fear from them. A great treasure from such a powerful entity. Very few Humans have ever received such honors.”
Calico examined the medallion. “Were you proud?”
Gordon stopped smiling. His fingers curled in, half-covering the emblem in an uncomfortable clutch. After a second, he nodded.
“Pride,” he said, looking away. He heaved out a long breath. “I guess that’s what killed me in the end. Too proud to see the knife behind the handshake. Too proud to see the war that was coming…” Gordon looked back to Calico. An unhinged smile fought to stay off his face.
“Privileged is Death, as they say. After the Humans rescued the Splinters from annihilation, well, they didn’t need me anymore. Diplomacy becomes a pretty obsolete weapon when you can use force. Turns out an Alliance Peace Medallion will only stop them from… killing, you.”
Calico stiffened, catching on. “They… What did they do to you?”
Gordon eyed the barrel of his pistol, flashing through memories. “Everything. After the Splinters were rescued it took them less than a day to decide the fate of Humanity. Naturally as the ambassador they… started with me.”
The way he said “started” gave Calico pause. “You make it sound as though there was someone else.”
Gordon replied by holding up the Karl 9, flashing the peace emblem. He turned the gun around…
…Revealing the second golden peace medallion on the opposite side.
“You know what I found out in three months of torture?” A solemn frown. “Watching someone else take your place… again and again… life and death stop meaning anything. There’s only the time left between pain.”
Gordon inverted the pistol and buried it in his holster. Calico shook her head, hugging her arms with a sigh.
“I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“I’m over it,” Gordon lied, folding his arms behind his back. “What makes us who we are is pivotal on who we leave behind. I was once a diplomat of peace. Now, I am the Ambassador of War.”
Calico issued a dry laugh. “Huh. And who do I have to leave behind to become an ESC?”
Gordon looked past Calico. “Lester Crane.”
Calico’s face fell in confusion. “What?”
Gordon looked the girl in the eye. “He was your predecessor. The speaker for Team Alpha before you. You’re standing in his shadow.”
Calico looked down, as if she expected to see herself literally standing in someone’s shadow. She looked back at the captain. “I didn’t know I was replacing somebody.”
Gordon nodded somberly. “This is war. You’re either going to be a sacrifice, or a replacement.”
Calico raised a hand to her mouth, teeth grating at her fist as she chewed over the revelation. After a moment, she nervously met Gordon’s steely gaze. “What was he like?”
Gordon shrugged one shoulder. “He was a… people person.”
“That’s it?”
“I did not know him for long,” Gordon admitted, idly looking about t
he darkened bridge. “We joined up for one mission. That was all I ever saw of him.”
“What happened?”
Gordon glanced at Calico, then subtly motioned for her to follow him. He led her toward his cabin, off the bridge.
“You heard us mention an Operation Backhand during our last briefing?”
Calico nodded. “Yes?”
“That was eight months ago. Shortly after the attack on Navpoint. We made a raid on the Yew Throne World.”
“Zol.”
“Correct,” Gordon said, opening the door and leading Calico inside. “We had two objectives. First: Send a message. We accepted their declaration of war, and we intended to fight. Second: Assassinate the Emperor.”
“What!?”
Gordon turned around. Calico was standing stunned in the doorway.
“You seem surprised.”
“I didn’t think… No one has ever seen the Yew Emperor. I thought he was a myth.”
“You can imagine then,” sighed Gordon. “How things got a little complicated. Despite the element of shock and surprise, the Yew retaliation was swift and heavy. Mind you, this was the first time we utilized the, ah, gift of the Splinter's Genesis armor. Survivability should have been higher, but we lacked the luxury of time to adjust to them. Ultimately we were forced to abort. But not before we completed our first objective.”
With that, Gordon turned toward the wall. Calico followed his gaze. There, mounted and spread out, was the spliced spearhead of the Yew Alliance flag. The flag was rectangular, tall rather than long, and sported colors of sapphire, ruby, gold and emerald. It had some of the most exotic stitch work Calico had ever seen, and its design was clearly produced by master craftsmanship. Calico blinked.
“Very nice,” she said, hesitantly. “A relic from your ambassador days?”
Gordon looked at Calico. “We took that down off the Capitol Palace.”
Calico was speechless. Gordon smirked, then looked back to the flag.
“I’ll admit, it’s not as effective a motion as killing the Yew’s sacred Emperor, but it got the message across. You can run across the light years, hide amongst the nebulas, and block us with your warcraft, but there is no place we won’t reach you.” Gordon grinned, devilishly. “It’s a satisfying trophy.”
Calico reached out and brushed the flag’s surface with her fingertips. “That was your last mission?”
“No,” Gordon said, seriously. “That was my first mission.”
Calico turned her head toward the Ambassador. “You’ve only been with the ESCs for one mission?”
“Two, as of this last one.”
Calico looked to the flag again. The unspoken connection with the enemy of the Human Race hung like a heavy cloud.
“How could anyone trust you?” she asked, confusedly. Gordon looked at the flag, as though weighing his loyalties against his heart.
“They needed someone to get them into Zol,” he said, finally. “And that person was me.”
The Captain turned and headed for the door. Calico followed after a lingering touch with the flag that represented Humanities retaliation. When they came out, Tycho was waiting for them, a clutch of steaming coffee cups in his hands. Gordon took his and nodded his thanks before sipping, impervious to the heat. Tycho handed Calico hers with a brief nod, then headed back down into the command pit to check on Haven’s course. Gordon swallowed, then placed his coffee on his chair’s armrest and faced Calico.
“Was there, anything else you needed?”
Calico looked down into the swirling murk of her black instacoffee, eyes half-drooped in drowsy thought. She held the cup in both hands, swirling it gently before looking up and shaking her head.
“No,” she said, brushing a strand of red hair behind her ear. “Sorry for intruding. I’m just… trying to figure things out.” She turned her green eyes up with a wane grin. “Thanks.”
Gordon nodded, neutrally. Calico stepped into the open lift, cradling her coffee. She reached for the call switch.
“Lester Crane.”
Calico froze, eyes darting to the captain. Gordon took several steps and stopped outside the lift, arms clasped behind his back.
“You’re standing in a shadow you may not be able to fill,” the Ambassador said. “But despite what you may hear, your predecessor did not leave a hole behind. He left a foundation. A starting point. What you build off of it will lead to an end to this war. One way or another.”
Calico raised an eyebrow. “You think so?”
“I didn’t know your predecessor for long,” Gordon admitted. “But that’s the sort of person he was. He knew what people needed, even if that meant a little self-sacrifice. And as the saying goes, he took one for the team.”
Calico finally asked the question. “How did he die?”
Gordon closed his eyes. “He didn’t.”
“No?”
“He was captured during retreat.”
Calico’s green eyes glinted with interest.
“So he could still be alive?”
“After eight months?” A look of something that could have resembled fear crossed Gordon’s eyes as he stared off into space. “I hope not.”
Chapter 29
:Vetrus System:
Haven Alpha exploded from hyperspace and was almost immediately accosted by two sentinels. The sub-frigate sized Stormbolts were little more than a pair of torpedo bays wrapped around an ion engine, with barely enough room for their ten-man crews. The small craft were quick and nimble, and could unload a punishing amount of tactical torps in a short amount of time at decent range. Like a pair of yapping guard dogs running to the end of their chains to bark at a passing war horse, the captains of the sub-frigates locked onto Haven Alpha and demanded code of passage. Once the mobile headquarters identity was safely confirmed as the Kafka Dogma modified peace frigate, Haven Alpha was allowed to enter into the system and proceed along the designated route.
Nathen relaxed his grip on the arms of his chair as the ship decelerated to normal cruising speeds, bypassing most of the system’s larger masses after its first light jump. The trip to the Vetrus System had been uneventful, not that Nathen expected any spies to make their moves while in hyperspace. Nathen took a moment to check his Denchura II in its holster concealed under his jacket uniform. Gordon sat silently in his chair, occasionally listening and responding to reports from his command crew. The mobile headquarters came around on its final heading and Gordon looked up at the pale sphere of the planet in the distance.
“There it is,” the Captain said, looking through the view port. “The Orbit Angel.”
Nathen took in the image of the station silhouetted against the host planet as the viewscreen magnified. The Orbit Angel slowly and steadily rotated about. It wasn't the most glorious or prestigious space station ever designed, not among the central establishments at least. An access walkway circled the whole station, ringing the center like a hoop belt. Its outdated solar panels were fanned out around the station's middle, and when light reflected off it from the Vetrus star, it was blinding. Weak Ion pulses were frequent in the system and the panels helped to absorb the energy rather than deflect it. The pulses played havoc with the sensors but were a valuable energy source, especially given the demands of the improvements made to the system.
“Wow,” Nathen said, arching his eyebrows in genuine surprise. “Chronos wasn't kidding.”
The space between Haven Alpha and the Orbit Angel shimmered for miles as light glinted off the surface of solar panels and ship hulls. In a wider orbit than the space station was a massive, flat scaffold that looked like a huge grid of steelwork and panels. Far longer and wider than the Orbit Angel, the starshield was unmanned, except by computer and remote control. Regular gaps in the scaffold were built in for ships to nestle in and recharge their minor systems from the energy harvested by hundreds of panels around them. The slots nearest the space station were small, but gradually got bigger, as did the ships. The ones furthest from Haven
Alpha and nearest to the station were frigate and sub-frigate. Beyond that, the ships swelled into destroyers. The largest gaps in the starshield nested three cruisers. The house was packed.
Gordon lifted a hand and pointed out ships as he identified them. “Stormbolts, Demolishers, Behemoths, Enforcers...”
“There are an awful lot of civilian contracted ships, too,” Nathen said, picking out the freighters and non-military craft. “The Humanity Space Navy is hiring out to the private sectors?”
“Well of course,” Gordon said, matter-of-factly. “How else would you expect us to meet our five-month deadline?”
Nathen “hmm'ed” in thought. “True, I suppose. The HSN needs every last ship it can get ahold of.”
Gordon sighed, looking over the dozens of ships as Haven Alpha glided over the space shield, heading for the Orbit Angel.
“It looks impressive,” he said, solemnly. “Until you realize that this isn't even a fifth as many ships as were at Navpoint.”
Nathen looked down at the Captain. “This is just a waystation,” he reassured. “There will be more.”
“Hmph,” Gordon said, shrugging.
“I've also heard rumor that the Serim may throw in their lot with us.”
“Of course they will,” Gordon said. “We're counting on their Flotilla to keep our trade lines flowing.” Gordon leaned back and reached up, touching the beard on his chin. After a second, the Captain shook his head. “We're still entering a war full of uncertainty.”
The two men were quiet as they steadily drew closer to the station, passing over the fields of glimmering hulls and panels. Jump shuttles ferried crew to and from the space shield and the station, bustling about space and forming lines as they waited their turn to dock. As they drew up on the line, the comm crackled on as the mobile headquarter's state-of-the-art communications system connected with the station’s outdated one.
Prime Alpha (Planetary Powers Book 1) Page 36