Supercarrier: The Ixan Prophecies Trilogy Book 1

by Scott Bartlett

  “Aye, sir.”

  In theory, every UHF captain was supposed to possess accurate data about where each darkgate currently was in its heliocentric orbit. But as the Providence traveled deeper down Pirate’s Path, that information proved increasingly unreliable.

  “Werner, the moment we emerge from the darkgate I want you to scan the system as thoroughly as we’ve been scanning every system. Full power to active sensors, straight away. Is that understood?”

  “Sir,” the sensor operator said with a nod.

  The coms officer on duty shot to his feet, drawing stares from everyone in the CIC. He scrutinized his station, oblivious to the attention of his crewmates.

  “Ensign?” Keyes said.

  “Sir…we have an incoming transmission.”

  Keyes paused for a moment as he racked his brain for anything that would help him contextualize that information in a way that made sense. “From…from who?”

  The ensign swallowed. “The codes belong to no organization I’m familiar with. It’s audio and video.”

  “Put it through.” He suppressed the urge to sit a little straighter. His posture was already fine, and to act differently when in contact with strangers would only jeopardize his authority during normal times. It didn’t do for a captain to display uncertainty or insecurity to his crew.

  A Winger appeared on the viewscreen, sprawled in what Keyes assumed was a captain’s chair. “Captain Keyes,” the Winger cawed, its wings spread to take up as much space as possible.

  “You have me at a disadvantage.”

  “I’m Captain Blackwing, the Winger who’s defeated you before you even knew it. Tell me, did you think they called it Pirate’s Path simply because it has a nice ring to it?”

  “Your wings don’t look very black to me.”

  “What?”

  “They look brownish-gray. Maybe your bridge camera is washing out the color?”

  The Winger emitted a series of coughing squawks that Keyes recognized as laughter from his interactions with Fesky. “The Captain of the Providence speaks to me of inferior technology? You should get your own cameras checked. I just flew my ship past your point defense turrets, and now I’m clinging like a barnacle to the side of your tub.”

  Keyes gripped the fronts of his chair’s metal armrests. “When did the Winger government start giving their stealth tech to pirates?”

  Blackwing clacked its beak. “Maybe we pirated it. Anyway, that’s enough chat. Surrender now, or we’ll cut through your hull.”

  “I’m afraid you’ve sorely miscalculated. You can behave however you wish. Coms, terminate the transmission.”

  “Aye, sir. Transmission terminated.”

  Time to test the crew’s ability to follow orders that make no sense to them. Keyes stood and pointed at the pair of marines standing guard at the hatch that led from the CIC. “Lock down that hatch, with one of you on either side. No one passes through without my say-so. Coms, shut down communication between every console in the CIC and the rest of the ship, but leave my personal com unaffected.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Sir?” Ensign Moreno said from the Tactical station, and instantly looked regretful about speaking.

  “Yes, Ensign?”

  “Uh…shouldn’t we sound general quarters?”

  “Negative.” Keyes turned to his sensor operator. “Notify me of a hull breach as soon as it happens, and send its location privately to my com. That’s all for now.”

  A tense silence descended as the CIC crew exchanged furtive glances. Keyes pretended not to notice. He tapped a button that unspooled a keyboard from the armrest’s interior, the keyboard becoming rigid over his lap with a series of clicking noises.

  He began typing a message to First Lieutenant Husher: Do the following without delay. Discreetly share the intelligence we received from the Kaithe with Corporal Davies, and tell her to lead twenty-five marines to the corridor outside the CIC, where they should prepare to confront an armed incursion. I want you to gather four teams of ten marines each, order them to don pressure suits, and distribute them throughout the Providence in a way that will allow you to rapidly answer a hull breach.

  Keyes stowed the keyboard and settled back in his chair, awaiting news about the location of the breach. The pirates’ arrival had come at the worst possible time. Alerting the crew of the attack would almost certainly trigger the traitors’ plan of sabotage.

  And I doubt I can keep it from them for very long.

  Chapter 29

  XO

  Lieutenant Commander Bob Bronson slipped the protein cube into the waiting bowl of tepid water and tried to pretend he wasn’t watching Husher’s every move.

  Husher should never have stepped foot in the wardroom in the first place—not according to military tradition. Aboard every other ship in the Fleet, the wardroom remained the exclusive domain of commissioned officers who held ranks that came from Old Earth’s navies. But not aboard the Providence. Here, Keyes let them straggle in from every branch, and Bronson never felt like he had enough space to think.

  An XO should be able to eat his lunch in dignified quiet, not distracted by a scruffy young upstart’s fidgeting. The water began to bubble with the protein cube’s reaction, and he stirred it with his spoon, though he knew that wouldn’t meaningfully hasten the process.

  Things had felt tense ever since the Kaithe had infested the ship. At first, Bronson had convinced himself that they’d come to peer into the crew’s minds and confirm their loyalties. That had had him jumping at shadows. Why else would Keyes go to the Kaithe in the first place? Why keep his purpose secret, even from his XO?

  But then the Kaithe departed without any of them coming to gawk at Bronson, and he breathed a sigh of relief, amused at his own paranoia.

  His reprieve hadn’t lasted long, as another thought soon crept inside his head to fester: What if they didn’t inspect me because Keyes already knows?

  Now he stayed as close as he could to Husher, who he knew had an inside line to the captain’s thoughts. He sometimes caught Husher shooting him bemused glances, as though cottoning on to being followed, but Bronson took solace in the man’s confusion. The less he knows, the less the captain’s likely to know.

  Husher surged to his feet, knocking a mug to the floor, where it shattered. Grimacing at the mess, he scooped up his com, which he’d been scrutinizing, and bolted for the door.

  Bronson leapt to his feet as well, the moment the wardroom was empty. “Something’s happening,” he muttered.

  Something was clearly happening—an attack? But general quarters hadn’t been called, and the first lieutenant hadn’t even bothered to pass on a sitrep to the ship’s XO.

  Husher was an irreverent oaf, but this went beyond that. This means I’m right, God damn it.

  Abandoning his soup, he ran for the exit, thumbing his com as he went. It was do or die time.

  Chapter 30

  Check the Action

  Wahlburg would not stop flicking open his gun’s action, peering inside, and closing it again.

  “If you do that once more, I’m putting you on point,” Husher said.

  “Sounds good, sir,” Wahlburg replied, his voice sounding tinny from inside Husher’s pressure suit helmet. Wahlburg opened the semi-automatic’s action again.

  “Cut it out, Private!”

  “You say I should check the slide cut, sir?”

  Husher gripped his own rifle tighter, struggling to restrain his irritation. Now I know how the captain feels when he’s talking to me. “I said stop playing with your God damned gun. What are you checking? Are you afraid the firing mechanism’s deteriorated in the two seconds since you checked it last? Do you repeatedly forget whether you loaded the thing or not?”

  “Just a nervous habit, sir.”

  Husher tapped on Wahlburg’s faceplate. “You don’t have that habit anymore. You’re a changed man. Otherwise, you can take two weeks of laundry duty and see whether you fiddle with your action a
fter that.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Husher saw Wahlburg’s hand twitch, but it stayed resting on the stock. Where it belonged.

  They’d stationed themselves at the ship’s center, near the CIC but away from the traitors’ attack route, should Keyes be right about their objective. From this location, he and Wahlburg would make their way to wherever the Wingers breached the hull as quickly as possible. Probably not quickly enough for Husher’s liking, given the eternally crowded corridors.

  “Where do you think they’ll break into her, sir?”

  “Shut up.”

  Wahlburg sniffed. “Why do you think they’re waiting so long?”

  Husher shifted his weight and stared down the corridor—at what, he didn’t know. At anything but Wahlburg.

  “Maybe they’re reconsidering.”

  His com vibrated, and he plucked it from his pocket to read the short message it displayed: Aft port-side cargo hold.

  “Holy shit.” From there, the Wingers could easily access the nearby munitions locker. That wouldn’t be good. Switching over to the channel he’d settled on with his four marine teams, he yelled into his com: “They’re coming in through the aft port-side cargo hold. Move! All teams converge there now!”

  “It’s about time,” Wahlburg said over the two-way.

  “Stow the chatter. The captain plans to seal off and depressurize that section of the ship, to avoid leaking atmosphere into space through the breach. We need to get there before that happens.”

  Once Keyes sealed the bulkheads, it would be them and the Wingers, facing off in a section of the ship without atmosphere.

  No chance of backup.

  Chapter 31

  Chicken

  Gunfire thundered in the corridor outside, and even the sole marine stationed on the CIC side of the hatch looked afraid. He kept his gun leveled at the former ensign, Moreno, who Keyes had ordered arrested the moment the fighting began.

  Even after he was exposed, Moreno retained all of his idiocy. “You’re a fool, Keyes,” he yelled from where he hunched on the floor against the bulkhead. “The entire Fleet is against you. They’ve always been against you, and now the chickens are coming home to roost.”

  Keyes stared at Moreno, letting his face communicate the full extent of his disgust. “All I see is chicken shit,” he said, and that shut Moreno up.

  “Sir, we’re closing on the dark gate,” Midshipman Arsenyev said from the Nav station. “Do you want us to go through?”

  “Shut up, you stupid bitch,” Moreno yelled from the floor.

  Keyes crossed the CIC, knelt, and backhanded the traitor across the face, sending flecks of blood flying to land two or three feet away. Glancing down, Keyes saw that some had ended up on the back of his hand, the scarlet droplets standing out against his dark skin.

  He locked eyes with Moreno. “Anything else to contribute?”

  Other than a sullen glare, Moreno didn’t seem to have anything left to offer. Keyes returned to the Captain’s chair.

  “Nav, engage the reverse thrusters until our speed is matched with the darkgate’s. We’re better off dealing with our current troubles before barreling into an entirely new system. Thank you for bringing our imminent transition to my attention.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He caught himself shifting in his chair. Its designers hadn’t prioritized comfort, but he knew his squirming had other causes. I should have remembered we were about to pass through the darkgate. It’s not like I have anything better to do while I wait to see whether my marines prevail.

  That wasn’t all. His striking of Moreno, his failure to keep his temper in check—it did his station a disservice, and it made him feel unworthy.

  Hitting a traitor was too easy. He’d wanted to do it, he’d done it, and he highly doubted his crew would raise any objections. Deciding not to fill in Corporal Davies on the extent of his plan for dealing with the saboteurs…few of the decisions his career threw at him wrenched his guts like that.

  But she was hard-pressed out there, fighting for her life and the lives of her squad. That was how it had to be. If she knew she only had to hold on for outside help, then she’d fight less savagely and display more mercy to the enemy.

  Keyes didn’t want that. He wanted to minimize the number of loyal crew members he lost. If that meant maximizing traitor deaths…

  He studied Moreno, whose spitefulness had evaporated.

  What to do with you?

  “Sir, the Winger intruders are moving fast,” his sensors operator said. “They’ll soon be outside the area we’ve identified as acceptable for depressurization.”

  Keyes considered this for a moment. “Where does Husher’s transponder signal put him at?” he asked, and instantly he realized he’d committed his second unworthy act of the day.

  “Give me a second.”

  He hadn’t asked about Husher because he considered the man a brilliant leader—although apparently he’d displayed acumen within the Kaithe’s induced hallucination—but because of who his father had been. Keyes’s friendship with the late Warren Husher had resulted in a soft spot for the son, and his question, he realized, had stemmed from concern for the first lieutenant’s safety.

  “He’s inside the section we’ve slated for isolation.”

  “Very good. Seal the bulkheads and depressurize the area.”

  “Sir, one point of note: two of the four marine teams are still en route to the breach.”

  “Noted. Seal it.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Keyes couldn’t afford to compromise his ability to command by playing favorites with the crew, and currently his disgust for himself rivaled that which he felt toward Moreno and the other traitors.

  It ends right now.

  Chapter 32

  Madcap

  “Bulkheads sealing in thirty seconds, First Lieutenant,” Husher’s com squawked. “Good luck.”

  Apparently the need for discretion no longer confined the CIC crew to text transmissions. Guess the cat’s out of the bag. They’ve probably dealt with Moreno.

  “Acknowledged,” he replied, and something caught his eye at the back of his group of marines. Something inside one of the marines’ helmets…

  Feathers.

  He pushed through the marines, a couple of them shooting him sour glances.

  “Fesky! Those bulkheads are about to close!”

  The Winger shuddered, which Husher knew signaled irritation—an emotion he seemed to provoke a lot. “I know that. I’m here to fight.”

  “Have you ever been in combat before?”

  “Have you ever resolved anything using diplomacy?” she shot back.

  “That’s a fine comeback, but Fesky, you don’t have to shoot your own people just to prove your loyalty.”

  Her trembling grew more violent. “This isn’t about proving myself to you, human. This is about defending my home.”

  The hiss and clank of sealing bulkheads filled the corridor. “Well, I guess that’s that, then. I think I know your callsign now, by the way.”

  “What?”

  “Madcap.”

  One of the nearby marines scrunched up her face. “What’s that mean?”

  “Stupid, basically.” As he pushed back to the front, he wished Caine were here. She had years of experience coordinating this many fighters, and during their short time together Husher had gained a lot of respect for her.

  He understood why Keyes had given him command of the team assigned with answering the Winger incursion—with Davies otherwise occupied, Ryerson laid up in sick bay, and Wahlburg barely able to command a single squad, Husher was the guy. He had leadership experience, and he’d performed well in the recent ground combat mission.

  Still…he didn’t like the improvised way Keyes did things. So far, everything seemed to have worked out, but how long could that last?

  And how can I trust someone who still considers my father a hero?

  “All right, marines,” he said a
s he turned to face them, speaking over the wide channel. “Here’s the plan. The pirates don’t know the layout of our ship, but you do, so let’s use that against them. We’ll want to execute a flanking maneuver, if we can. Who knows a way to accomplish that?”

  Wahlburg’s hand shot up, like an overeager kindergartener, which Husher interpreted as sarcasm. Everything the squad leader did seemed sarcastic. “Just say it, Private.”

  “Between here and the cargo hold, there are two intersections. The corridor to my right links up with the farthest one.”

  “All right, then. Wahlburg, I want you to take a squad straight ahead and halt the Wingers’ advance at the far intersection.”

  “What if they’ve already advanced past it?”

  “Then push them back.” In reality, Husher expected the pirates to hold firm, which would allow his own squad to take them from behind. But during his time as a ship captain he’d learned that the most effective orders came attached to a clear goal.

  “Who are you giving me for my squad?” Wahlburg asked, his tone suggesting he expected to be disappointed.

  “I’m giving you your pick of half the marines present. You have way more ground combat experience than me, Private, and so I’ve assigned you the toughest job. To complete it, I think you should choose whoever you’re most comfortable working with. But make it fast.”

  The squad leader raised his eyebrows. “Cool. Everyone from Holloway over, you’re with me. If that’s more than half, give whoever’s the shittiest to the First Lieutenant. Holloway, probably.”

  That brought a round of chuckles, and the two squads quickly separated themselves. “Move out,” Wahlburg barked without further preamble, and his ten marines trotted down the hall with him, weapons at the ready.

  “What he said,” Husher told his squad. “Double-time.” He took point, setting the pace, and at his side Fesky struggled to match it.

  “How similar is ground combat to fighting in Condors?” she asked, panting.