Si'Lasa pondered this last statement from the tesh. For a junior officer to disobey or disregard orders was very rare. For one to openly admit to it, and just as openly accept the punishment dictated by this action, was practically unheard of. His anger forgotten and his curiosity aroused, Si'Lasa stared directly at his subordinate on the display.
"Very well, tesh. Tell me of this information, and we shall see if it is indeed worth your life."
* * *
The hatch in the front corner of the command deck irised open. The guards flanking the command throne turned toward the sound. Two pairs of death-black eyes tracked the entrance of the newcomer onto the command deck.
Looking up from a display built into the arm of the command throne, the high commander could see the hazy outline of the newcomer through the translucent display located atop the forward station. Recognizing the visitor, the high commander was glad not only of the location of the hatchway but of the displays as well. This, of course, is why they were where they were.
The displays, constructed of a translucent crystalline material standing one meter above each of the stations, served a dual purpose. The first and most obvious purpose allowed the operators to monitor the flowing and constantly updating information, vital to both the functioning and controlling of the ship, projected within it. The second wasn't so obvious. Their synthetic crystalline matrix was highly impact-resistant as well as being capable of both dissipating and reflecting high-power, focused-energy bursts—such as those produced by an assassin's micro-laser.
The high commander closed his display and leaned back into the command throne, thoughtful. Xan-Sskarn battle doctrine dictated that Le-Kisnan, or carrier class vessels, were targeted first and eliminated, then the next smaller class of vessel, then the next, and so on. It appeared that human doctrine was similar, as Le-Kisnan were also being targeted and destroyed before lesser vessels. Whether by original design or adaptation did not matter, as with each Le-Kisnan or other senior-class vessel lost, the loss of those of the higher blood lines increased. Xan-Sskarn ships could only be commanded by those of noble blood, and the closer to the True Blood, as the nobility called it, an officer was, the larger, more powerful class of ship one could command. However, the expansion that the Swarm had experienced, along with the losses it had suffered since the war's onset, had subsequently generated the need for more commanders and officers, and lessened the need for such elaborate security measures. In most cases, with those new positions now available to those of lesser bloodlines, assassination had not been needed to advance in rank and status quickly anymore—a development the Swarm Masters were relieved to see. Though assassination, common during times of peace, was frowned upon but not outlawed during war, the disruptions caused by inexperienced officers could lead to disastrous results in battle. However, some Xan-Sskarn were not willing to wait for these opportunities to present themselves, choosing instead to create their own.
The newcomer rounded the console in front of the hatch and approached the command dais in an open and yet guarded manner. The two pairs of eyes ever left their target, and while they judged the newcomer as unarmed and having no duplicitous intentions, they did not relax their vigilance—not with whom the newcomer was and certainly not with whom their master was.
Vice Commander Si'Lasa stopped a meter from the command dais and, with the rasp of tail and scratch of hind claws, knelt on one knee.
The high commander looked down at his second-in-command. As hatchlings, all Xan-Sskarns were screened to determine genetic purity and then marked accordingly. The number of stripes corresponded to the number of relations removed from the True Blood. Si'Lasa was from a family but two relations away from the True Blood, as denoted by the twin tattoos sweeping from his muzzle and trailing down his neck. Xanle-Kisnan, formerly the sole dominion of one-stripes such as himself, were now being commanded by those with two. His vice commander was a friend, very capable, and very, very ambitious. Si'Lasa had risen through the ranks quickly during the war and would do well with a command of his own. With assassination being an acceptable tool of advancement, assuming one could get away with it, he would have to keep his guard up around Si'Lasa now, which brought the high commander a faint feeling of regret.
"By your leave, High Commander," Si'Lasa intoned in a deep, guttural voice.
"You may rise, Vice Commander," he said, finishing the ritual.
As the vice commander rose to his full two and a half meters and looked directly into his friend and commander's eyes, the high commander could see and smell the conflicting emotions emanating from him. He could sense the vice commander's fear—not fear for himself, but for his commander, and for the Battle Swarm should something happen to him. Underlying this fear, far fainter, as if hidden, the high commander sensed something far more powerful: pleasure and pride. The high commander could see his subordinate's joy at the prospect of his possible ascension to the command throne and feel his pleasure at causing worry and uncertainty in the Xan-Sskarn who sat on that throne now, even though it would mean betraying and murdering his friend and mentor.
"What do you wish to see me about, Vice Commander?"
"I have"—he paused, searching for the right words—"odd news, High Commander."
"What kind of 'odd' news? Do we have new orders? Have we been recalled? Is the strike delayed yet again?" The worry left him as he turned his full attention to the possibilities that this news might bring.
"No, nothing like that, High Commander. In fact, it is not from the Swarm Masters. This news comes from our Ssi-Nan stalking the Dry-Skins."
"What?" the high commander roared. "What do you mean it is from our Ssi-Nan? They are not due back for"—he opened his display—"another twenty tides."
"I am aware of our timetable, High Commander, and informed the tesh commanding the Ssi-Nan that he violated his duties, but nevertheless the Ssi-Nan is back and has transmitted data to us that you will want to see."
"That ship was to stalk the Dry-Skins," the high commander hissed, "and gather all information possible about their ships and how they are deployed. What information could be so vital that this tesh would risk detection to bring it back? We will not be able to get another Ssi-Nan into that system undetected before we attack, and if the Dry-Skins send more ships into that system and we do not know how they are deployed, we will not be assured of our victory."
"I understand your anger, High Commander. However, when the tesh transmitted what he had seen and recorded, I congratulated him on his quick thinking and decisive action. He is a tesh who bears watching."
"Very well, Vice Commander Si'Lasa," the high commander said, getting himself under control again. "What is this news?"
"The Ssi-Nan detected a signal hidden in the lower spectrum of the Dry-Skins' navigational sensor sweeps of the system. This hidden signal contained information about the deployment of all of the Dry-Skins' assets. Not just the current deployment information, but all future deployment plans for the next thirty tides." Si'Lasa extended a data chip to his commander and waited as he took it and placed it into the reader built into his command throne.
"The next thirty tides?" The high commander began to read the scrolling information on his display. "Is this right?"
"I believe so. Their way of keeping time is strange, but not overly complicated. The Ssi-Nan confirmed that the current information was correct before translating out of the system."
"Yes," he said, beginning to understand, "I can see why this tesh thought to return to us immediately with this information. You are correct; he is to be commended for his action."
"So, do you believe that this information is reliable? If so, why would the Dry-Skins send this information to us? How could it possibly serve them?" the vice commander asked. Even after two cycles of battle, the Dry-Skins still confused him.
"I do not think that the Dry-Skins sent this message, but only one of them. Possibly even a small group working against their leaders," mused the high commander quietly as h
e continued to read the displayed information.
"But why?" Si'Lasa asked, exasperated. "How could the destruction of their fleet serve them? They would be killed along with the rest of their fleet. I do not think that this message can be trusted. It has to be a trap—"
The high commander's head came up quickly at his subordinate's questioning.
"If this is meant to be a trap, it would be the poorest way to set one up. They would not know if and when we planned to act upon this information, so they would have to be at combat stations constantly for the next thirty tides. These Dry-Skins are weak and would not be able to maintain that level of readiness for that length of time. No, Vice Commander, this is no trap," the high commander stated decisively. "I'm certain."
"Yes, High Commander." Si'Lasa came to attention. He still had doubts, but the decision was not his to make, nor was it his place to question, and as his nostrils picked up the shift in his commander's pheromones to anger at having his judgment questioned, Si'Lasa knew this conversation was over. "In twenty tides, we shall destroy the Dry-Skins completely."
"No. Send a message to the Swarm Masters," came the high commander's soft reply, his lips pulling back to expose rows of razor-sharp teeth. "This Battle Swarm will attack within the next two tides."
Chapter Four
USS Asgard
October 7, 2197
1643 z
Groombridge 34
"Attention on deck!"
In an instant, the wardroom snapped to attention, the occupants so rigid they appeared as if in stasis. Those officers facing the direction of the command witnessed the admiral's arrival, as the lieutenant junior grade who had shouted the command stepped aside and the admiral stepped through the hatch.
"As you were." The admiral's voice resonated with quiet authority throughout the wardroom.
Reanimated at those words, the wardroom occupants resumed their conversations, but at a more subdued level.
Admiral Adam "Steely" Stevens approached a small group of his senior officers, where a heated debate was taking place.
"If we can take Epsilon Eridani and hold this system, we'll be in a position to strike both Sirius and Procyon, as well as take the Sallys' forward base of operation," stated Captain Beckham with the conviction of someone who assumed he was one hundred percent correct and therefore there should be no further conversation on the matter. Beckham, a tall man, thin to the point of appearing emaciated, and with thick blond hair bordering on the very edge of regulation length, leveled his gaze at the shorter officer he addressed. He constantly moved as he spoke, as if filled with a boundless energy, as fast and fluid as the light cruiser squadron he commanded. He was just as well known throughout the fleet as his opponent, Captain Zimmer, but for entirely different reasons. Being on the defensive for the last year had caused more of his aggressive and impulsive personality to be displayed; this argument between him and Captain Zimmer was a prime example.
"It would be a mistake to attack Eridani at this time," Captain Zimmer disagreed, matching Beckham's conviction. Zimmer, a stocky woman with her brown hair in a style that most marines would find severe, commanded the battleship Mjölner and its screening ships.
As Beckham was bold and daring, desirous to be on the offensive and in the thick of battle, Alice Zimmer was known throughout the fleet as a reliable, dedicated, and relentless commander. A bit on the predictable side and not given to recklessness or brash action, she was nevertheless one of the best battleship commanders in the fleet.
"We have no firm intelligence on the location of the Sallys' base of operations." She briefly glanced at the four people standing around her before continuing. "For all we know, it could be in Kapteyn's Star, and they're just using Eridani as a jump point to make us believe that they're staging there. Yes"—she pushed forward, seeing Beckham prepare to respond—"they could be, and probably are, there in Eridani, but it'll be several more weeks before our recon ships will be able to confirm or deny the presence of a base there. It would be unwise to extend our remaining forces so thinly without solid intel. We cannot afford another Ross 128."
At her last statement, the officers lowered their eyes for a moment and remembered Ross 128. Zimmer stole a glance over at Captain McLaughlin and Commander Higgins, who were tucked in the corner sharing a private laugh.
* * *
Lieutenant Rogers spoke for the first time since announcing the admiral.
"Absent friends," he intoned solemnly, raising his glass.
The admiral nodded his approval as he and the rest of the small group echoed the lieutenant, raising their glasses in the traditional toast to fallen comrades.
Captain Zimmer glanced at Rogers with a look as if to say, What does someone as wet behind the ears as you know about a loss like that?
Admiral Stevens, at first just as curious at the serious tone of the lieutenant's voice, recalled that a significant portion of Rogers' academy class, including his fiancée, had been assigned to that ill-fated task force.
As the members of the group returned from their silent introspection, the debate continued.
"I have to agree with Captain Beckham," Commander Marks spoke up, which wasn't surprising, Marks being Beckham's XO, after all. William Marks, a man of average height and build, his black hair shot through with gray, was not physically imposing but possessed piercing green eyes that appeared to stare directly through whomever he spoke to.
"We should jump this fleet into Eridani and take it," he continued. "After that, we consolidate our position there and have Earth send part of Admiral Tanner's Home Fleet to hold here and cover our asses."
"You can't be serious," was Captain Zimmer's incredulous reply. "Attacking Eridani with our forces here is one thing, but stripping Sol's defenses to hold a position we are assigned to is not only tactically unsound, but a very dangerous gamble. Earth needs Tanner right where he is while the yards rebuild the fleet."
"From the last reports I saw, the yards were ahead of schedule with construction," Marks countered. "Besides, I'm not proposing we strip the whole system, just a small fraction of Home Fleet to hold this position, and those ships will be replaced on an almost daily basis as the yards complete construction."
"I've seen the same reports, and the first of those ships aren't scheduled for launch for another four weeks, even with the advanced timetable. Then there are the acceptance trials, and only a fool would think that ships thrown together so quickly wouldn't have their share of problems that can only be found during normal operations. No, we have incomplete intelligence on Eridani, we cannot marshal the forces necessary to take that system without exposing another system, and, on top of all that, both the fleet and marines have taken a hell of a lot of pounding and punishment in the last eighteen months. We need this time to not only rebuild our forces, but our strength as well."
"Captain Zimmer, what you say makes sense in the logical, statistical aspect of things, but sometimes in war, chances—" Marks began.
"I tell you again, Commander"—Zimmer overrode him—"we cannot afford another Ross 128. A gamble like the one both you and Captain Beckham are proposing could, mind you, could give us the advantage and breathing room we so desperately need. However, if it goes even partially wrong, we'll be decimated, and there will be no coming back from that. We wait for the recon ships, we rebuild our forces, and we get our spirit back. Then we go into Eridani, take it, stand on it, and move on, pushing the Sallys back into their oceans."
"I agree with you, Captain," said Beckham, startling Zimmer into silence with his acceptance of her argument. "We can ill afford another Ross 128. However, even that mess had its silver lining. Obviously, that fleet was on its way to Sol. Had Wentworth not gone in, incomplete intelligence or no, and destroyed or damaged a significant part of that fleet, it would've jumped into Sol, and where would we be now? We wouldn't be here having this conversation, that I can tell you."
"No, we wouldn't, but not because of the reasons you're alluding to. Think of the s
trength of the fleet when Wentworth jumped out. Not his fleet, but the entire fleet that was in Sol at that time. We would've had the advantage not only in numbers, but the home-field advantage as well. The mines, the stations, the satellites, the fixed defenses." Zimmer ticked off points on her fingers. "Yes, we would've taken more than our fair share of damage, but we would've held."
Recognizing that he wasn't going to sway Zimmer to his point of view, nor willing to relinquish his own position, Beckham turned to the admiral, who had remained silent throughout the entire debate.
"What's your opinion, sir? Should we go now, or wait? I can see where Captain Zimmer's arguments have some merit"—he nodded toward Zimm—"but as my XO was starting to say, sometimes in war one has to take chances. We cannot fight a purely defensive war and win. Nor can we hope to maintain a status quo. The balance must be changed, and it should be us, not the Sallys, that tip the scales."
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