Ricket scurried over to the first pod’s control panel and triggered the unit’s clamshell lid to open up.
Jason heard two sets of running footsteps coming louder in the corridor. Gail Stone appeared first, out of breath. Dira, edging by her, and also out of breath, joined Ricket at the pod’s panel.
“Did you change the species configuration to human?” she asked him.
“Yes, Dira. I did.”
“You need to ensure there isn’t a software conflict with Rizzo’s later version nano-devices …”
“Yes, I am doing that now. I am transmitting my own data-storage to provide the latest MediSet package updates.”
Seeing Ricket’s oversized cranium, he wondered what wasn’t being stored in there. Dira turned to Gail, now standing at her shoulder. She wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. “We’ll do everything we possibly can for him.”
Gail nodded, not attempting to speak.
“Let’s make room for them in here. As a matter of fact, we should move out to the corridor,” Jason said, acknowledging an incoming hail.
“Boomer?”
“Dad … we’re here! Just phase-shifted into a low orbit around Endromoline. We’ve got the coordinates. Phase-shifting Rizzo down in five seconds.”
“Everyone out now!” Jason ordered.
Ricket was the last to funnel out of Medical. Once the telltale white flash appeared, they quickly hurried back inside and found Boomer and Mollie kneeling by Rizzo’s battle-suited body. Upon seeing his girls again, unharmed, Jason couldn’t help but feel enormous relief. He hadn’t seen Boomer in what … two years? All he wanted to do was throw his arms around her. Tell he how much he’d missed her. Then, noticing Rizzo’s inert form, his heart sank.
Gail continued watching, still saying nothing.
Dira looked over to Ricket. “We need to get him out of that battle suit!”
“It is fine … environmental systems are fully functional,” Ricket said. “The ship’s atmosphere will support normal breathing for all of us.”
White flashes strobed brightly out in the corridor as Jason surmised others from the Storm were arriving. Billy appeared at the hatchway, looking concerned.
Ricket remotely deactivated Rizzo’s battle suit. As it segmented down into the SuitPac device on his belt, Jason had to look away from his friend’s lifeless body. Too many memories—he was unprepared to deal with what was happening.
Ricket said, “Please, help me get him up and into the MediPod.”
Jason moved over, grabbing Rizzo under his upper arms, while Billy took ahold of his feet. They hefted him up and carefully laid him inside the MediPod. Immediately, as the clamshell began to close, Gail reached her hand in and gently touched Rizzo’s cheek, before reluctantly stepping aside.
Jason deactivated his own battle suit and the others in the compartment followed suit. No one spoke a word as Ricket and Dira worked at the MediPod’s control interface. The slow-revolving anatomical figure hovered. As expected, it showed no heartbeat.
Chapter 50
Thirty-five Light-Years from Sol System
Vastma-Class Command Ship Mamet
Bridge
__________________________
Commander Brakken stood and stretched his seven-foot-tall frame, reaching his arms up and over his head one at a time. His eyes burned from lack of sleep and, over the last few hours, his muscles had begun to cramp. For fourteen straight hours he’d sustained a presence on the Vastma-class command ship bridge. At this point, it was more about maintaining an impression—the message it conveyed to other Sahhrain crewmembers—that he was the one directing the upcoming sortie into the Sol System.
Brakken had first felt the power shift soon after departing the Dacci system. It was then, some fifty light-years, or so, back—that his suspicions were confirmed. The fucking Craing! For years, they’d been content to support the Sahhrain behind the scenes—in the shadows—and were nothing short of a godsend. Whatever was needed—technology, weapons, equipment, and, of course, labor. Thousands upon thousands of bodies were needed to support the Sahhrain military buildup. Dacci was incapable of providing anywhere near the necessary number of fighting warriors. The Sahhrain and the Craing shared a common enemy. Their own advanced warships might have speeded through space unequipped—having only a fraction of what was essential on board—if it weren’t for the Craing and their Calhoom look-alikes; those strange hybrid beings. It was bad enough that they were of alien blood—untrained in the ways of the Tahli warrior. But to make matters worse, they looked identical to their enemy—those disgusting, foul humans.
His Vastma-class warship, the Mamet, assumed her rightful position—the forward tip of the spear at the head of the fleet’s formation. Only then did he observe on the forward display another Vastma-class warship moving forward at double their current rate of speed. That, in itself, was alarming. The Mamet was supposed to be the fastest vessel within the Sahhrain fleet. Obviously that was not the case.
Brakken addressed his second-in-command, Lirg. “What’s going on with that out-of-formation warship? Get it back into position, and I want that ship’s captain brought to my bridge for disciplinary action.”
Lirg was about to reply when he too observed the rapidly advancing ship. “That is … ?” He looked over at another bridge officer, a questioning frown on his face.
“That is the Xicon, sirs,” the officer said, referring to his console display.
“I am unfamiliar with the vessel,” Brakken said.
“As am I, Commander.”
Brakken waited while his second moved off to speak with the bridge communications officer. Only then did he notice all the non-Sahhrain bridge crew watching him. Of the bridge’s fifteen crewmembers, only five were Sahhrain, proudly seen wearing their formal warrior attire of metal breastplates and long draping cloaks. An honor that the Calhoom look-alikes would never be afforded.
Brakken eyed them with scorn. “Get back to your duties … or you too will face disciplinary action.”
Lirg rejoined Brakken’s side. He shrugged, as together they observed the Xicon coming abreast of the Mamet’s port side. They looked at each other with mild astonishment. The flagrant disregard for protocol—whoever captained the Xicon had come alongside the fleet command ship without first receiving prior authorization. This was becoming intolerable.
Second-in-command Lirg said, “I want a security detail dispatched. Have that captain—”
“I apologize, sir,” one of the junior bridge officers broke in, “… the commanding officer of the Xicon is already en route to our bridge.”
Due to the enormous size of a Vastma-class vessel, it took close to ten minutes before the Xicon’s commanding officer arrived at the bridge. Accompanied by an entourage of six, Brakken was surprised to see that he too was a Calhoom look-alike—a Craing hybrid.
Brakken said, “Where is my security detail? I want this person taken into immediate custody.”
No one moved as the Craing hybrid strode forward, showing far more confidence than seemed warranted. The brazen miscreant will pay for this insolence, Brakken thought, unconsciously reaching out to touch his enhancement shield with his right-hand fingers, before remembering it wasn’t there. These days bridge crews seldom, if ever, wore a weapon while on the bridge.
Brakken, joined by Lirg, met the approaching Craing commander halfway.
“What is the meaning of this insolence?” Lirg asked. “Your disrespect for Commander—”
Brakken held up a silencing palm to his second, which instantly quieted him.
“I wondered who they would send … who and when.”
The hybrid, appraising Brakken with indifference, replied, “The who … is me, and the time, unfortunately, is now.”
Until that very moment, Brakken didn’t spot the glint of the concealed blade, peeking out beneath the Craing hybrid’s right sleeve. The long stiletto suddenly appeared—grasped firmly in one hand. In a blur of motion, the hybri
d, moving with remarkable speed, attacked with an angled, left-to-right swiping upward motion. The hybrid repeated the same motion—this time in the opposite—right-to-left swiping upward motion. In two blinks of an eye, the blade sliced through the soft, fleshy parts of Brakken’s neck—just below his left ear and chin, and across his chin up to his right ear. So clean were the strikes—barely a thin line of blood could be seen. As the Sahhrain fleet commander reached for his ruined throat, his head—as if connected by some hidden hinge—flopped backward. Momentarily held together by a small flap of skin, it ripped free under its own weight and dropped, landing on the deck with a decisive wet thunk. Brakken’s stiffened body remained upright for three long seconds—then toppled over, like a felled sequoia.
Now in command, Lirg watched as a steady stream of armed Craing hybrids entered the bridge. Before he could raise his hands in surrender, he realized his gesture would be too little too late. He felt little pain as the first strike of the razor-sharp blade cut deeply—the first of two strikes that would separate his head from his neck.
As the new fleet commander, the Craing hybrid sat down in the command chair. He leveled his eyes on the communications officer, and asked, “Are we within range for an intergalactic communication … one to Liberty Station?”
The Sahhrain Comms officer nervously checked his board. Looking up, he nodded, “Yes … yes, sir. Shall I open a channel?”
“Yes. I wish to speak to their commanding officer to discuss the terms of the U.S. Fleet’s surrender.”
* * *
Omni Perry Reynolds didn’t appreciate being rousted up from sleep like a wet-behind-the-ears junior officer. By the time he’d dressed and reached Operational Command, his foul mood had worsened. He was greeted by not one, but two, frenzied admirals—Mayweather and Pike.
The Operation Command center was located at the narrowest mid-section of the massive space station. Surrounded by three hundred-and-sixty degree windows, the OC, as it was referred to, spanned a height of three decks. It was a modern, impressive-looking compartment—even in the wee hours of the morning.
Perry headed for the middle of the compartment, where a series of ginormous display screens dominated the OC. He took a seat and stared at the largest of the blank displays. “Talk to me … what was so damn urgent that I needed to drag my fat ass up here at this ungodly hour?”
Admiral Pike said, “It’s the Sahhrain fleet. Not only have they increased their speed … we’re being hailed by their commanding officer.”
Admiral Mayweather added, “Regarding the terms of our surrender.”
As Perry studied their stern, wrinkled faces, he realized this was a far more serious situation than he’d first thought. He gestured with his chin toward the display. “Best not to keep him waiting. On screen.”
As the display came alive it was all Perry could do to remain calm. Commander Greco had aged over the years, of course, but it was definitely him—the same beady eyes, the same protruding, fish-like, lips.
Chapter 51
Sol System
Liberty Station, Operational Command
__________________________
Seeing him now—those same, always moving about darting eyes, and those wet, bulbous lips—Omni Perry Reynolds watched Greco’s mutual surprise. The Omni’s hatred returned as he flashed back two decades, when one violent explosion after another thundered across the sea in the Taiwan Strait. The bombardment, and ultimate sinking of the USS Montana, remained with him still, even after all these years. His own guilt in letting it happen—his inability to extract revenge on those who’d directly instigated the events—had dogged him relentlessly. That was, until now. Omni Reynolds smiled.
“Captain Perry Reynolds … you have been busy these many years,” Greco said, staring back at the Omni, a bemused smile crossing his worm-like lips. “So you’ve graduated from losing a lone battleship to what? A whole fleet … the Alliance itself?”
“Nice try. And it’s Omni Reynolds now. I take it Commander Brakken is …”
“Headless,” Greco interjected, with a twinkle in his eye. “The Sahhrain served their purpose. What’s that old Earth saying … turnabout is fair play? What’s now happening to them isn’t so different from what the Sahhrain recently did to the Blues. I’m sorry to say, the Dacci too are a breed destined for extinction. And you, humans, will soon share that same fate.”
“I don’t think so,” the Omni said, looking bored with the conversation. “Let’s be realistic, shall we, Greco? Don’t forget an important fact. Who led the charge when we defeated you—the Craing—culminating six years ago? I’m quite sure the Reynolds’ name is a thorn in your collective Craing claw. You should have killed me years ago. Now, you’ve just made the second biggest mistake of your worthless life.”
“As much as I’d like to continue with our amusing back-and-forth banter, there was a purpose to my hail, Omni Reynolds. I’ve little doubt that your long-range sensors have already picked up the calamitous threat heading your way. We outnumber your warships. What is it, four, or five, to one?” Greco licked his lips and crossed has arms over his chest. “Surrender now and … perhaps … I will let the inhabitants of that pretty planet of yours survive. Don’t, and I will bring the raging forces of hell down upon her. You have one cycle … one day to decide.”
The display went black. The Omni continued to stare at it while both admirals shuffled nervously nearby. Eventually, he turned his eyes toward the less annoying of the two men.
“What is it, Admiral Pike?”
“Well … do you think it wise to antagonize him? He wasn’t wrong; their fleet outnumbers ours—”
The Omni cut the admiral off short. Spewing out his rage and fury, bottled up until then, he snarled, “You spineless sons of bitches! You don’t get it … there is no surrender … no negotiating … with those animals.” Omni Reynolds chewed his lower lip and looked about Operational Command. “Tell me, where’s the Parcical at this moment?”
Admiral Mayweather said, “She’s only just arrived in our system. I believe she’s now joined with the other Caldurian ships, our Star Watch fleet.”
Omni Reynolds then remembered that Jason was still back in the Dacci system, looking for The Lilly’s sister ship far below Endromoline’s surface. A fool’s errand, as far as he was concerned, considering what loomed a few light-years’ travel away from them. “Who’s the skipper?”
“Your son’s second, Lieutenant Commander Orion.”
“Open a channel to her … she and I need to have a little talk.”
Taking a seat, Perry mentally replayed the conversation he had with Greco. The arrogant little prick! Poised, now, to bring ungodly hell down upon his home planet Earth. The fucking Craing! How many years had they planned this? He should have known better … never trust a Craing. His thoughts briefly turned to Ricket. Well, except for Ricket.
“Omni, we have Lieutenant Commander Orion …”
“On the screen and find something to do. I don’t want you two hovering around like petulant children.”
The display filled with Orion’s strong-featured face. He’d always liked her. It was he who originally brought her onto The Lilly. She was an attractive female. The intricate tattooed symbols, covering every inch of her face and body, undoubtedly gave her skin a darker tone than it would have had otherwise. The Omni was well aware of her unwavering loyalty to his son. Right now, he needed to appeal to her sense of obligation and duty to the Alliance—if not personally to him, the fleet’s Omni. It was a toss-up either way, if he could manage it.
She looked confused. “Omni Reynolds … the captain … he’s still back in the Dacci—”
“I know where he is, Gunny. I wanted to talk to you. You are the acting commander of the Parcical.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The Sahhrain fleet, or should I now say the Craing fleet, are poised to enter the Sol System within hours. Their approach vector is being forwarded to you now. You will position the Caldurian ships
at the outer reaches of our solar system. You are our first, probably our only defense, against an intrusion happening.”
“Yes, sir. We will prevent the enemy from entering the solar system or die trying,” Orion said with conviction.
The Omni smiled, holding her gaze for several moments, before continuing. “The truth of the matter is you’ve already gone up against this particular enemy. Am I not correct?”
Orion nodded, then shook her head. “But the means in which …”
“Were totally justified,” he said. “Your actions saved what was left of our fleet in the Dacci system, Gunny.”
He could see realization creeping into her awareness now regarding his motives. “Omni, the captain … Jason, made an oath … never to use those horrible things … those swarm droids … in battle again. He gave his word, sir.”
“Uh huh … and who did he make that oath to, Gunny?”
She shrugged. “Commander Brakken.”
“Well, Commander Brakken is a headless corpse right now, as well as most … if not all … of the other Sahhrain bastards serving in that fleet.”
Orion’s agitation was apparent. “Both Ricket and Bristol are with the captain.”
“I’m going to ask you a question, and I expect you to be honest with me. Do you know enough about the deployment of the swarm droids to utilize them?”
Orion said, “They’re specifically coded … they search for a species’ distinct DNA. The hybrids are almost a perfect DNA match to humans. That’s a big problem.”
“Almost,” he repeated her word. “Look … Gunny, you’ve got the scientific resources of the entire U.S. Fleet, not to mention the combined intellect of the Allied worlds at your disposal. Get to work on it. I’m asking you to do this not for me, but for the very survival of billions upon billions of people.”
Now it was her turn to hold his gaze. At this point, she looked angry.
Glory for Sea and Space (Star Watch Book 4) Page 28