by Lance Berry
Mara laughed. “You’re so silly. I don’t know…absence is supposedly what makes the heart grow fonder. And I gotta tell you, right now my heart’s pretty damn fond.” She nibbled her lower lip a moment, contemplating. “I’ll just wait and see what happens. If he doesn’t call me, then at least we had a great evening, but it turns out he’s a jerk just like every other guy. If he does call…then all bets are off.”
Chapter 24
Just over a week later, Mara was sound asleep in her private quarters aboard the Hawking, when her vid-com activated and began briiiip-brip-briiiipping, signaling an incoming signal.
She sat up groggily, shook her head twice, and snapped herself awake. She walked over to her desk, pulled off the terrycloth robe draped over its back and slipped it on as she sat in front of the vid-com. “Accept,” she said, then cleared her throat just as the screen changed from the UEF standard to the face of David Christenson. Mara’s eyes lit up immediately at the sight of his now clean-shaven face. He was even more handsome than she remembered.
“Good morning, Mara. How are you today?”
“I’m fine, and you,” she replied. She then blatantly ran one hand through her hair as a distraction, while surreptitiously lowering her other out of range of the vid-com and using it to open her robe just slightly, in order to reveal a little more cleavage.
“I’m doing very well, thank you.” To Mara’s inner giddiness, he obliged her by lowering his eyes for a split second. When he raised them to meet her own once more, a sly smile flitted across his face. “I’m sorry I haven’t called you recently,” he said. “It’s just that I’ve been sequestered with several generals in Command this past week, planning today’s activities.”
“Activities—?”
David nodded. “I’ve just been in contact with your good Captain Stubbs. Today’s the day we begin that push toward Calvorian space I remarked on at the convention. Thirty ships are to rendezvous with the Horizon at a predetermined location. Your ship will be flying wing with mine.”
Mara’s eyebrows arched with interest. “Really? So I finally get to see you work up close and personal?”
“As up close and personal as it gets…for now.”
Mara smiled knowingly, pleased to see that as far as intentions went, they were on the same wavelength. “In that case, I’d better get dressed. James will surely be calling for the senior staff any moment.”
“You’d best. I wouldn’t want you to be late, and I’ve got more planning to do after all. I’ll see you at the rendezvous… and Mara—? Thank you for the viewing.” He said this last with an obvious glance at her cleavage. Mara giggled and shrugged happily. David blew her a kiss and severed the transmission.
The screen had only a moment to flash the words ‘transmission ended’ before she clicked off the vid-com, tossed off her robe and nightdress, and headed for her private bathroom.
He is just so amazing, she thought as the hot water cascaded over her body. She tilted the shower head at an angle and leaned against the far wall, letting the water splash over her as she gently ran the soap across her neck, her breasts, her waist. She liked tempting him earlier, and he obviously enjoyed the viewing…but if the chips fell to the table, would she be able to go through with it? Would she be willing to discard her ideal of being married before giving up her virginity? It had been a long road for her, making it to nearly thirty years without having sex; there had been men along the way who certainly wanted to help her shed her virginity, and some to whom she had actually considered allowing the taking of her prize. Yet she somehow found it within her, through prayer and stringent self-discipline, to stave off intercourse before marriage. Her choice had been a relationship ender for many, and she had almost consigned herself to believing there would be no man with the moral righteousness to see the justification of waiting.
She had finally given in to some light self-exploration, training her body to accept an orgasm without the full touch of her fingers.
When she met David Christenson and he had chosen to wait until they knew each other better before agreeing to sex, Mara was pleased that she had never gone all the way by herself, and that she had waited for the right man, in spite of her waning faith in the opposite gender. She knew, just knew, that her mother must have asked God to send such a wonderful man to her lonely firstborn. But could she do it, if the time came…?
Everything will happen as God intends it to. Just be patient…
She was shocked out of her thoughts as the smartware computer system delivered a chime which echoed throughout the head. “Attention, Commander Christenson. Captain Stubbs has just announced a meeting of the senior staff to convene in war room A in five minutes. Repeat: Captain Stubbs—”
“Acknowledged,” Mara said sharply, cutting off the synthesized feminine voice. She turned off the water and stepped out of the shower as she replied to the ODC, “Signal my reply to Captain Stubbs, let him know I’m on my way.”
“Acknowledged,” the synthetic voice answered.
Just over five minutes later, Mara entered the war room with a towel in hand, drying the last vestiges of water from her hair. Her lips curled sideways at the amused glances of the senior staff, already seated at the table. “Catch you at a bad time, Lieutenant-Commander? Need a few more minutes?”
Commander Tamamura asked, with only mild facetiousness.
“Sorry,” Mara replied, somewhat embarrassed, as she sat across from her friend and first officer. Captain Stubbs stood and went over to a vid-com mounted into the wall. He activated the viewer and glanced back at his officers.
“Now that Commander Daydream has joined us,” he said, receiving laughs from Doctor Barrows and chief engineer McCaffie, “we can finally get down to business.” He turned back to the vid-com, where an image of a star-system appeared.
The map had several pulsing red dots on it. Stubbs glanced back occasionally at his officers as he spoke. “Today is the day we initiate Operation: Pushback. It’s a stratagem designed by David Christenson and some of the highest levels of the military to thrust into the heart of star-systems claimed by the Calvorian
Alliance, and not only reclaim said systems, but push the enemy back toward their own territory.”
There were several approving nods around the table.
“The Hawking will rendezvous with the Horizon and a complement of nearly thirty Heavy Cruisers at the white dwarf star of Sirius, in order for the star’s brightness and radiation to mask just how many ships are in our group. We will then head directly here, to Arcturus,” he said as he pointed at the map, “where the Calvorians have begun establishing a foothold. The goal for today is to send a message to the Alliance: back off. As far as I’m concerned, no matter what, we will be sending that message today, people. Is everyone with me?”
More approving nods from the staff, this time with light yet certain applause. Stubbs outlined the plan in some more detail, then reclaimed his seat as his officers filled him in on the Hawking’s current battle readiness.
Four hours later, the Hawking met up with the Horizon and twenty-eight other ships at Sirius. Once aligned into proper formation, the flagship led its sisters into hyperspace.
Eighteen hours later, the fleet was nearing its final destination. Mara sat at her tactical station on the starboard side of the bridge, studying her diagnostics readout for about the twenty-seventh time. She sighed lightly. It was the tedium of waiting during long voyages which she hated, even more than the anticipatory gnawing in the stomach before going into combat. Even though Heavy Cruisers traveled through wormholes, the fact was because the wormholes were artificial, they were far less powerful than the rare ones which occurred naturally. It took much more time to get anywhere than it would traveling through a true wormhole. Of course, this limitation in the ships’ design was not only an unavoidable one, it was a necessity—no vessel, no matter how well shielded, would be able to withstand the gravitational stresses and shearing forces of venturing into an actual wormhole.<
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Finally, Mara’s board gave an affirming beep in tandem with one issuing from the navigator’s. She turned toward Captain Stubbs to deliver the good news, but the navigator—a bright young woman named Gemheart—beat her to it. “Captain, we’re coming up on the coordinates for our egress back to normal space.”
Stubbs nodded firmly. “Open a wormhole exit, Lieutenant.
Let’s be neighborly.” He said this last with a decidedly dark rumble in his voice. Stubbs had lost two sisters, both of them in the military, to this war. He seized on any opportunity he could for payback.
On the main viewscreen, a tiny pinprick opened amidst the whirling miasma of colors. It quickly widened to a massive exit, and the Hawking reemerged back into third dimensional space.
And back in that normal space, a large, brownish planet sat, with quite a few Calvorian battlecruisers in orbit above it. Mara noted that there were even a couple of orbital stations in place— one completed and obviously inhabited, the other undergoing construction. She turned back to her console and began taking tactical scans of both the station and the planet’s surface. As the ship’s powerful sensors did an intense sweep of all three locations, the communications officer—Habersham was his name—craned his neck to look at Stubbs. “Incoming audio from the Horizon.”
“Let’s hear it,” Stubbs replied.
Mara was still studying the readout, and didn’t need to look at the com officer to know he was working his console deftly, allowing the signal receptors to pull in the transmission. Her own sensors finally finished their job and as soon as she was certain of the information, she swung her chair around to face Stubbs. “Captain, I’ve scanned the planet and its orbital bases.
Twenty-six cruisers in orbit. Just over three hundred troops on the planet, one hundred apiece on the satellites. There are four small semi-ensconced minor settlements, all within a hundred and fifty kilometers of a main base, where the majority of troops are located.”
“Not highly staffed yet. A relatively new outpost,” Stubbs pondered aloud. He then glanced at her and nodded appreciatively. “Efficient as ever, Elliot.”
Mara smiled, glad that her captain was pleased with her job.
Only a second after the compliment was delivered, David Christenson’s strong voice filled the bridge. “This is Christenson, to all ships. We’ve scanned the enemy vessels.
Tholin’s ship, the Necrosis, is not among them. Repeat, the Necrosis is not here. Our goal therefore is to drive the Calvorians from this world and take the planetside base. The orbital bases are completely expendable.”
“This is the Hawking to Christenson. Captain, our tactics chief has informed me of the total troop numbers. We’re transmitting them now,” he said, and pointed a finger at Mara.
She in turn stabbed a few panels on her console and looked back at Stubbs. “Sent.”
There was a brief pause, then Christenson spoke again. “My compliments to your chief, Captain,” he said in his lilting English. “We’re broadcasting to the fleet now. Your ship will be in charge of securing the base, while others will be assigned to take out the support settlements. Take the Excalibur, the Brigadoon and the Chutney with you. Do a blast-thru with DFCs, keep orbital bombardment from Heavy Cruisers to a minimum.”
A beep issued from Mara’s console. The Calvorians had obviously gotten over their initial shock at the sudden arrival of thirty Cruisers in their space, and were mobilizing their ships into attack pattern. “The enemy’s on the move, heading in our direction,” Mara announced clearly enough for both captains to hear her. “Two minutes to firing range.”
“…it’s important to keep the planetside base as intact as possible,” Christenson continued after a small beat, apparently to take in Mara’s intel. “It might contain information on the Necrosis’ current whereabouts or planned squadron attacks. If we can take any officers alive, that’s gravy. Understood?”
“Clearly, Captain. We’ll see you on the other side of the gauntlet.”
“The Abraham, Sun Tzu and Williamsburg will cover for you. Get moving, and keep your heads down. Good luck.”
“Acknowledged, Captain. Same to you.”
The communications channel closed, and Stubbs looked at
Mara. “Elliot?” Mara looked back at him expectantly.
“Inform our pilots to stand by for launch. All of them.
Relay Christenson’s orders, and have all our troop transports ready to go on a moment’s notice. Once it’s time for landings, you’ll lead our ground troops. Take that base by any means necessary. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” she said firmly. The two of them turned away at the same time; he to the central viewer, her to her console. She carried out her orders, informing the launch bay of the necessary preparations. Once that was done, she contacted her second in charge of security and informed him to ready the full complement of troops for ground assault.
With that task completed, she waved over the lieutenant seated at the backup auxiliary console to take her spot. As Mara rose to give up her seat, her hand briefly alighted upon the young lieutenant’s shoulder. “You better keep my ship safe,” she said, not altogether jokingly.
“Yes ma’am,” he replied anxiously. Auxiliary officers were specifically trained in several areas of bridge department management: tactical, ops, communications, helm and navigation. This was so they could take over if a senior officer such as Mara had to leave the bridge to tend to other duties or, God forbid, something cataclysmic happened to render an officer unable to function. This was the young officer’s first time at security, Mara knew, but she had read his file when he first came aboard. He had an accomplished if not exemplary career on a couple of outposts before coming aboard the Hawking. If he had not been up to the responsibilities of his job placement, she would have informed Captain Stubbs long ago.
As the lieutenant took the chair, Mara headed for the lift.
She stepped in and managed to steal a brief glance at the central viewscreen before the doors closed: the Horizon was moving into lead position at the forefront of the assembled Cruisers, preparing to engage the closing enemy.
Please keep safe, David, she thought, before the doors closed and the lift began to descend.
Chapter 25
Troop transport #1 lifted out of the Hawking’s launch bay in one swift, smooth motion, piloted by Mara Elliot. It was unusual for an officer to pilot a transport down into combat, but as security chief, it was Mara’s prerogative. She was eager to get planetside and secure the enemy base as quickly as possible in order to keep her comrades aboard the Cruisers safe.
As she guided the transport in a sloping downward arc toward the surface, Mara noted on her board that transports two through seven were lifting out easily from the bay, one behind the other. This action was being repeated from the launch bays of the Excalibur, Brigadoon and at least half a dozen other Cruisers that had pushed in close to the planet, just past the satellites. The Calvorians, secure in their ownership of the planet, were taken completely by surprise at the sudden drop-out into their space by a contingent of Heavy Cruisers, and hadn’t time to fortify their inner perimeter while simultaneously dealing with the invading force. DFCs were released first, in order to distract the Calvorian battlecruisers and engage any Skimmers they might release. The Hawking and several of its sister ships then pressed in quickly, moving into positions of not-quite-orbit, in order to drop transports.
Now, while the starry night gave way to gradual lightening as her transport moved into the atmosphere, a tactical readout from Mara’s board informed her that true ship-to-ship engagement with the enemy had begun. She said a quick, silent prayer that she and her soldiers would have a home to return to. She then tagged on a prayer for David Christenson as well.
She flipped a switch, engaging her com system. “Hawking transport one to all ships. Transports from the Chutney, Tahoe, Skender and Bainbridge—your job is to take out the ground troops. I want that area around the encampment cleared before m
y ship touches ground. Lieutenant-Commander Newson, do you read me?”