Books One to Three Omnibus (Armada Wars)

by R. Curtis Venture

  “It’s the best anyone can do. We can’t afford to put a foot wrong here.”

  “True,” Caden said.

  “Anyway, that’s the good news.”

  “The good news?”

  “Yes. The bad news is that Peras is now my boss.”

  • • •

  Bruiser waited patiently while a Disputer corpsman finished moving the crushed gurney out of their way.

  “Sorry,” the Rodori rumbled.

  “That’s okay, it’s my fault,” the medic said. “I should have realised it wouldn’t support you. How’s the new link?”

  Bruiser touched the small device which hung like a pendant around his thick neck.

  “This link is fine. But my old link was fine too.”

  “Well, it had to go along with everything else. It might have been contaminated. We’ve copied all your settings across to the new unit though; contacts, custom translations, everything.”

  “You said you were going to give me some news.”

  “Yes, of course. We’ve seen nothing of any concern in your blood work, but we’re going to give you a course of quite powerful anti-viral injections, just to be safe.”

  “I don’t like injections.”

  “That’s the only effective way to do it.”

  If the corpsman knew what a Rodori’s reproachful face looked like, he did not show it.

  “Will you let me…?”

  “Fine.”

  Bruiser held out his arm and looked away.

  “I’m afraid it’s not that sort of injection.”

  Two embarrassing minutes later, Bruiser was congratulating himself on his unprecedented self-control. He had received his treatment, and the corpsman — lucky fellow that he was — still remained in one piece. Bruiser was glad there was nowhere he could realistically sit down in the cramped medical berth.

  “I don’t need to go back to isolation?” He asked.

  “No, you’re as much a threat to the ship as I am.”

  Bruiser thought that unlikely, but suspected the corpsman was limiting his comparison purely to medical matters. He thanked the medic, in spite of his feelings regarding needles in the posterior, and left.

  He lost no time in tracking down Chun and Daxon.

  “Here he is,” said Daxon. “The big traitor.”

  “Come to say goodbye?” Chun asked.

  Bruiser stared at them both, confused. As far as he knew he had not betrayed anybody, and he had no plans to go anywhere without the rest of his squad.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Caden’s been on to me,” Chun said. “Seems you’ve made quite the impression, Bruiser.”

  “He wants you to be ready to fill in for Throam,” said Daxon. “Think you can manage that?”

  Bruiser looked from one to the other.

  “But I am MAGA. I am no counterpart.”

  “Caden seems to think it won’t matter. Says you’re a natural.”

  Bruiser focused on Chun and waited for his link to translate. It stalled on the second half of the sentence.

  “That was something about nature…?” He said.

  “You’re a ‘natural’? It means you do what counterparts are trained to do, but without the training.”

  “I understand.”

  “So what do you think?” Daxon asked.

  “I am MAGA,” he repeated.

  “Bruiser, you’ve been a private in this outfit for ten Solars,” Chun said. “You’ve been here longer than me, and I’m the damned sergeant.”

  “I am not in any rush to climb the ranks.”

  “I know, I know; Rodori lead longer, slower lives than humans. But seriously, ten Solars? Don’t you want to do something different?”

  “Different how? I like my job.”

  “Well, you’d still get to blow shit up,” said Daxon, “but you’d be doing other stuff as well.”

  “Right in there at the sharp end,” said Chun. “Protecting the Imperial Combine from all manner of threats.”

  “I do that now.”

  “Yes, but only when we get deployed to the ground,” said Daxon. “We go and shoot at people until they’re all dead, then we bug out. Imagine how much more interesting things will be if you are knocking about with Caden. You have to admit, the past couple of weeks have been a fuck-load more lively than usual.”

  “That is true,” Bruiser said.

  The two humans seemed enthusiastic about the prospect of him leaving the squad. He was certain they did not simply want rid of him, but they were without doubt firmly of the opinion that he ought to seize the opportunity in front of him.

  “Will it be allowed?” He asked.

  “Can’t hurt to ask,” said Chun. “It’s not like it hasn’t happened before.”

  “You going to go for it?” Asked Daxon.

  “Why not.”

  — 12 —

  Dark Pages

  As soon as he realised the depth of the logistical nightmare involved in transferring the Shaeld eggs and corpses from Disputer to Fort Shalleon, Caden delegated the job to Dyne and sauntered away cheerfully. The counterpart swore under his breath when Caden left him to it, which served only to improve Caden’s mood.

  The last thing Caden wanted to get bogged down in now was another long discussion with the fortress staff about this risk of contamination and that set of authorisation forms. Dyne might have been terrible in the field, but this was something even he could not screw up: all he needed was time and patience. Right now, Caden had neither. The task would keep Dyne out of his way.

  He made his way back to his guest quarters, graciously moving aside for the small groups of MAGA who were excitedly hurrying to disembark for their promised shore leave. The success of their mission on Guathelia had managed to electrify the atmosphere aboard Thande’s usually sober carrier, and although the planet was still under the heel of an enemy occupation even Caden felt that it was the first real win the Empire had scored so far.

  Arriving at his quarters, he secured the hatch before requesting gate time for a call to Earth.

  The Chamberlain answered his call eventually. “Shard Caden. Do you know what time it is here?”

  “Apologies, Chamberlain. I thought Her Majesty would want news of this mission as soon as it was at all practical to deliver it.”

  The Chamberlain rubbed his eyes with long, slender fingers, checked the time again, and grimaced.

  “Hmm, yes, you are probably correct. What news is there?”

  “Keystone was a great success,” said Caden. “We now have scans of some of the Shaeld technology, as well as biological samples. A large number of their eggs, and three adult bodies.”

  “Eggs?”

  “Yes, eggs. That’s what they’re dropping in the splinters. The craft appear to be hatcheries, guarded by a small contingent of adults and a large gathering of Rasas.”

  “That is somewhat unsettling.”

  “It could be an attempt at colonisation.”

  “Indeed, that would be my first guess. But you don’t look convinced.”

  “It’s too oddly timed,” Caden said. “They would be banking on the expectation of being able to hold every world where they dropped splinters. Why not wait until they have crushed our fleets?”

  “Oh yes, that would be a much safer strategy. Well, I am sure you will uncover the reason for their strange actions.”

  “My next priority?”

  “For now there isn’t one. I will have to get back to you once the Empress has selected your new objective.”

  “There is something I wanted to pass on to the Empress,” Caden said.

  “Ah yes, please do tell.”

  “I would like to thank Her for the instruction to take on Dyne as a counterpart, and let Her know that the point was well-made. From now on, I will be associating with one of our MAGA friends in the 951st.”

  “Ah, so you did figure it out. I suppose I have lost that wager then.”

  “She wanted to give me a l
ittle kick up the posterior, didn’t She?”

  “Indeed yes, Shard Caden. As you say — a little kick. Perhaps to remind you that you do carry the authority of the Throne with you at all times.”

  “And that I need to apply it more frequently?”

  “That is not for me to say.”

  “I think the message is clear enough. I take it you are aware of the situation at Fort Laeara?”

  “We are indeed, Shard Caden. We are watching with great interest. The matter is in hand, of course, with Eyes and Ears. I believe they are gathering even as we speak.”

  “They’re running out of time, surely?”

  “Fear not. Several battle groups are already at Laeara.”

  “I would very much like to have another conversation with Voice.”

  “I do not believe the Empress intends to put you anywhere near that fortress for the time being.”

  “So there is a chance that the Shaeld may still destroy Fort Laeara?”

  “Oh yes indeed, of course there is a chance. If they send enough ships, we will be powerless to stop them. However we believe that this is in fact an elaborate bluff.”

  “A bluff?”

  “Admiral Betombe has shown evidence that the Shaeld Hratha intend to attack the Herses system. We think that Laeara is a diversion. After what happened to Kosling and Meccrace, the Shaeld probably intend for us to over-defend Laeara and leave other targets without suitable cordons.”

  “Betombe is back in the game? Good for him.”

  “There seems to be a question mark over that still, but I am certain Fleet Command will resolve the matter.”

  “What about this Viskr envoy mentioned by Her Majesty? Caecald. Did he arrive?”

  “Yes,” said the Chamberlain. “He is… oh… an unusual sort of chap. Not what I had expected, truth be told.”

  “Unusual how?”

  “I think you will judge that for yourself, Shard Caden. He is eager to meet with you as soon as events permit it. To ‘swap notes’, as they say.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “Few of your generation have ever met a Viskr face-to-face,” the Chamberlain said. “It will be a privilege, in a way.”

  “My father died at the Siege of Laeara,” Caden said. “I’m not sure privilege is the right word.”

  “My apologies. I meant no offence.”

  “None is taken. Is there anything else I should know?”

  “I had intended to call you in the morning, but you might as well hear this now. The operation on Meccrace Prime was also a success — well, disregarding the rather significant ground losses — and there was someone recovered from the surface who might be of interest to you.”

  Caden’s heart stopped beating.

  “He should be at the medical centre on Fort Shalleon by now. I wonder…”

  The Chamberlain trailed off. Caden was already on his feet, launching himself across the compartment and slapping the panel to open the hatch. He dashed into the passageway, tried to remember the way to those airlocks which were currently connected to the fortress.

  They found him. They found him!

  Disputer seemed larger and more complex than he remembered as he sprinted down passageways, darting around crew too slow to stand aside. A few people shouted after him, annoyed by his lack of care. Let them shout, he thought.

  They found him.

  He reached one of the airlocks, jumped the queue of people waiting to disembark, and flashed his digital seal at a guard who looked as though she was going to direct him to join the line. Her mouth was an annoyed O-shape in the moment he lost sight of her and stumbled into the umbilicus.

  The umbilicus rocked as he barrelled down it. It was not supposed to rock, but then people generally exercised care during transfers.

  Arrivals was a barrier he could not jump. He all but hopped from one foot to the other as a guard checked his identity, oh so painfully slowly.

  “Come on,” he insisted.

  “Please be patient, Sir,” said the guard.

  “You’ll be a patient if you don’t hurry up.”

  The guard started to recite a well-practiced lecture about respect for people just doing their jobs, and the possible consequences of being barred from the station. Caden saw on the holo that his identity had been confirmed, nodded agreeably, and rushed through the gate, leaving the guard behind. The man protested, then waved a dismissive hand at Caden’s back and turned to process the next visitor.

  Where? Where?

  A printwall cycled maps onto its surface while Caden jabbed instructions into his holo. Medical centre, level below. Locate? Come on, come on.

  Again he was running down corridors, these ones larger than those on the carrier; easier to navigate without the risk of running into people. He found the right elevator, got in, told it to start descending.

  Why had the Chamberlain waited to tell him? Surely you would lead with information like that?

  The elevator slowed almost immediately, approaching the next level, and it seemed like an age passed before the last little jolt arrived and the doors slid open.

  He dashed across a concourse, reached the doors of the medical centre before the sensor had even registered his presence. He waited while the frosted glass panels slid lazily aside.

  Caden skidded to a stop in front of the reception desk and slapped his hands down on the false wooden top. The man behind the desk peered at him quizzically.

  “Rendir Throam?” Caden gasped.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Throam. Where is patient Throam?”

  “I don’t know who—”

  “The people recovered from Meccrace Prime; I’m looking for them.”

  “Oh, yes. They’re in bay twelve. But you can’t— Hey! Wait!”

  Caden was on the move again, not running this time for fear of knocking down a corpsman or colliding with something delicate and expensive. But he hurried his way through the corridors until he found what he was looking for.

  Bay twelve lay dead ahead of him.

  He slowed to a walk at last, tried to catch his breath and steady his racing pulse. There was a pain in his side already, and even in the conditioned air of the station his lungs were starting to burn.

  Inside the bay he passed cubicle after cubicle. They were all of them signed as source isolation, with glass walls facing onto the corridor, and he could see plainly that none of the occupants were people he recognised.

  He was running out of cubicles in bay twelve.

  The last cubicle held a woman; definitely not right. There was one door left, not a cubicle but the entrance to some other room, at the very end of the bay. He opened the door and stepped through.

  Two armed guards waited within. MAGA, that much was obvious.

  “Sir? Can we help you?”

  “Shard business,” said Caden. He presented his seal.

  The guards looked at each other. One of them shrugged. The other tapped at the console beside the next set of doors.

  Caden virtually leapt through the doorway, into the chamber beyond, and stopped before a wall-to-ceiling glass barrier. At which point his heart broke.

  Well. Isn’t this a terrible thing?

  • • •

  Captain Santani perused the engineering section of the Hammer II, giddily comparing what she saw with the specifications her holo displayed. So much was new, so much updated. She found herself wondering just why exactly she had been so attached to her old ship.

  The original Hammer had been fitted with a third generation GNG. The ship had been obliged to shut down all non-essential systems prior to exiting a wormhole, and had to restart them after rejoining normal space. Not so with the Hammer II — her power distribution system included myriad safety relays.

  And the sensor systems… twice the resolution, with four times as many palettes. It would be a significant advantage in battle; in a one-on-one fight, an enemy ship would be hard pressed to blind every single palette for long enough to
get their slugs past her defence turrets.

  Santani felt like a child set loose in a toyshop.

  Two engineers moved past her, carrying between them a large module which appeared destined for a similarly-shaped hole in the bulkhead. She had no idea what it was. She stepped aside as they hefted the device to one side of the narrow passageway, and one of them nodded courteously.

  The ship was almost ready. Just a couple more days, she told herself, then we will have ourselves a little shakedown cruise.

  “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

  That voice! She whirled around to face the person who had called out to her.

  “Woban!” Santani’s holo dropped to her side, and her face lit up.

  Commander Klade beamed back at her, apparently amused by the slip of her professional mask.

  “Woban?” He asked. “Not ‘Commander’? Are you a civilian now?”

  She hurried down the corridor towards him, and flung both arms around his body. He returned the hug.

  “I didn’t know you were back with us,” she said.

  “I thought it would be a nice surprise.”

  “And it certainly is. You’re back on duty?”

  “Yes, fit for duty, so they tell me,” said Klade. “It does still hurt though.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  Santani disengaged, and stepped back from him. Klade felt his chest gently, and stifled a cough.

  “You are okay?”

  “It just hurts,” he said. “I’m certainly in no danger. The surgery was fairly simple.”

  “Well, I for one am glad to see you back.”

  “So this is the new Hammer,” he said. He pressed his hand flat against the bulkhead. “She’s impressive.”

  “You’re not wrong,” said Santani. “I’ve been familiarising myself with everything that the old girl didn’t have. I feel a little spoiled, I don’t mind saying.”

  “Many of the captains in the armada take this level of tech for granted,” said Klade.

  “Maybe so,” she replied. “But I honestly had no idea what I was missing out on. What I was making us all miss out on.”

  “Captain, I think I speak for the entire crew of Hammer when I say none of us minded being on a ship that was a whole generation behind. The technology was not what made it worthwhile.”