“Bigger,” the sensor’s operator said, listening to his instruments with growing worry. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was an echo off the starshield from the station. But it’s moving in tandem with the others. Sorry I can’t make more out. There’s some heavy jamming going on.”
“Then whoever they are, they’re not friendly.” Robert turned and motioned to his assistants. “Sound the alarm. I want everyone at battle stations in five. Warm up the MARCH platforms, and clear the starshield for imminent battle. Tell every captain out there what’s going on.”
The bridge crew leaped at the call to arms. Every man and woman attacked their consoles with the promise of action spurring them on. Then, slowly, the air of excitement gave way to silent bafflement. Several heartbeats passed, and there were no alarms. The bridge fell eerily silent as even the chirps and blips from the various control stations went dark. Robert looked about as his bridge just went deadly silent.
“…why are the alarms not sounding?” he asked, hesitantly.
“Uhm, standby,” said one assistant, obviously flustered. “There seems to be some malfunction…”
“Admiral, comms have all gone dark. I can’t hail the starshield.”
“Well, get it sorted out! Those ships are all jammed in place unless we can disengage their docking clamps!”
Suddenly all the screens went dark. The lights flickered, but stayed on. Robert Kiles glanced around, then pressed the power switch for his own station. Nothing happened. His lead assistant stared at his screen for a moment before turning to the admiral.
“Admiral, we just lost the mainframe.”
Robert scowled, feeling the creases of his forehead furrow. “Malfunction?” he asked, suspiciously.
“No sir, it looks like it just… shut down.”
“That’s impossible,” Robert said, giving his station a frustrated slap. “We control everything from the bridge. The only other way to shut anything down would be from the core. If there’s-”
Robert trailed off as his screen flickered back on. There was no startup process, no recovery screen. Just blank. Robert leaned forward, frowning. Several seconds passed as lights flitted across all the consoles. Robert reached down and stabbed his finger on the keypad several times. Nothing happened. Robert stood and looked out the window. Any minute now, he expected to see a hostile fleet burst from lightspace.
Suddenly, the screen chirped. Robert looked down and leaned in close. He hoped a startup screen would light up. Instead, he got a message. Just three words, but a message none-the-less.
[Do – Not – Resist]
Robert stared at the screen for a moment as all across the bridge, the same three words appeared on every screen at every station.
[Do – Not – Resist] [Do – Not – Resist] [Do – Not – Resist]
[Do – Not – Resist] [Do – Not – Resist] [Do – Not – Resist]
[Do – Not – Resist] [Do – Not – Resist] [Do – Not – Resist]
Robert straightened up as worried mumbles swept over the bridge. He turned to his first assistant.
“Get me a runner.”
The assistant nodded and reached up to his headset, trying to get something other than static. The warning continued to hover on Robert’s screen. He ignored it.
“Everyone,” he said, voice carrying over the murmurs of concern. “The enemy is coming. They intend to take us without a fight. I do not intend to go quietly. We can choose either to live as cowards, or die as heroes.”
Robert glared out the viewport, muttering to himself. “We may not be a war station, but we can still give them a fight.”
Just then the door to the bridge opened. Robert turned and saw a man in a crew uniform enter with two guards in infantry uniforms follow behind him with Coyote assault rifles. The admiral turned to meet them as the two guards stopped just inside the door. The man in the crew uniform came to attention and saluted, gloved hands brushing his poorly-trimmed brow.
“You requested a runner, sir,” the man said, dropping his hand to his side before Robert could salute back. Robert didn’t waste time with formalities.
“Son, get on the run and get down to the war room. Tell those captains to get to their ships, now! Sound the alarm! I want every last soul on this forsaken station up and armed. Man the turrets, prep the launch tubes, damn the torpedoes, do whatever you have to! I’m not getting turned into a void without a fight.”
The man didn’t move. Robert waited, then lifted his hands in question.
“That’s all. Now get a move on.”
The man looked past the admiral with a strange expression on his face. “What about that?”
Robert turned and looked at the screen. It still had the message on it, Do – Not – Resist. He turned back, teeth grinding.
“You listen to me, alright? We, are not, surrendering. Period.”
The man cocked his head and pointed at the screen. “Did you read that message carefully? It says something else.”
Robert frowned, glancing at the screen. There were still only three words. He looked back at the runner.
“What are you talking about?”
The runner motioned, insistently. “Look again. Look closer.”
Robert felt precious seconds slipping away, but turned and leaned in close to his screen. He scanned the words, looking for anything he could have possibly missed. He squinted, finding nothing.
“I don’t see what you’re-”
His words spiked into an agonized scream.
Robert felt his body spasm as the combat knife chopped into his back, right between the shoulder blades, driving in up to the hilt. His surprised, pain-wracked scream brought the entire bridge to a halt, officers shooting to their feet and backing away as everyone watched their admiral die. The two guards—the only ones with weapons—watched on silently as the murder took place. The older man’s eyes fogged as pain shot through his head. The runner kept his fingers wrapped white-knuckled around the hilt of the knife, hand trembling as he kept it forced in. Robert struggled for a moment to fight through the pain, reaching clumsily behind him as the man shoved him against the screen. Then the pain drained away, and Robert felt for an instant like he could relax, just before the life faded from his eyes.
The “runner” held on for a moment as a terrified silence fell on the bridge. His breath came in heavy gasps as he backed away from the knifed admiral’s body. His hands trembled as he carefully straightened his crew uniform with his blood-stained gloves, fixing his unkempt hair and smearing blood. Once he’d regained his calm, he sniffed once and turned to the bridge crew.
“Do not resist,” the traitor said, twitching.
The admiral’s assistant exploded from his chair, screaming and charging right past Kile’s body. The traitor didn’t move as his attacker rushed him.
A gunshot echoed against the walls, followed by the sound of a body hitting the deck.
The traitor looked down, eyes half closed, at the body of the assistant. Behind him, standing next to the doorway, one of the guards lowered his Coyote. The rest of the bridge crew looked on in shock, and only then realized that these were not the guards who were supposed to be outside the bridge. The traitor in the crew uniform looked up.
“Anyone else?”
Nobody moved.
The two guards moved into the room, ushering officers away from their stations and corralling them up against the wall where they were away from everything. The “runner” picked a comm. unit off his belt and clicked it on.
“Bridge secured,” he said, flatly. “Turn it back on now.”
Seconds later, the messages disappeared, and the consoles returned to their regular modes. The runner reached down and pulled his knife out of the admiral’s body with a sickening sucking noise. He grabbed a fistful of the admiral’s uniform and pulled the body off the console, leaving a bloodstain on the monitor. ‘Do – Not – Resist’ flashed one last time before it returned to normal. Without looking at the bloody bo
dy of Admiral Kiles, the traitor went to work on the console.
The Yew would be arriving soon.
They were expecting a warm welcome.
***
Nathen turned the corner and took a moment to catch his breath, leaning against the wall. There were still no alarms and no soldiers running to prepare for an assault. If word didn’t get out in the next several minutes, any hope of making a proper stand against the Yew would be lost. Unfortunately, the only way to issue a code red alarm was from the bridge, and that was currently beyond Nathen’s reach. So he pressed on.
A minute later Nathen skidded to a halt. The hallway curved in a semicircle, with three doors marked War Rooms A, B, C, and D. He didn’t know which one the council was in. He observed his surroundings for a moment, planning out his course of action, then moved to a door and slapped the controls. The door hissed open and Nathen searched the darkness. Empty.
Nathen moved on to War Room B and opened the door, repeating the exercise of the previous room. Again, empty. Nathen stepped across to the other side of the hall to try War Rooms C and D. This time, when Nathen opened the door his efforts were rewarded. Nathen stepped inside, facing the bewildered looks of the ships’ captains and sub-captains. The room was dark, with only the glow of the consoles to illuminate everyone present. There were about half a dozen actual captains, while the rest were sub-captains or personal aides. Whatever conversation was being held came to an abrupt stop as Nathen entered the room, slamming the door shut behind him. One captain, near the door, stood in an outrage.
“You!” the man burst out, having no actual idea who Nathen was. “You’ve just violated security and the code of secrecy! I’ll have you thrown in the brig for this outrage!”
“This council is over,” Nathen said, voice raised, but not to shouting levels. “Return to your ships at once.”
“You there!” shouted the angry captain at two officers nearest the door. “Secure this man and turn him over to-”
“Calm yourself, Captain Hark,” came the voice of another captain in the darkened room. “We are all gentlemen here. We can react, rationally.”
Nathen saw a man at the far end of the oval table lean forward, putting his face in the light. The man bore the uniform and trimmings of a destroyer captain, and had a face like chiseled stone.
“Tell me, sir. What’s brings you so…. energetically into our council?”
Nathen looked to a shadowed figure in black and red, close to the door. “Ask the Ambassador.”
All eyes turned on the captain. There was a sudden rush of whispers, ranging from anger to awe. After a moment, Gordon stood, locking his arms behind his back. One of the other captains muttered out loud.
“Ambassador,” he said, hesitantly. “As in… Ambassador Bryor?
“The Ambassador of War,” said the detsroyer captain at the far end of the room.
Confused whispers circulated around the table as all those present re-evaluated the mysterious man in black and red. Nathen saw Gordon flash him a look in the low light. Nathen’s hand crept inside his jacket and closed around the handle of his Denchura. When the room had settled, Gordon turned back to the table.
“This man tells the truth,” he said, slowly. “I am the Ambassador.”
Gordon let the declaration hang, then turned away from the table and took several steps toward Nathen.
“The enemy is coming. Return to your ships.”
At first, nobody moved. Several of the captains actually looked as though they were going to turn on the Ambassador, others examined him with respect. Then, one by one, the captains rose, followed by their aides. There were murmurs and whispers, but no objections. Most had heard the rumors about the Ambassador who had become an avenger. Few had taken the stories seriously. Now all were re-evaluating the truthfulness of the rumors. Still puzzled and a bit lost, the captains slowly filed toward the door as Gordon squared off in front of Nathen, who kept himself positioned next to the door. The captain kept his hands behind his back, but within reach of his Karl 9 mag pistol. Nathen kept his hand on his hidden Denchura.
“Well, Commander?” Gordon finally said, never breaking expression. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
Nathen gave a little nod.
“I just got to thinking,” he said, slowly. “About all that’s been happening. How it’s been happening. How it all started back in the Menturion System, with a few simple coincidences.”
Gordon said nothing, but his brow furrowed further. Nathen went on.
“It occurred to me after we spoke. Getting too close to people in war can lead to you getting hurt.”
The door opened behind Nathen and the officers began to file out, glancing in Gordon’s direction. The Ambassador did not reciprocate, eyes fixed on Nathen. The Commander continued.
“That stuck with me, what you said. ‘Close’. But when I think about one of my people tipping off the enemy, it just doesn’t add up. We didn’t even have any means of contacting the enemy fleet while on the ground. It had to be something else.”
Gordon smirked with a raised eyebrow. “It had to be a ship.”
“Yeah,” Nathen said with a nod as the room started to clear. “So you were right, Gordon. Our traitor was someone close. Someone who was in the right place, at the right time. Someone who had access to a ship.”
There was a muffled pop as the Denchura came free of its holster.
“Say, even, the captain of one.”
The click of a hammer was lost in the shuffle of footsteps.
“Someone who, as we know, was very close to the Yew.”
Nathen’s arm flashed out...
...and seized the back of a crimson captain’s uniform as the man tried to slip past and out the door. He pulled the body into the dark room and pressed the barrel of his Denchura into the small of the man’s back.
“Someone like you,” he said into the man’s ear. “Captain Lupell.”
Chapter 40
The last of the room’s occupants filed out, leaving Nathen alone with the two captains. The captive man raised his hands, sensing the gun in his back.
“Lupell?” he said, hesitantly. “You’re addressing me? No, you’re mistaken, sir. Very mistaken. I’m Captain Sharet of the Generation. I’ve never heard of…”
Gordon Bryor muscled in, grabbing the man by the shoulder and spinning him around, seizing his lapel. Nathen stepped back out of range as Gordon stared into the man’s face. After a second, his eyes widened.
“You…”
Lupell sighed, his entire attitude changing. He had a thin beard now, and his hair was different from what Nathen had seen nearly a week before, but the disguise fell apart under scrutiny.
It was Captain Lupell of the Sledgefast.
“Fine, you got me,” he said, rolling his eyes as if he’d just been caught in a schoolboy’s prank. “I should have known this would happen.”
“You’re the one behind this?” Gordon said, disbelievingly.
The traitor looked Gordon in the eye, with undisguised hostility.
“It’s an honor to meet you face-to-face,” Lupell said with a half sneer, half grin. “When we spoke before, I had no idea I was talking to the infamous Ambassador of War. I must say they exaggerate your countenance as that of a vengeful, fire-spewing demon.”
The silence of the room was broken by the sound of a heavy mag pistol clearing its holster. Lupell suddenly found his head angled back, the barrel of a Karl 9 between his eyes. Gordon’s deathdrip on Lupell’s collar tightened so hard Nathen heard a ripping of seams. The Alliance peace medallions on the pistol glinted as Gordon’s eyes flashed like burning coals.
“I may not be a demon,” he said, his voice taking on a dark undertone. “But I’ve seen Hell.”
The hammer locked down with a heavy clunk, finger hovering on the trigger. For a second, Lupell lost his grip on his calm, and his eyes flashed in fear. The traitor swallowed, uncomfortably.
“Back away, Ambassador,” Na
then said. “You had the last one.”
Gordon stayed poised for a moment longer, and Nathen wondered if he was actually going to blow the man’s head off with his rocket pistol. Then, with a look of disgust, Gordon removed the gun from Lupell’s forehead and backed away. Lupell reached up and rubbed the mark on his forehead as Gordon tucked his Karl 9 away with restraint. Nathen crossed his arms, keeping his hand wrapped around his gun.
“So I’m guessing that’s the Sledgefast out there,” Nathen said, almost casually. Lupell favored Nathen with a wry grin.
“Please. It’s just a ship. The name can be whatever I want it to be. You think identification codes can’t be forged?” Lupell looked at Gordon. “Isn’t that right, ‘Kafka Dogma?’ ”
Gordon looked surprised, but his expression quickly turned grim.
“So it was you who was feeding the enemy information on our movements.”
“No,” Nathen said, interrupting. “We were. He just did two things. First, he got close enough to plant a Yew spy probe on our hull, to hijack our comms. He already knew where our communication’s room was, because we let him transfer a data dump over a tight beam. That’s where the virus came from.”
Lupell made a face. “I honestly thought you would have figured that out sooner.” Another glance at Gordon. “Again, your reputation is overstated.”
“Go to Hell.”
“Enough,” Nathen said, uncrossing his arms and pointing his pistol at the ground. “Gordon, wait outside.”
The captain looked at Nathen for a second, then walked out the door, refusing to meet Lupell’s eyes. Nathen safetied his sidearm and placed the gun on the conference table as the door slid shut. Lupell watched the door close, then smirked.
“I get it,” he said, turning back to Nathen. “The old ‘Good Cop’, ‘Bad Cop’ routine, is that r-”
Nathen’s fist caught Lupell in the face with a left hook.
Lupell staggered back with a choke, eyes squinted shut as the right side of his face turned a rash red. Nathen stood back, letting the traitor steady himself against the wall as he flexed the flash-seared fingers of his hand. Lupell touched his face tenderly and looked back at Nathen.
Prime Alpha (Planetary Powers Book 1) Page 48