Negation Force (Obsidiar Fleet Book 1)

by Anthony James

  Fleet Admiral John Duggan’s meeting with the Ghasts wasn’t going to plan. Duggan’s opposite number in the Ghast navy stared impassively through the viewscreen, his pale, grey eyes giving away nothing that could be used as leverage.

  For his own part, Duggan stared back, knowing that to look away for even an instant would be seen as a display of weakness. Subjos Kion-Tur was big, even amongst his species and Duggan imagined the Ghast to be at least eight feet tall. He was broad and muscular with it, his dull blue uniform hardly able to contain his thick arms and legs. His face had similar features to those of a human – nose, mouth, eyes, but mixed with something unmistakeably alien.

  “It would be seen as a great favour amongst the people of the Confederation if the Ghasts were to offer some assistance in this matter.”

  “The terms of our treaty do not encompass military aid,” said Kion-Tur. “We are neighbours at peace, not brothers in arms.”

  Duggan had been a frontline captain when the peace treaty was finalised. Even as a younger man he hadn’t been especially naïve, but he’d still been filled with hope that some kind of bond would develop between humans and Ghasts. A real friendship would forever be a step too far after the war. Even so, both species knew how insignificant they were in a universe which seemed to be filled with empires of advanced, warlike aliens. Human ingenuity, combined with the Ghasts’ ability to advance their tech at a tremendous speed, would have left both species much more secure. For many reasons, it appeared as if those closer ties would never happen.

  “The Vraxar have come for us. The Ghasts will be next.”

  “You say they have come looking for Obsidiar. We have little of it for them to find.”

  “We only guess it is Obsidiar they want. You say the Ghasts lack reserves. You have enough to fuel a number of your warships, Subjos,” said Duggan. “They have found Atlantis, perhaps as a result of the Oblivion Teskinir’s broadcast forty years ago.”

  “You don’t know this for certain, Admiral Duggan. You don’t even know if this is the Vraxar.”

  “Who else might it be? Your ancestors – the Estral – are gone.”

  A hint of a smile appeared on Kion-Tur’s face, showing a flash of the same bright, white teeth all Ghasts appeared to possess. “Some amongst us would argue the Vraxar’s defeat of the Estral makes us friends.”

  “They are no friends of the Ghasts.”

  “I am sure you are correct. Nevertheless, they are not yet our enemy.”

  “You will send no ships?”

  The Ghast didn’t answer directly. “What of your own Obsidiar warships, Fleet Admiral? You have led us to believe there are more than thirty amongst your fleet. Could it be that you have sent them elsewhere? I am advised the Confederation has additional problems out on its frontiers.”

  Duggan had absolutely no idea where the Ghasts had found out about the rebellion at Roban and Liventor. He kept his face neutral, fully aware Kion-Tur could be doing no more than fishing for information about both the Space Corps fleet and the frontier issue.

  “The people of the Confederation are as happy as they have ever been, Subjos, safe in the knowledge that the Council has their best interests at heart. You are aware Confederation Space is vast and even with a hundred Obsidiar warships, it would not be easy to bring sufficient numbers to bear against the Vraxar.”

  Kion-Tur laughed, the sound not entirely pleasant even with the hard edges smoothed off by the language modules. “You are poor at deflection, Fleet Admiral. Where you attempt diversion, I will provide truth. We do not have a significant warship within three days of Atlantis. Even if we did, I would not order it to assist.”

  Duggan cursed inwardly. The Ghasts were not accomplished liars. When asked a question to which they couldn’t give an honest answer, they generally answered a slightly different question to the one asked. Sometimes they changed the subject and occasionally they would point-blank refuse to give any answer at all. Duggan realised Kion-Tur had easily seen through his partial answer.

  “No significant warship?” he asked. It was tantamount to an admission that the Ghasts had other, less significant, resources closer.

  “The movement of our fleet is our own business. I’m sure the Space Corps has vessels parked near to every single one of the planets populated by the Ghast Subjocracy.” Kion-Tur looked intently at Duggan. “Vessels equipped with surface-cleansing incendiaries.”

  “The movement of our fleet is our own business,” said Duggan, parroting Kion-Tur’s response. In truth, he was shocked at how well-informed the Ghast was. The Space Corps maintained a constant, covert presence near to each of the Ghast worlds. Entire planets had been destroyed during the war and the Confederation had no intention of letting it happen again, even if it meant extensive subterfuge against the Ghasts.

  “I wish you success in defeating your attackers,” said Kion-Tur.

  “You will not reconsider?”

  “We do not see the requirement for us to become involved.”

  Duggan nodded. “Very well. I hope the Ghast Subjocracy does not come to regret its decision.”

  “A life without regrets is a life which has been wasted.”

  “I don’t care for platitudes,” said Duggan.

  Kion-Tur wasn’t bothered by the comment. “If you were to give us some of your Obsidiar, we would assist.”

  In a way, it was surprising it had taken the Ghast so long to bring the matter up, given their reputation for straight talk.

  “I can’t authorise that,” said Duggan. “We have precious little of it our stores.”

  “We estimate you to have something in the region of two-point-five million tonnes in total.”

  The guess was exceptionally accurate, if indeed it was a guess. Duggan had no intention of giving the game away by confirming or denying. “How much of our Obsidiar do you expect to receive for your promised assistance?”

  “Enough for ten of our warships – approximately half a million tonnes. That would be sufficient for us to put three of our Obsidiar-fuelled Oblivion battleships at your disposal, as soon as we can recall them.”

  “You ask too much, Subjos. Besides, Atlantis is under attack now. We can’t wait for your ships to return from wherever in deep space you have them.”

  The Ghast smiled. “Perhaps we don’t ask enough, Admiral. It is not we who are under attack. Perhaps if you were to ask later our price will be higher. You may regret spurning this opportunity while the cost is so low. An agreement reached now would ensure our resources are at your disposal immediately in the event the Vraxar come to Overtide or Pioneer.”

  Three Ghast battleships would make a fearsome attack group but it was galling to listen to the demands, especially given the likelihood the Vraxar would come for the Ghasts at some point. Duggan had long suspected the Ghasts were angry to have found themselves with so little Obsidiar at the end of the Estral wars. On the other hand, it was the Confederation which had done most of the fighting.

  Duggan wasn’t happy but knew he couldn’t let pride or a sense of betrayal stop him from acting in the best interests of the Confederation.

  “I will speak to the Council,” he said.

  “We await your answer with interest.”

  The Ghast didn’t speak further and Duggan gave the command for Cerys to close the secure link. The viewscreen went dark and he returned to his desk to sit in the ancient, battered chair in which he did most of his best thinking. He opened the top drawer in his desk and pulled out a framed photo of his wife and three children, taken back in their younger days. With a sigh, he returned it, keeping it hidden to stop the never-ending barrage questions he received about his family when he left the picture on display – a lesson taught him by a man long-dead.

  With the comms link to Atlantis unavailable, the response fleet facing what was sure to be a vastly superior foe, his other resources in transit and this double-edged offer from the Ghasts to help, Duggan experienced a terrible feeling of helplessness.

&n
bsp; Chapter Twelve

  Lieutenant Maria Cruz brought the group to a halt while she did some rapid thinking. The three civilian operators milled around uncertainly, whilst Lieutenant Reynolds did his best to look like this was the kind of situation he encountered every day. They were in a compact room with bare, metal walls and cheap carpet tiles on the floor. There was no reason for the room to be here and it had absolutely no apparent purpose, other than to break up a long corridor.

  “I think the CPU room is a couple of levels below this one,” said Larry Keller. “Somewhere over there.”

  “Think?” sneered Lieutenant Reynolds “I thought you knew where you were going?”

  “It’s been a while, Lieutenant. I came a different way last time.”

  “I thought they paid you to know this stuff?”

  “No, they pay me to troubleshoot and monitor the hub encryption algos. They pay you to kill the bad guys.”

  “Knock it off!” said Lieutenant Maria Cruz. “This is screwed up enough already without you two arguing.”

  They were lost, somewhere underground. In fact, none of them even knew if they were still in the comms hub area or if they’d inadvertently wandered off into another zone on the Tillos base. The problem arose from the fact that during normal operation most of the doors remained closed for the majority of the time. You either didn’t have authorisation to open them, or you simply didn’t have a need to see what was beyond. The Space Corps absolutely did not encourage exploration, so in the end, personnel walked to where they were required to be at the start of their shift. At the end of their shift, they walked the same route in reverse.

  Since the enemy had released the locks on every single door, the group was able to roam freely, yet without an idea where they were going. Up until recently, it had been silent. A few minutes ago, a series of explosions had shaken the walls. Cruz was sure they were far underground, so whatever the source of the blasts, it likely carried a fairly high yield. There were only two positives she could take from their situation – firstly, they were alive, Secondly, no more of those skin-metal creatures had shown up. In the absence of birthday drinks, Cruz accepted what she was given.

  “I think the residual power is gone,” said Nelson, brandishing her own diagnostics tablet.

  “What’ve you got, Debs?” asked Keller, crossing over to look.

  “The processor clusters have just died. Except this single, remaining unit.”

  “The Obsidiar core.”

  “It’s nailed on one hundred percent,” said Akachi.

  “They’re still trying to get through the encryption.”

  “Yup. A standard brute force attack,” said Keller. “Since the other clusters shut down, the hub just got a little easier to break into. On the other hand, we only need to pull out the Obsidiar core now to put the databanks into a static state.”

  “That’s good news?” asked Reynolds.

  “Probably as good as we’re going to get, Lieutenant.”

  “Shh!” said Akachi. “I heard something.”

  Reynolds looked as if he wanted to say something dismissive.

  “I can hear it,” said Nelson.

  Cruz picked up on it too. It was the heavy thud of footsteps, muted only by a thin covering of cheap carpet tiles. “Quick! Move!” she said, as loudly as she dared.

  They ran for the far exit corridor. Dim light pooled on the floor, its overlapping patches insufficient to dispel the darkness, leaving them to dash through alternating places of shadowed gloom and cold, meagre white. Cruz tripped over something – an object low to the floor hidden in the dark. She swore under her breath, her mind waiting for the pain to come rushing into her bruised shin. She limped onwards, as the others stretched out a lead of a few paces. Keller looked over his shoulder and dropped back to help. He put an arm around her shoulder and hauled her upright.

  “Thanks, Larry,” she said.

  “No worries, Lieutenant.”

  While Cruz tried to get back into her stride, the others reached the entrance to a stairwell. Reynolds was in the lead and he turned without hesitation. The rest followed, vanishing from sight. A few seconds later, Cruz and Keller reached the place. The steps went up and down, the sound of receding footsteps making it hard to tell which way the others had gone.

  “This way,” she said, setting off downwards.

  She stopped, sensing Keller’s hesitation.

  “You said it was down, right?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He flashed a look at the upwards stairs. “I think they went up. I don’t think I’m cut out to be a hero, Lieutenant.”

  “I need you to show me what it is I’m meant to do, Larry. Where I’m meant to go.”

  Suddenly, he smiled. “For you, Lieutenant? Anything.”

  With a start, she realised he meant it. He followed her at once and they took the stairs two at a time, haste competing with the need for silence. After one flight, the stairs switched back and descended another twenty metres. They emerged into a room, this one packed with banks of consoles. There was a series of gauges on one wall, along with other instrumentation. The power was off and everything was dead. There was a damp, mustiness in the air as if the ventilation in the room was poor.

  “They’re not here,” said Cruz, cocking her head to listen. She swore. “Damnit, I bet Reynolds went up those steps like a champion sprinter.”

  “The man is a coward,” said Keller.

  “I shouldn’t comment on a fellow officer.”

  “He’s always trying to undermine you, Lieutenant. Even when you’re not there.”

  “I know, Larry. It’s my own fault for letting him get away with it.”

  It wasn’t the best time to talk about the difficulties she had with stamping her authority. Cruz knew she was well-liked, but when it came to expert well-poisoners like Reynolds, she was out of her depth.

  “I think I know where we are now,” said Keller. “See that sign?”

  He ran across the room, heading for another of the seemingly identical passages. The sign in question hung from the ceiling. Hub Core Processing Area. Authorised Personnel Only.

  Aside from the sign, there was evidently something in the layout which told Keller where he was and he picked up the pace, turning left and then right, with his diagnostics tablet clutched in one hand. The explosions came again and this time they were followed by the metallic sound of a repeater, somewhere ahead of them. Keller came to an abrupt halt.

  “Let me go in front,” said Cruz.

  She raised the gauss pistol, realising how small it looked. She walked on, Keller following a few paces behind. He looked close to panic and Cruz berated herself for getting into a position where she required the assistance of a civilian.

  “We need to go that way,” Keller whispered, pointing to a passage in the right-hand wall. He didn’t need to remind her that the sound of repeater fire had come from the same direction.

  She looked around the corner and pulled her head back. “Bodies,” she said.

  There were five of them, all human and each of them clothed in a military-issue space suit. The soldiers were contorted in death, their blood spilled on the floor and the walls. Their bodies were shredded, with limbs and huge chunks of flesh torn away.

  “Hand-held repeater,” she said. “They must have been caught by it.”

  Keller peered around the corner and his face turned white. “Messy.”

  “How far away from the processor room are we, Larry?”

  “Not far.”

  “Think you can give me directions?”

  He nodded. “Left at the end of here, second right, across an open space and it should be straight in front of you.”

  “Once I’m in the room, what do I need to do?”

  “Look for the handles. You just need to find the right handle and pull out the processing unit.”

  “As easy as that?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant. They should be marked. You want unit number five. That’s the one that burned ou
t and got replaced by the Obsidiar processor.”

  “What if they bring the power back after I pull the core? Won’t they be left with a bunch of easily-hacked old cores?”

  “No. Once all the processors are offline, the data goes static. It doesn’t matter if you fire the encryption processing clusters up again – by that point it’ll be too late.”

  “Think you can find your way back to that stairwell?”

  “I should stay with you, Lieutenant.”

  “It’s too dangerous, Larry. I’m the one with the training and the gun.”

  He was torn – she could read it in his face. Larry didn’t want to leave her, but he didn’t want to die either and he clearly knew he stood a better chance if he went in the opposite direction to the bodies.

  “Maybe we can have a drink when this is all over, huh? Just me and you,” she said.

  The change of subject cut through his fear and focused his mind. He smiled. “That sounds like a plan I can go with.”

  “I want you to go back to the stairs and see if you can get out of here. You’re no good without a weapon.”

  “Those guys out there were carrying rifles. I could use one.”

  “I want you to go back, Larry.”

  Something changed in his face – a hardening as if he’d discovered a new resolve he didn’t know existed.

  “I’m staying with you. Two of us doubles the chance of success, right? And I’ve already got the promise of a date out of it. In my eyes, that’s a result already. Anyway, how could I look at myself in the mirror knowing I’d been given the chance to stop these bastards finding out where everyone else in the Confederation lives and I’d been too scared to do anything about it?”

  They both knew their chances of survival were slim and it was unlikely they’d ever get out for that drink. It didn’t seem right to say it.

  “Come on, then. We’ll stick together,” she said.

  Whatever had been the source of the earlier gunfire, it was now silent. Feeling exposed, Cruz made her way along the corridor, keeping her shoulder to the wall. She reached the closest body, doing her best to avoid looking into the dead eyes. They didn’t cover this in training and the exercises the Space Corps put its troops through was no substitute. When the sharp scent of blood reached her nostrils, it took every ounce of her willpower to remain strong and for the first time since she’d joined the Corps, Maria Cruz wished she’d chosen a different path.