by Scott Warren
"Out of jealousy we took Pedres from them, and out of fear sought to extinguish their flame from the stars. Our atomic weapons irradiated Gavisar, and it remains so to this day. But the blood of Gavisar did not lie on the surface of the planet as we believed, living on within its hollow veins and deep beneath its oceans. The Gavisar nearly perished, but through mastery of their genome, they survived. They hardened, turned to reclusion, which suited us, as to exterminate them would be too costly an undertaking.
"Over the centuries we became more enlightened while they hid in their caves amid their growing dogma. Neither of us are the same people we were during that shameful campaign. Now the Gavisari are in danger of spreading this poison my ancestors bred. And we must stop them."
A hollow welled up within as he spoke.
"Jalith stands in their path, Victoria. They cannot be stopped or deterred. Only wiped from the stars before they scour millions from the planet my ancestors stole from them."
A long silence followed, longer than any before. Then the human spoke. "Alright. But we’re going to have to get you off that rock before you can be of any use to Jalith. We’re coming down to Juna."
Chapter 17 – A Cross of Swords
With Jones calling shots for the opposition, it would take more than luck and a few well-placed railgun rounds to crack the Gavisari’s back at Juna. And even if they did, there was still the matter of a couple hundred warships making for Pedres. Most of which would make mince of the Condor in a fair fight, and do worse to the rest of the Union Earth fleet. The Pedres Defense Fleet was badly outnumbered.
The destruction of the Clarke represented the loss of a spacecraft comparable in size and cost to one of those brand new blue-water Buchannan class super carriers, with the complement of terrestrial aircraft thrown in. The Privateers were more expensive still, and collectively Earth could only maintain a fleet of twenty-seven of them, scattered across half the Orion Spur. All of Earth’s collective space power wouldn’t even slow down the Gavisar admiral’s strength in orbit. Huian was right, they weren’t ready.
But unparalleled tactics in stealth and information warfare made Juna the perfect playground for humanity’s trickery. Trickery that Victoria quite literally wrote the book on. It wasn’t unheard of for Privateers to play both sides of the aisle, but to be in direct opposition? That was an unusual circumstance indeed. Vick would never force Jones out of Juna’s storms. If it came down to it, she would never find him at all. Jones would fly circles around her. But maybe there was another way.
"Alright Skipper, magnetic clamps secured. Airlock seal is good, and no activity to suggest we were seen."
Victoria exhaled. "Just another hunk of space junk out here. Start cycling personnel and equipment, Red, but keep emissions to a minimum. It wouldn’t do for anyone to see we’ve got a shiny new ship. Have Cohen report to the conn."
Victoria watched through the black and white feed of the Major’s retinal implants as he surveyed the Gavisari warship, having to look away as he lurched through the microgravity. Retinal implants were not the most stable viewing medium. The marines had already done a number to the interior of the vessel, torn cabling and bullet holes riddled passageways twisted by the Gavisari small arms that the marine squad had reported. She saw Aesop Cohen salute the major as he drifted past him in the passageway, and under a minute later the boy was entering her conn along with a fantastic cocktail of vulcanized rubber, human body odor, and whatever additives were present in the Gavisari version of air.
"Alright I’ll make this quick, Sergeant," said Victoria, holding back a gag. She would have to be quick. It was almost as bad as when they’d landed on Ersis. "Firstly, you are to report directly to the showers and then acquire a new suit. That one goes into a hazmat locker. Understand?"
"Yes ma’am."
"Good work on Chambers, you and Vega both. You turned a shit sandwich into a mud pie. Doc Whipple said he’d need a closer look on account of the electrical shock and infection, but from the reports Vega didn’t mangle her too badly. I never gave that boy enough credit for anything but a bruiser. I’m glad to see I was wrong.
"Thirdly, I don’t agree with your decision to stay aboard the Oracle. I think it’s driven by personal feelings. But the Major is convinced that it’s where you’ll do the most good, and if we’re going to get Sothcide and the others through this, we’re going to need every ace in every goddamn hole we’ve got. Understand me?"
"Yes Ma’am," said Cohen, his helmet tucked under his arm. It was the same way that Sothcide had tucked his own helmet when Victoria had last seen him after the hearing under Arda, Vehl, and the Wing Admiral. His bearing would have put him at home with any of the militaries of Earth. If ever there was a xeno that resembled humanity, and not just superficially, it was the Maeyar. For all their faults and prejudices and suspicions, Victoria could see herself and her crew when she looked at the leader of the Twin Sister’s fighter squadrons. Humanity needed the Maeyar, they needed an ally that could show them a path forward through art and culture as well as military might. And if it started with silk and coffee? Well, then it started through silk and coffee.
Over Cohen’s shoulders on the main viewscreen, Victoria watched as the Gavisari survivors were escorted off the Oracle and into the holding bunks in the Condor’s lower levels. They moved oddly in the unusual gravity that the ship’s field-mass generators created, scrabbling for purchase on bulkheads and ceilings not designed for their physiology. Victoria sighed again. She couldn’t even remember who they’d stolen the artificial gravity technology from.
The Major’s marines had seized ships before. Xenos who weren’t their enemies died every day that humanity fought to secure technology and advance their place in the stars. But this time that ship would be used in an attempt to protect the lives of xenos, and in doing so perhaps provide an alternative means of advancement.
"You understand what I need you to do up here, right Sergeant?"
"Yes Ma’am."
"Good," said Victoria. The little shit was a picture of military bearing. But he also had a mind for xenotech. "Rogers may outrank you over there, but you’re the thickest dick on that wreck. If he tries to push you around, remind him that he may have a butter bar, but the old lady said he’s still just an upjumped shithead sensor jockey with less balls than gall."
Victoria had, on occasion, wondered if you could make Israeli Special Forces blush. Revealing that she knew how he addressed her in private seemed to have answered her question. Victoria couldn’t be sure, but it looked suspiciously like a smirk that Huian was trying to hide as Cohen left the conn. Victoria snorted, then keyed the engine room.
"Davis. How’re the modifications coming back there?"
The conn was awash with the ambient noises of the engine room as Davis Prescott keyed his circuit to respond. All the little hums and whirs and whines that translated through the hull and ventilation of the Condor were magnified tenfold in the aft compartment of the ship.
"We’re solid gold, Cap’n. The Condor can handle atmo, the systems are insulated from Juna’s storms and the attenuator plates shouldn’t trigger off the lightning. I knew it had to be possible, Jones has to be running the same setup down there to not be constantly caught in the open. Both the Maeyar and Gavisari use targeting radar. It will get a mite warm with all that active radiation flying around, but in atmo like that we won’t have to worry about the heat sinks."
"Fantastic. Avery?"
"Conn sensors, my team is primed and ready. All my operators have been briefed on the Howard Phillips’ unique identifiers, and on Gavisar classes and compositions and active radiation signatures. We know they have at least eight battle-strength ships down there, and a handful of fighters besides. We should be able to stay out of the line of fire if we want."
"Splendid. Carillo?"
"Tactical standing by, Vick."
One could never fault Carillo his brevity. But Victoria was already scanning through her systems readouts on her tac
tical repeaters. Short and long range missiles were locked and loaded, rails aligned and armed, point defense cannons updated with the latest firmware, and all countermeasure launchers freshly loaded with anti-laser rounds and chaff. Best executive officer she never had the pleasure of knowing.
"Red, finish up down there on that ship. Our orbit takes us day-side in 15 minutes, and that’s our window to break atmo and link up with the battlegroup."
She settled back into her command couch as the major began to round up the technical personnel that were coming back aboard the Condor for the trip ahead. The Condor bristled with energy, she could hear it in the lighting and the eighty hertz power humming through the conn equipment. A ship knew when it was about to be pushed to its limits. A good ship got excited about it. Victoria was trying not to share that excitement. Two shots of bourbon burning in her belly went a long way toward helping. If she made it out of this system she wouldn’t crawl out of that bottle for a month.
Until then, the Condor and her Vultures were ready.
Deep in the heart of the Bulwark, Admiral Raksava gazed upon the red stone and green seas of Pedres, on its frozen poles and harsh equatorial storms. The scouts had seen it first, obviously. And the spies, and the sensor operators and communications technicians. But to Raksava, it was as if his sensory band was the first to witness the sight since the Maeyar had chased them from it all those centuries ago. Now the children of Gavisar were hardened by the ancient Maeyar atomics, and what could the traitors do but succumb to a poison that they had inured their own enemies against? The Homeworld Defense Fleet would scour the surface clean before the survivors made landfall, burrowing deep within the caves under Pedres, never to be removed again.
Raksava had no hate for the Maeyar, as many of his brothers and sisters did. His grandfather’s grandfather had not been alive to witness the theft of Pedres, and the subsequent burning of Gavisar that followed. Truly, his time in study of their fleet tactics and capabilities had given him a grudging respect for the martial prowess of a people who since their darkest hour had made efforts at reform. But they had also tried to tempt the children of Gavisar from the righteous path by offering an alternative world, and no sooner would it be settled than snatched away at the cruelest opportunity. No, their place in the stars must be earned, and it must begin here, on this multi-hued world of red trees and white sands and pearlescent ocean flora.
He looped a hook around the handle of his communications terminal. From this command station he could reach every ship in the Homeworld Defense Fleet. Raksava hesitated. He had never been one for stirring speeches or wit. His words did not rouse admiration or the courage of those under his command. His attempts at such often fell flat. In earnest, he was not the best choice to lead the survivors to their new home, but with the politicians dead, he was the most experienced and had kept the Maeyar away from two moons that would have offered a staging point from which to strike at the Homeworld. But he was no longer the captain of a warship, responsible only for a single hull. Now he was leading all warships that remained, even those left behind to safeguard his flank against Wing Commander Arda. They had not yet reported success and his human captain remained with them. Even the Oracle, the other ship in his fleet capable of faster than light communications, had been silent. Perhaps the Maeyar were hiding on the night side of Pedres, blocking transmissions.
Tightening his grip on the switch, he pulled it down two clicks into the radial broadcast mode, and began to speak in a slow and clear Kossovoldt.
"Begin the attack. The static defenses are concentrated over the population centers in the southern hemisphere. Be aware of surface to orbital batteries. Draw out the Maeyar admiral and force him to shield the planet. We hold the gravitic advantage, do not surrender it. First and second fleet, into assigned positions. Captains, assume control of your sections. Remember, brothers and sisters, this is the day we earn our place in the stars."
Raksava released the lever a moment, but left his hook looped around its contoured grip. Even with advance warning, the Maeyar interceptors had appeared suddenly, struck swiftly, and caused savage damage to the ships in Juna’s orbit before splitting off or diving into the storms with Arda. It was uncharacteristically sneaky, bordering on what their admiralty would consider dishonorable. Perhaps when one of their worlds was threatened, all pretenses of valor disappeared from the Maeyar strategy books. But Raksava was doubtful. Perhaps there was an as yet unseen factor influencing the Maeyar fleet. He spun the lever to the strategic center and tugged it active again.
"Press the Bulwark, the Aegis, and the Godhammer to pressure the Banner and the other three carriers near the pole. I want those interceptors scrambling to protect their commanders, not carrying out their missions."
"My Admiral," his second officer responded, "That will put us in range of planetary defenses."
"Are we not a bulwark for the future children of Gavisar? We will sustain damage, to be certain. But our long-range defenses are up to the task of keeping the planetary defenses at bay. You have your orders, let us strike those carriers from the stars.
The winds and storms of Juna pushed harder at the Condor than Victoria expected, and with more howling ferocity. She had to admit, hearing sounds outside the bounds of the hull nominally surrounded by vacuum made for a disconcerting sensation. If she had hackles, they’d be raised. Multispectral cameras and lidar mapped the surface of the planet and offered the safest paths through winds that would have shamed any hurricane, but active emissions had to be kept to a minimum. Only laser-based communication with the Vitacuus and the tightbeam-encrypted channel to Sothcide’s fighter squadron one hundred and nine miles ahead of the Condor kept her from being completely alone in the storms.
"Alright Sothcide, I’m climbing another three thousand meters. Once I’m in the ionosphere I should be able to pick up a few open Gavisari communications and get a read on their bearing, but you can bet Jones will pick you up as soon as you get wind of him again. I can’t take any actions that directly compromise his position or his safety, but don’t expect him to show the same courtesy. He’s way past weapons-free."
Jones would also stay in the shadows, he wouldn’t put his own ship at risk unless absolutely pressed. Like by multiple fighters overwhelming his attenuator with active radar to force a trackable heat signature. Clever trick that, and Victoria wasn’t sure she liked a xeno having that bit of information. It especially rankled that she probably never would have thought of it. Active emissions were ship killers. Attenuators were what kept privateers out of the crosshairs against xenos that relied on most forms of reflective sensors. It was almost a shame that only the Gavisari flagship carried gravitic distension sensing technology. Victoria would get no use out of her Malagath-enhanced gravitic stealth device. Not that she would complain about a ship like the Bulwark not breathing down her neck. But so many bits and baubles lined the Condor with the intent of hiding her presence, it was no wonder so many xenos considered humans almost mythical.
The clouds thinned with every meter, massive cumulus clouds giving way to sweeping bands of cirrus dozens of miles across that left her sensors frosted with glycol as she passed from one to the next. Lightning arced from cloud bank to cloud bank, even at this altitude, crackling pockets of pure ether that collected in localized troughs of low pressure. Wind howled against the hull, and the sound of the xenon ion engine translating through the metal and composite whined as the Condor fought against the push of the supersonic transit. Aerodynamics had been added only as an afterthought—Victoria’s ship had never been designed for this type of flight.
Cresting the top of her ascent, Victoria tuned her command sensor repeater, watching her sensor team sweep for available communication signals. She picked up the Maeyar first, hiding low beneath a sweep of mountains that made the Alps look like barrow hills. They knew their communications were compromised, thanks to Sothcide, and were keeping radio transmissions at a level that severely impaired Jones’ ability to range them.
Reducing communications kept them out of the scope of the Gavisari for the moment, but the sharks were in the water. Pound for pound, the ships Raksava had left behind would still crush Arda’s survivors if given clear opportunity and an advantageous angle.
The Gavisari were somewhere to the east, a general mass of radio and infrared radiation scattered by the atmosphere to the verge of uselessness. But the more Victoria climbed, the more her sensor team began to pick up snippets of communication, all of it now encrypted with the codec Aesop Cohen had acquired with his takeover of the Oracle orbiting a few thousand miles above.
"Sensors conn, what’s the word from on high?" Victoria asked over the open microphone.
"Conn sensors. Sergeant Cohen is having difficulty integrating the sensors on the Oracle, but communications are active. Sounds like the invasion fleet has been warned against accepting unsolicited orbital communication and is using hourly passphrases. I think it’s safe to say Jones suspects something has changed. He might have guessed we’re back in the area of operations."
"Or his paranoia spiked when our boy managed to flush him out from under his rock. Any sign?"
"Negative Vick. Sothcide’s wing reports clear skies, aside from heat put out by enemy fighters. If Jones is up here, he’s looking for the Maeyar same as we’re looking for Gavisari."
He was up here. Victoria could feel the chill of him watching her, almost as bad as if she was still in a horizon jump. Hell, the bastard might already be picking up her scent, and she wouldn’t put it past him to break the Privateer pact and relay her position if it wouldn’t cause a mutiny aboard the Howard Phillips. His sensor operators would be looking for the tell-tale ionic xenon that marked Victoria’s presence. Jones was propelled by a reactionless emdrive, another piece of technology humanity had stumbled upon before seeing its practiced applications in the hands of other xenos possessed of a deeper universal understanding. Almost as eldritch as his vessel’s namesake, it left no detectable propellant for her hyperspectral sensors to track.