In the Presence of My Enemies

by Stephen A. Fender

  Shawn nodded slowly. “ETA for our next jump?”

  “I set the computer to notify me here when we get close to the gate. Shouldn’t be more than ten or fifteen minutes.”

  “Good,” Shawn said, casting his eyes to his plate in a moment of silence before speaking again. “Good. I want us both up there when we reach—,” Shawn began, then looked to the Kafaran staring silently out the view port. “When we reach our destination.”

  The pause wasn’t lost on Melissa. “Problem, Commander?”

  Shawn deposited a forkful of corn into his mouth. “No, no problem. What makes you ask?”

  “Well, I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say that I’d like to know where we’re going.”

  “Rugor Prime,” he said after swallowing. “I’m fairly certain you got that memo.”

  She rolled her eyes at his aloofness. “No. I mean, where is the jump gate located?”

  Shawn took another helping of food, chewed slowly, and then swallowed. Apparently everyone except Trent did want to know, because—save for Tausan—they were all silently staring at him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “To my people, it is called Grek Llar.” The Kafaran colonel spoke quietly. Apparently, his translator was keyed to such subtle nuances in his voice.

  “Grek Llar?” Ambassador McDermott repeated. “I’m afraid I’ve never heard of it, Colonel.”

  “That’s because we humans don’t have a habit of naming our star systems using Kafaran ideology,” Shawn snapped tersely. “Grek Llar is the name of a Kafaran deity, or so I’ve been told.”

  “Your information is correct, Commander Kestrel,” the Kafaran replied, still looking out of the view port. “Although your claim as to the rightful possessor of the system is somewhat dubious.”

  “And what system would that be?” Melissa asked Shawn. “In human terms, that is.”

  “Delta Canaras.”

  Sergeant Wilcox, still dressed in his fatigues, turned a somber face away from his plate. “As in … the Battle of Delta Canaras?”

  “The very same,” Shawn replied, finishing the last of his meal. “We’ll be passing near the coreward edge of the battlefield very shortly.”

  “The area is sacred to the Kafarans,” Tausan said, again without facing the crew. “I’d advise that ‘passing near’ is all you do.”

  “Last I checked, the Kafarans have no claim to Delta Canaras, Colonel,” Shawn said to the Kafaran’s back.

  Tausan turned slowly to face Shawn. “And we are far removed from Unified space, Commander.”

  “That’s true, but I distinctly remember the Kafarans abandoning this area after Sector Command forces gave them a pretty good pasting.”

  Tausan grunted. “That, Commander Kestrel, is a matter of opinion. As I recall, Sector Command elements were all but wiped out by nearly half as many Kafaran warships. They did not abandon the area, as you say it. They merely departed because there were no humans left to kill.”

  “Gentleman,” Ambassador McDermott calmly injected, trying to stop the conversation from escalating.

  “Sector Command, and by default the Unified Government, is more than just humanity,” Shawn retorted.

  “Immaterial, Commander,” Tausan said calmly. “Your race is the majority, and by default the strongest voice.”

  “That’s how your race sees it, Kafaran. Not mine.”

  “Gentleman, please,” McDermott all but shouted, brining all eyes squarely on himself in the process. “This is neither the time nor the place for this discussion. For the time being, the Kafarans’ Army of Light and the Unified Government are united against a common foe. I will not let either of you jeopardize this mission over your own personal feelings against each other.”

  “Well said,” Melissa chimed in, which elicited a cold stare from Shawn.

  Sufficiently motivated by her agreement, the ambassador continued. “I am, by nature, a diplomat, not a military man. Far more good has come into this universe over diplomacy than warfare. However, I am the ranking official on board, and I’ve been placed in that position by both of our governments. I can’t order you two to be friends, nor do I expect that you’ll be bunkmates anytime soon, but I will tell you to leave whatever bigotry or hatred you have against one another in your staterooms. You will tolerate—and cooperate—with each other from here on out. Understood?”

  Trent turned to Shawn, half-expecting his friend to reach over and throttle the ambassador just for good measure. He was shocked when instead Shawn spoke.

  “I know my place. I don’t need to be put there by you.”

  McDermott was far from convinced. “Is that a ‘yes’?”

  “As much of one as you’ll get out of me.”

  “Colonel Tausan?”

  The Kafaran’s only response was to grunt, then turn back to the small view port.

  “Excellent,” McDermott beamed, pleased with himself over another small victory he could slip under his belt.

  The next several minutes were both tense and silent as the rest of the assembly finished their meal. It was Sergeant Wilcox who broke the stalemate. “Aren’t you worried about debris?” the Marine asked.

  Trent nodded. “The sensors are tuned to pick up anything that might damage the hull.”

  “How much is out there?” Melissa asked.

  Shawn leaned his head back, sliding it from side to side as he worked to relax his strained muscles. “From my understanding, quite a bit.”

  “But you don’t know.”

  Though the physical pain in his neck was now lessened, he knew he could do little for the personal ones named Tausan and McDermott, and he tilted his head back to Melissa. “I’ve never been out this far, but I saw the after-action report, back during the war. Two very large fleets got into a nasty scuffle out here, and few came back to tell the tale.” This was rewarded by Tausan turning to look at Shawn, who in turn stared at the Kafaran. “From either side,” Shawn finished resolutely.

  It was then that the proximity alarm began to softly hum through the compartment.

  “Is that a collision alarm, Commander?” the ambassador asked nervously.

  “No,” Trent replied before Shawn had a chance. “We’re coming up on the coordinates of the battlefield. We’ll have to slow down.”

  “Because of the debris?” Melissa asked.

  Trent slowly nodded his head. “Well … something like that.”

  “We have to get to the jump gate,” Shawn injected before Melissa could question Trent’s half-answer. “And that means navigate the field.”

  “But why?” Melissa asked, her tone now as concerned as the ambassador’s. “Where’s the gate?”

  Shawn got up, a signal to Trent to do the same. “Right smack in the middle.”

  “Nothing surpasses the beauty and elegance of a bad idea.”

  —Lyyrin Dowmeia

  The 5th Tier of Enlightenment on the Left, 47th Edition.

  Chapter 4

  Shawn and Trent arrived on the cockpit level just in time to see a motley assortment of war-torn vessels take shape. Sylvia’s Delight was still too far away from the battlefield to make positive visual identification of the remains of the vessels, but their overall angular shape betrayed that they had once belonged to Sector Command.

  “Looks like frigates,” Trent said under his breath. “Or what’s left of them.”

  Shawn nodded slowly. “Being faster and more maneuverable, they would have been the first line of offense.”

  “Offense?”

  “Delta Canaras was supposed to be a major turning point in the war,” Shawn began, offering his old a friend a quick summary. “The Kafarans had seized the system a few months into the war, and were using it as one of their primary staging grounds for attacks on nearby Unified worlds … back when the Outer Sphere still existed, that is.” Shawn looked out at the spinning, lifeless hulk of a boulder-like Kafaran vessel. It had been holed through in several key places, and most of the starboard side was a
battered mess. “Sector Command sent in a fleet, the largest it could muster, and this is what came of it. The Battle of Delta Canaras.”

  “Must have been one hell of a battle.”

  “After-action reports state that it only lasted about an hour, which is amazing considering how many ships we lost.”

  “But you said we won this one, right?”

  Despite the destruction ahead of the Mark-IV, Shawn found himself chuckling. “That’s a matter of perspective. As far as the PR guys were concerned, this was a resounding victory for Sector Command. As for how the top brass felt about it, they had just lost a sizeable chunk of their war fighting machine—both in equipment and manpower. In my opinion, it was one we never recovered from. Had even a quarter of these ships made it out of the battle, the war might well have ended months—or even years—sooner.”

  “That many, huh?”

  Shawn nodded as his mind relayed the inventory. “About five hundred ships in all, but it wasn’t just about numbers … it was about the quality of the people. Some of our best, most well-trained people died here. Those are figures that can’t easily be replaced.”

  “Anyone we know?”

  “Quite a few. A lot of guys I went through flight training with didn’t make it out of Delta Canaras. Those who did … well, let’s just say they were never the same afterward. As far as ships in general, we lost some really great ones here. The Hornblower, the Westhampton, the Enterprise, the Dul’Tulam…they’re all out here, somewhere.”

  The two men contemplated the scene in silence for a moment before Trent spoke again. “I can’t believe the jump gate is in the middle of this mess. What on Third Earth made them put it there?”

  “The gate was actually much farther away from here. Before the battle, Sector Command latched onto it and dragged it with them. They were afraid the Kafarans might seize it—or worse, destroy it. That’s why we need to get to the heart of this clutter. The flagship still had the gate in tow when it was destroyed. And on our way home, we’ll have to come back through a different gate entirely. We can’t chance jumping back into the middle of this.”

  “I hear that.”

  “Take us in nice and slow. We’re not in any kind of rush here.”

  Trent nodded as he slid into the copilot’s seat. Before his rear had touched the cushion, the cockpit doors slid open to admit Melissa and Ambassador McDermott. They were in the middle of a conversation, and Shawn had to snap his fingers to break into it.

  “This really isn’t the time for a guided tour.”

  “I wanted to see what was going on,” McDermott replied, obviously annoyed that Shawn had halted his conversation.

  “That’s what the window in the lounge is for.”

  “Colonel Tausan seems to have monopolized it,” Melissa countered with a laugh, but McDermott continued with his annoyance.

  “Besides, seeing as you’re the pilot, it’s your duty to keep us informed of our status.”

  Shawn didn’t want to raise his voice, but he needed this pompous ass to start respecting some boundaries on his ship. “We’re starting some delicate maneuvers, and the less distractions we have up here, the better.”

  Sensing Shawn’s frustration, Melissa lightly grasped the ambassador’s arm. “We won’t get in the way,” she said in her most diplomatic tone, then quickly ushered McDermott into the farthest corner of the room. Due to the small size of the compartment, they were still within striking distance, which was a comfort to Shawn if he quickly needed to pop the annoying diplomat in the mouth.

  “Who’s keeping an eye on Tausan?” Shawn asked.

  “Why does the colonel need to be observed?” McDermott asked, narrowing his eyes at Shawn.

  Oh, brother, are you asking for it. “As Miss Graves can attest, we’ve been the unfortunate recipients of a series of incidents, both on board the Rhea and this ship. Nefarious things. Subversion-type things. Things that diplomats don’t like to know about. So that’s why I want to know what’s going on at all times on board my ship. Besides, you said it yourself, McDermott: this mission is too important to jeopardize over trivialities. Is asking to have someone keep an eye on our distinguished guest such an enormous burden that you’d risk what we’re trying to accomplish here?”

  McDermott seemed to mull the idea over for a moment. “Very well. I’ll have Sergeant Wilcox keep a keen eye on everyone on board. There is no reason to segregate the colonel.”

  Best thing you’ve said since you came on board. “That’s all I ask,” Shawn said with an almost sarcastic bow of his head.

  Melissa’s eyes, just as the ambassador’s had earlier, narrowed at Shawn. “The air seems to have thinned up here, ambassador. Let me show you the engine room.”

  McDermott smiled a toothy grin. “It would be my pleasure, Agent Graves.”

  “Please, call me Melissa,” she said loud enough for Shawn to catch.

  As the two headed through the door, Shawn breathed a sigh of frustration.

  “Women,” Trent quipped. “You know, sometimes I find that—”

  “Stop right there before I shoot you.”

  “Yes, sir,” Trent responded quickly, then turned back to his controls.

  Thirty minutes later, they arrived at their destination.

  “We’re nearing the coordinates of the jump gate, Skipper.”

  Spinning lifelessly all around Sylvia’s Delight were the battered, burnt-out remains of several large warships. While many were Unified in origin, there was no lack of Kafaran, Raballan, and Marcosian hulks in the mix. Bits and pieces of debris ebbed around the slowly moving Mark-IV as Trent deftly maneuvered the small vessel to her destination. The remains of a large detector dish glided slowly past the bow of the ship, far enough away not to pose a threat, but close enough to fray Shawn’s nerves.

  “Keep her slow and steady,” he said in a hushed voice, as if the volume might attract more debris to their location.

  “No worries there.” Trent had both hands on the flight stick, his forehead glistening with sweat.

  Just ahead of the ship, the twisted forward hull of a Unified carrier was slowly crashing into an overturned Kafaran warship. The two were slowly merging into one, each shedding chunks of one another in the process. Shawn did his best to block out the thoughts of what it must have been like for the crews of the two vessels near the end. “Who said anything about being worried?”

  From the right side of the pilot’s seat, a softly buzzing alarm began to sound, causing Shawn to cock his head in its direction.

  “What is it?” Trent asked.

  Shawn had to look at the short-range sensor scan twice before he could respond. “Energy signature nearby.”

  Although Trent kept his eyes squarely ahead of the ship, the furrowed brow and tone betrayed his confusion. “Out here? In all this? Is that possible?”

  Shawn shook his head as he confirmed the readings. “Shouldn’t be. Nothing’s been active out here for a long, long time. Even the fusion drive reserves in these vessels should have gone offline by now.”

  “Survivors?” Trent asked.

  Shawn looked up again to see the carrier and the Kafaran cruiser still slowly integrating into one another. “No. No way.”

  “But we found Lieutenant Garcia on the Icarus.”

  “The Icarus was only missing for a matter of months, and luckily Garcia was able to restore minimal power to some compartments,” Shawn corrected. “These ships have been out here for years, and Sector Command did a pretty thorough job of recovering the survivors from this battle. Besides, all the ships that were still moderately functional were switched offline permanently, so I can’t see any way someone could survive out here that long. Without power, there’s no way to replenish environmental suits. And a standard suit only lasts for hours, not days, and certainly not years.”

  “Then what?”

  Shawn was just as baffled by the sensor readings. “I don’t know.”

  “Do we check it out?”

 
It could be someone stranded out here … or it could be nothing. If one of those fragments out there hits us, we’ll be dead before we know it. “If it were just you and me out here, I wouldn’t hesitate to investigate.”

  “But now?”

  Shawn chuckled. “We’ve got Unified dignitaries, not to mention a disgruntled Kafaran colonel to deal with … and that’s before we add Melissa’s opinion into the mix.”

  “We’re too far away for an instant reply … assuming you’re considering asking the Rhea for any advice in the first place.”

  “How long?”

  Trent let out a slow huff as he ran the calculations in his head. “Say two, maybe three, hours to get a call there and back.”

  An unaccepted risk. The flow of debris this close to the center of the conflict is almost chaotic. “I’m not willing to stay in this field that long. Its patterns are unpredictable as it is, and we’ve about maxed out our luck card.”

  “The jump gate is about a mile from our current position. If we can get closer to it, I should be able to patch into its light-link communications transmitter.”

  Usually, doing so would be highly illegal for any number of reasons. But they were officially a military operation at this point. And it was the only way they would get a near-instantaneous answer from the Rhea … assuming they were listening on the correct channel. “On an opposite trajectory to the energy reading, I imagine.”

  “Give the man a cigar,” Trent said with a half-smile. “Which doesn’t make your decision any easier, I imagine.”

  “It’s not my decision to make,” Shawn said as he continued to watch the undulating field outside the ship.

  “Well, you’d better call Melissa up here quick. We can’t stay in this position much longer.”

  Shaking his head, Shawn turned to leave the cockpit. “Unfortunately, she’s not the one in charge either.”

  When Shawn entered the passenger lounge, he was pleasantly surprised to see that Melissa and Ambassador McDermott had retreated to opposite sides of the small compartment. Still well within shouting distance of one another, the separation of the two was nonetheless a small victory for the commander. Stepping to her side, Shawn pulled up one of the few empty chairs.