That was what Pettigrew had to keep front and center in his mind. Thousands, possibly millions of lives were at stake in what would happen over the next few days. This unexpected meeting was about the future of the galaxy, not settling old scores. He had to deal with Harradoss the Leader, not Harradoss the Murderer. Even as he tried to focus on that objective, however, Pettigrew couldn’t help but feel a subdued rage as the image of his old nemesis materialized before him.
I need to be diplomatic.
“Pettigrew, my old friend,” said the tall Massang as an insincere smile spread across his broad reddish-orange face. “How good it is to see you again.”
“Harradoss, I am not your friend and I’m fairly certain you aren’t happy to see me. I haven’t spoken to you in over four years and lies are still pouring from your mouth.”
OK—that wasn’t very diplomatic, but it sure felt good!
The amiable expression vanished from the Massang’s face. “It was my understanding that people in your culture liked to get to the point in a roundabout way. What is that called?”
“Small talk,” replied Pettigrew. “Let’s you and I get right to the business at hand. Our last encounter had too much dancing around for my taste. How is your Threshold coming along? What is it your people call it—the Oplacai?”
“I very much enjoyed our little game back in the Summit system, but as you wish,” said Harradoss with a slight nod. “Our Threshold is nearly complete. The portal will be operational within weeks.”
“Not if I have anything to do with it,” Pettigrew said, allowing his mouth to curl into a small smirk. “How did your people figure it out? It’s hard for me to believe that the New Earthers put one together eight years ago and now you guys are just coincidentally building one of your own—the exact same model, no less.”
“Who is acting now, Chaz? You are asking questions when you already know the answers.”
“Indulge me, Harradoss.”
“When the New Earthers arrived in this universe two decades ago, your people failed to detect them—but my people did. The newcomers stayed in the shadows watching you, studying you. They learned all they could about the Sarissans, the Gerrhans, and all the other human tribes that abandoned your homeworld centuries ago to form the starholds.”
Pettigrew thought he could see where this was going. “And while the New Earthers stayed in the shadows watching us…”
“We Massang were in the darkest corners of the shadows watching them.”
“And carefully taking notes as they built their Threshold to bring the rest of their people into our universe.”
“Exactly so,” confirmed Harradoss. “Our former leader, Yutan, ordered the construction of our own Threshold to dispatch our battle fleets deep into enemy space without the need of a second hypergate, an anchor gate. As usual, his vision was as narrow as his body was wide. It was absurdly conventional thinking.”
“But now that you are leading the Massang, you’re going to do something much more imaginative, like taking your people to colonize another part of the galaxy, is that it?”
“Think bigger, Pettigrew. The Threshold is an interdimensional hypergate. Interdimensional,” repeated Harradoss emphatically. “Using it to travel a few light-years within our own galaxy would be like building a starship just to cross a street.”
Pettigrew crossed his arms. “Spit it out, Harradoss. I’m tired of all the drama.” Now it was Pettigrew who was lying. It was precisely this drama that was filling in the gaps, things he had guessed at but until this moment didn’t know for sure. “Why are you contacting me? What do you want?”
“We are leaving,” the Massang leader declared. “I am taking my people to the Otherverse.”
Pettigrew tried not to react, tried to hide what was going through his mind. This was one of the possibilities he had considered, but he never thought it to be any more than a longshot.
“I’m not sure I can let you do that,” Pettigrew said slowly.
“Of course, you can!” cried Harradoss. “It would be the easiest thing you have ever done, my friend. Simply stand aside and let us go.”
“Just like that—let you walk away. And if I did that, what would I tell the ghosts of Kolo Khiva? What would I say to the three million humans your people slaughtered on that world?”
“The former First Protector ordered that attack, not I. Do you think killing even more people will appease your ghosts?”
Pettigrew’s brain raced to wrap itself around the scope of it all. “I don’t believe you. You would be leaving millions of your own people behind. They would be at the mercy of the Coalition, at the mercy of your enemy. Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Those left behind are useless rabble,” Harradoss declared. “Apostates who do not deserve the opportunity to begin anew. Do with them what you will, but allow my ships to pass through the Threshold unhindered. Have your forces stand down, Pettigrew. Do not fight a battle that will result in the pointless deaths of thousands of sentient beings.”
It will be my fault if more people die. Harradoss was trying to guilt him into compliance.
“And once you and your people arrive in the Otherverse, what about those beings the New Earthers were trying to escape from—the Adversary? You think they are just going to welcome you with open arms?”
Harradoss smiled—not one of his phony smiles, but a genuine expression of glee. “That is the best part, do you not see? The Adversary is proof of our success. We are the Adversary! The great empire that the New Earthers fled from in the future, the all-mighty force that conquers the Otherverse hundreds of years from now—it is us. It is the Massang. Our rightful place in the universe will come to pass, just not in this particular universe.”
The idea left Pettigrew speechless. He sat and stared at Harradoss, who seized the moment to further his proposal.
“I believe your people call this a ‘win-win.’ The Renaissance Sector gets its peace and my people fulfill their destiny of greatness. All you need do, Chaz Pettigrew, is to have your forces stand down and allow us to leave. Your spacers will thank you. Their families will thank you. Simply do nothing. What do you say?”
What could he say? It was all too much to process in the moment. To begin with, he didn’t have the authority to make such a decision. And too, there were bigger implications, issues just now beginning to unfold in his mind. Could he actually be changing history with what he did or did not do at Cor Caroli?
“I will pass your proposal along to my superiors, as well as to our Coalition partner governments,” replied Pettigrew. “However, bureaucratic gears grind notoriously slow and until I receive new orders, the old ones stand. Those orders, First Protector Harradoss, are to stop you.”
Pettigrew stood and leaned forward, his hands flat on the desk and his eyes locked onto Harradoss. “You have forty-eight standard hours to surrender Cor Caroli, all of your ships, and the Threshold. I say again—forty-eight standard hours. Pettigrew out.” He swiftly tapped a desk control to sever the comm connection, the picture of a shaken Harradoss dissolving in front of him.
Almost immediately, the stateroom door slid open with Nyondo, Aoki, and Captain Daemon barging in. Under the circumstances, their breach of etiquette was forgivable.
“Well?” asked Nyondo.
Pettigrew reached into the lowest desk drawer and withdrew a bottle of Old Oakfield that Frank Carr had given him years ago. “Someone get me a glass.”
No one moved as Nyondo plead for details.
“What did he say? What’s going on?”
Pettigrew sat down, folded his hands together, and looked back into the faces of his aides.
“He thinks he’s Moses.”
* * * *
“Well?”
Phersu searched the ridges of his leader’s face for clues to what had transpired during the conversation. “Pettigrew will not give way, will he?”
Harradoss sat down in a nearby chair. “In our many dealings with all of the foreign species w
e have encountered, I would say that humans have one quality which separates them from all others—unimaginable stubbornness.”
Phersu made a face of disgust, but quickly turned back to the matter at hand. “First Protector, the signal to the Quinnesec system remains open. If we don’t close it within moments, someone on their end will get suspicious. Squad Leader Zann is waiting. What orders should I transmit to him?”
Harradoss gave the command without hesitation—it had to be done.
“Tell Zann to proceed with the operation. Nothing will stop us. Not the Coalition, not the humans, and most certainly not Chaz Pettigrew.”
14: Rampage
Heavy cruiser Crossbow
Orbiting Quinnesec Prime
“Marius thinks it’s all a lie,” Pettigrew said as he sipped on a glass of cinnamon tea. He had consumed so much coffee during the past week that the change of beverage was desperately needed.
Gathering his principal staff members together, the number one topic this morning was, of course, First Protector Harradoss and his startling proposal. In lieu of sleeping, Pettigrew had spent the night mulling over the encounter. It was time to hear some fresh ideas from those he trusted.
“Admiral, if this is a deception,” began Sunny Nyondo, “then what about the civilians? The arkships?”
“Marius thinks they are empty. He still believes the Threshold will be used to project forces into Coalition space for a massive counter-offensive.”
“Marius is very wise,” offered Daemon, his dark eyes squinting slightly against the background of his broad, white face. Pettigrew recognized the display, which was roughly the Lytori equivalent of a human blush. Daemon may have had a fondness for humans, but he absolutely worshipped Admiral Marius. If the Lytori leader said it was all a Massang trick, well then…
“Admiral Leversee thinks it’s a trick as well,” said Pettigrew. He hadn’t gotten around to consulting with Winston yet.
“Right now, sir, I’m more worried about our comms,” spoke up Aoki. The lieutenant had become more comfortable around her superiors over the past month and was never shy about speaking her mind.
“Gremlins, Lieutenant?”
Aoki chose to ignore his use of the archaic term, so he wasn’t sure whether she got the reference or not. “Our FTL comms have been fading in and out,” she reported with concern. “Reports are that Vanguard marauders are executing hit and run attacks against the Hixaran Mobile Gate in the Belisarius system. Our ability to contact Sarissa is severely compromised if that Gate goes down. Frankly, sir, I’m not even certain that your report on the Harradoss meeting has gotten through to Central Command yet. We’ve heard nothing back from them.”
“We could send a courier ship to the nearest Coalition station,” offered Daemon. “Of course, that would take weeks.”
Pettigrew took in a deep, frustrated breath. “We don’t have weeks. The Massang are going to use that Threshold within days.”
Daemon was confused. “But, Harradoss told you—”
“Harradoss told me a lie,” said Pettigrew gruffly. His own frustrations were unfairly boiling over onto someone else, so he forced a smile and softened his voice. “It’s what he does, Daemon. He lies—a lot.”
“Keep on that comm situation, Lieutenant,” Nyondo ordered Aoki. “Resend the Admiral’s report at intervals until you get a response from Central Command.”
Nyondo turned to the remaining member of the Inner Circle, as Pettigrew had started privately calling the group. “You’ve been very quiet this morning, Commander.”
Uschi Mullenhoff cleared her throat and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Mullenhoff was Pettigrew’s best friend in the Space Force, and outside the service too, for that matter. Her silence wasn’t only unusual, it was unsettling.
Pettigrew had always been good at stirring her up. “A dennic for your thoughts, Commander.”
Mullenhoff slid back into her chair and stretched out her long legs, crossing one over the other. “Reviewing all the long-distance scans, it looks to me like any attack on the Massang Threshold is going to result in a bloodbath.”
He was somewhat taken aback to hear this negative appraisal coming from Mullenhoff, and he wasn’t alone—the faces of Nyondo and Aoki said as much.
“Is that your best tactical guess, Commander?” said Pettigrew with an edge in his voice. “I thought your expertise was engineering.”
“It doesn’t take a field commander to see the obvious,” Mullenhoff fired back. “The Massang have seeded the space directly around the Threshold with phase inhibitors, so we can’t employ any kind of jump and smash tactics. Since no hyperdrive bubbles can form directly around the objective, it means our attacking force will have to translate in on the outer edge of Cor Caroli and fight its way to the heart of the system.”
“Of course, that works both ways,” said Pettigrew, trying desperately to find something positive. “We can’t jump directly in, but they can’t jump out, either. They are going to be trapped by their own defenses.” Unfortunately, Mullenhoff was right, and so was Harradoss yesterday afternoon. Thousands upon thousands would die.
“You have doubt in our ability to achieve victory, Commander?” asked Daemon.
Mullenhoff looked around the room at her comrades. Eventually, her eyes settled back on Pettigrew. “I guess I’m questioning what victory really means. Harradoss is the enemy and I understand that he can’t be trusted—but what he says might still make sense. If Harradoss and his fanatics are gone and we make peace with the remaining Massang, couldn’t that be considered a victory?”
An uncomfortable silence fell over the room.
“Commander Mullenhoff, with all due respect,” said Aoki, “if the Massang in Cor Caroli are allowed to become what my people call the Adversary…” Aoki stopped, trying to gather her thoughts and maintain her composure. “The Adversary killed billions, entire worlds, entire species—we just can’t stand by and let that happen if we have the ability to prevent it.”
“There is no real proof that the Adversary were descendants of the Massang,” said Mullenhoff.
The New Earther disagreed. “My people’s records show that Adversary warships were remarkably similar in appearance to present-day Massang ships.”
Mullenhoff sat up straighter to make her point. “I had the opportunity to examine some of those records myself, back when we were stationed in the Sol system aboard Tempest. I’ll admit that the designs are similar, but it’s mostly in the triangular shape of the vessels. That’s a pretty basic form. For all we know, many spacefaring cultures use—”
The voice of the ship’s computer interrupted Mullenhoff.
“Sorry to interrupt, Admiral, but Commander Denning needs to speak with you. It is urgent.”
Actually, Pettigrew was thankful for the interruption, unusual though it was.
The image of Crossbow’s XO, Commander Denning, materialized adjacent to Pettigrew. He was sitting in the command chair on the bridge.
“Sorry to intrude, Admiral, but Captain Porter is dirtside attending to some business at Knife’s Edge and I have a bit of a dilemma up here. Frankly, sir, I need your advice.”
Pettigrew glanced over to Nyondo who subtly rolled her eyes. She had warned him about Denning, claiming that the man was too green to be second in command of the fleet flagship. The problem, of course, was that it was wartime and people often got promoted out of a necessity that did not match their skills.
Before Pettigrew could say anything, Denning continued. “The thing is, Admiral, we are being scanned.”
“Are you sure, XO?”
“Positive. They are passive scans, in the lower Omicron Band, but someone is definitely looking us over. How should I proceed, sir?”
Mullenhoff began to rapidly punch commands into her datapad. Daemon grabbed his device, the Lytori version of a pad, and began to bang away as well.
“Commander Denning, this is Nyondo. What ships are nearby? Who is closest to Crossbow?”
Denning looked away for an instant before turning back. “There are three vessels within ten klicks, ma’am: the cruiser Bellerophon, the Lytori frigate Thora, and a Pontian freighter, the Zephania.”
“Not possible,” Daemon declared. “I remember reading a comm dispatch. The Pontian freighter Zephania was reported lost with all hands nine standard months ago.”
“Hells,” cursed Aoki as she scanned some data. “Zephania has a cargo shuttle in Shuttlebay Two right now. It just docked.”
“For what purpose?” asked Pettigrew.
“Delivering a consignment of filter plugs for the water recyclers.”
“That freighter could have been—”
Pettigrew was about to say ‘hijacked’ as the first tremor rocked his stateroom.
“Denning, what was that?” asked Pettigrew. The image from the bridge flickered, then went dark. It reemerged seconds later on the smaller screen of his desktop monitor. Denning was being buried in an avalanche of confusion, trying to listen to simultaneous reports from multiple crew members.
“Sir, there’s been an explosion in one of the shuttlebays.”
“It’s in the merchant bay—number two,” interrupted Aoki, her datapad apparently linked to the ship’s computer net.
“Correction, Admiral,” said Denning in a voice of borderline panic. “We have an intruder alert. There are hostiles coming off a cargo transport docked in Shuttlebay Two.”
Klaxons rang out as the voice of the ship AI warned of intruders over the shipwide speakers.
“Ship, give us a visual on Shuttlebay Two,” Nyondo ordered Crossbow’s AI. A large portion of the stateroom bulkhead transformed into a wall screen displaying the internal camera feeds from the starboard hanger.
Huge figures in armored battle suits were disembarking from the Pontian cargo shuttle, stepping over the bodies of dead or wounded Crossbow crewmembers. There were a half-dozen victims strewn about the deck. One injured spacer raised his arm in a gesture which looked like a plea for help. It was a fatal mistake. The tallest of the intruders leveled a heavy plasma rifle at the wounded man’s head and fired at point-blank range.
Starhold's Fate Page 13