CAPTAIN KANTIAN PATROLS the mezzanine extending above the command and control stations of the Deliverance bridge. He glances down at each of his bridge crew and corrects them in their task if necessary. Brief flashes of light pop before the clear durasteel windows lining the control stations.
He plants both hands on the mezzanine rail and props himself toward the center view screen, wrenching his fingers around the handrail and twisting out of anger. He won’t be a lapdog. He graduated from the UCP Academy when there was a push to not have every fleet officer be Osirian. He proved himself again and again as a leader to earn captain of the UCP flagship. Vice-Presidential Admiral Wendy Easter placed him in the forefront of command because she felt he would be subservient to her whims.
She’s fraternizing with his own ambitions. He has prided himself in being ambitious without flaunting it. Kantian had to be the best in his command group during his academy years. This allowed him to select his choice of appointments after graduation, and he refused the top appointment in UCP Command.
It was a stagnant nomination. Yes, one works under the admiralty, but how do you advance? If an admiral retires, a popular commissioned officer takes his place, not the assistant officer who has spent a year training for the job.
No, better to take a field appointment where he could shine. Promotion from junior officer to command staff allowed him to rise to a bridge command. He even accepted one demotion in order to earn a first officer posting, and then, through careful calculating, transferred to other first officer positions, not captain. Once a captain he would become stuck. Promoting a captain alters the dynamics of a ship and not in the same way bridge officers do. The shuffling of bridge officers changes the ship nowhere near as much as when a new captain takes over. His ship, his rules, but as a first officer he only carries out those rules. When a first officer carries out those orders without conflict, masterful progress reports are received by the admiralty who consider if you are someone willing to play ball without question.
Kantian strategically put himself in consideration for this position. He bounced around the fleet, but not too often to be labeled a problem officer. Every one of his glowing recommendations was legitimate. Two captains requested a hold be put on his transfer because he did his job beyond expectations. Kantian made friends among the crew as well and learned who wanted war and who was happy with the peace Admiral Maxtin preached. Too many want the Mokarran to pay for what they’ve done to the planet systems of the known galaxy, and now that he commands the Deliverance he will commence steps toward collecting.
Admiral Easter’s simple plan—sit on the border of the Neri system. Literally park the ship on the closest point to Summersun without crossing into the Summersun system. The stabilizing thrusters keep the ship at the exact reference point, and the UCP Tri-Wing fighters run combat maneuvers inside the Neri space. With a short hyperspace jump he’ll be in orbit around Summersun in less time than it will take to retrieve the fighters on maneuvers.
Easter demands his patience. Wait. The situation on Summersun needs to be desperate for its citizens, before he must act.
The VP Admiral’s orders are illegal, but since she never actually issued them through any official channels, he has no proof they were ever dispensed. This leaves him with a conundrum over his career.
If this mission fails, nothing will remain but to become a rogue captain. His crew is honor-bound to relieve him at that point, but he has peppered his command staff with similar political viewpoints. The Mokarran must be stopped. He will take the fall and the prison time if war commences. If Easter’s correct, and since she has laid all the cards on the table she bloody well better be, this scheme will force the Mokarran to sue for peace. Securing a new treaty with the UCP preventing any further military action will give Kantian a chance to display his military might and his negation skills. Plastering his image and credentials as a current and active war hero all over the ISN will send him a landslide of votes when Easter passes her deathbed endorsement and make him her honored replacement.
Great plan.
It has to work, or every chess move he’s made to obtain the captain’s chair of the UCP flagship will be replaced by a cold metal bunk in solitary confinement—if lucky.
The Mokarran could demand his head, and given their reputation, they might just eat it. Turn him over to forget this insurgency into their space. Easter would do it to salvage what’s left of her reputation. After all, she is the Outer Dimensional Coordinator, and she personally vouched for his appointment to the Deliverance.
Maxtin certainly would hang him out to dry, as will the other three VP admirals. They’ll follow Maxtin into their graves. The Zayar will bury them all. His species doesn’t have the same life expectancy as the other UCP founders who insisted on lifetime appointments for VP admirals thirty years ago.
Creating term limits has to come with an election after one of the original five VP admirals actually dies. It appears Easter will be the first if her story of having cancer holds true. Most Osirian cancers are cured with a few pills even if metastasized. Cellular repair is performed by most field medics. Whatever’s killing her must be too rare or completely degenerative. He has no idea. But even with godlike doctors, not everyone’s destined to live forever.
Especially the Mokarran.
They have sentenced themselves to their own destruction as they drive Federation citizens to despise their tyranny. When he invades Summersun, he expects many of the non-Mokarran soldiers to turncoat and help overthrow their oppressors. He’s counting on it to secure a victory, and then he will conveniently limit the credit those rebels deserve in order to achieve the status this victory will give him. He wants to be the savior of Summersun, not the spark. History rarely records the inception of revolution unless they fail and are hanged for the attempt. It certainly remembers who won. His victory must be absolute and without question his alone.
He has yet to break in the captain’s chair. It has the store-bought feel to his back as he eases into it. “Ensign, current ISN reports on Summersun?”
“Sketchy at best, Sir. The Mokarran destroyed some abandoned warehouses at the edge of Eastvold Province. Civilian migrant workers are rumored to have been sheltered there. No official reports on death numbers or even…”
“Confirm,” he orders. “If the Mokarran are murdering innocent people we need to report that back to UCP Command.”
“Right away, Sir.”
Kantian doubts Command will give him official orders to intercede, but reporting confirmed atrocities will only politically make him look better when he defies Command and rescues so many helpless victims. In fact, once he has evidence of brutality and casualty numbers, it could be leaked to the ISN news. Lack of action on UCP Command’s part will only strengthen his unordered intervention.
On the main view screen, two groups of Tri-Wing fighters dance the dance of warriors locked in battle. Plasma bolts strike a fighter, and instead of exploding, the fighter stalls and floats lifeless in space. The dog fight continues among the remaining craft.
“Do we have the next group of Tri-Wings ready for tactical maneuvers in this combat exercise?” Kantian ponders the battle.
A Tri-Wing flips the thrusters on his fighter, which spins his craft 180 degrees in the nongravity environment, allowing him to fire and “kill” his pursuers.
“Yes, Captain.”
“Have them launch.”
“Sir?”
“Launch the next group and have them engage,” Kantian orders.
His first officer slides next to the captain’s chair. “The first two squadrons have not completed their combat round.”
“I’m aware, Dar’Jeryd. They should engage both groups.”
“That’s not part of the contest rules, Sir.”
“I don’t care. There are no rules in combat. We’re on the cusp of a war, and there may be multiple sides. One side won’t wait for another to get done. It will be a free-for-all rumble melee, and I want my pilots
ready. Launch fighters.”
The ensign does as commanded.
Images change on the view screens.
A blue haze glows over hanger doors on the Deliverance.
Hangar doors crack open.
The magnetic energy field prevents the pressurized atmosphere from flooding into the vacuum of space extinguishing all life inside the battle cruiser. The hangar doors grind to a halt, and Tri-Wing fighters scream forward, instantly silenced as they perforate the blue haze. The dull hum of plasma cannons remains absent without air to capture sound. These Tri-Wings have been outfitted with sensors to simulate weapons fire to prevent any destruction of pilots and property.
Kantian accepts the necessity of this exercise but questions the validity of war games. Pilots should act the same way they would in combat. Follow their training and behave exactly as they would under live fire with an enemy attempting to kill them, but the humanoid brain will always know a fatal blast only shuts down the fighter and not end existence. A pilot won’t fully feel the fear and knows how they will react as the death blow inches closer.
They will learn. They will be better equipped to face their fears when actual battle approaches. These pilots have one advantage over any ground troops engaging the Mokarran on the Summersun surface. They won’t have to actually stand face to face with the monsters, whose general appearance sends even the most experienced warriors fleeing in terror.
Adding in a third nonaligned enemy sends the first two groups of pilots into the chaos he hoped. Some beg for new orders. Others fill the comm channels with new target locks, creating rational combat thinking on their feet. If Admiral Easter’s strategy goes according to plan, his troops will see battle soon.
“COMMANDER, GET HER out of here,” JC orders through gritted teeth. Even though JC is unable to read her mind, the panic Australia gives off over her worry for Scott’s life interferes with her own concentration. “Too much! Everyone stop thinking.”
Australia clings to her lover as what’s left of his blood drains onto the examination table. Medical scanners wash over Scott creating a holographic image of him above his body. “His kidney is gone!” she wails.
Reynard carries the ninety-pound Nysaean to the door. It slides open at his approach. “You won’t do him any good panicking.” He places her down in the hall. “Athena, secure the medical lab.”
Ker-clunk! The bolts in the door lock into the frame between them.
“Athena, initiate synthetic plasma creation,” JC instructs.
A robotic arm extends from the table, attaching to Scott’s left arm. A needle inserts through the skin into his vein.
“Major trauma to right kidney will prevent plasma circulation and the filter of waste product,” the computer explains.
“Can you repair his kidney?”
“Negative.”
Her field medic training has limits and lacks most invasive practices. JC doesn’t know how to help the dying engineer. Exhaling, she calms down. “Cauterization of the bleeding is priority.”
“Actualize reconstructive replication of a duplicate kidney?” Athena asks.
“You mean clone him a new one?”
“Utilizing cells from the functioning kidney to regrow the damaged one requires minimal processing.”
“It’s possible to grow a new kidney?” Reynard asks.
“Cell replication is possible in this instance,” Athena clarifies.
“Then do it before he completely bleeds out.”
A robotic arm grows from under the table and injects a needle into Scott’s lower left side. “Sample tissue received. Analyzing…”
“Hold on, Scott. We’ll repair you.” JC considers placing reassuring thoughts into his mind, but she needs to focus on the medical treatment.
Three more arms extend from the table and prepare to place cell after cell into the hole in Scott’s abdomen. As blood vessels and muscle tissue are repaired, his vital numbers climb. “Kidney replication will now begin.”
“Unlock the door.” JC breathes a moment of relief.
Reynard types an override code into the keypad next to the door. It slides open.
Australia slides inside, fighting her urge to embrace her damaged lover.
“Australia, watch over him. Athena’s regrowing his kidney,” Reynard says.
“What happened to him?”
He pushes past her out of the medical bay. “I’ve got to get the Dragon out of the Aurora system.”
Reynard catches part of JC’s explanation before the medical bay door closes behind him.
“The medical system cloned a new kidney. When complete it will be like the impalement never happened. I’ve seen medical facilities science clone organs in days, but our ship can do it in minutes, which will be the reason he survives.”
THE PRINCESS STRUGGLES to break Amye’s grip, but her petite arms haven’t the meat to combat Amye’s strength. Her wedding dress adds too many layers to allow her to get a forceful kick in either.
“You’re only going to wear yourself out if you keep struggling.” Amye lifts the bride-to-be from the transporter cubical. Stupid telepaths should have given her a stronger stun jolt.
She summons all her royal authority. “Release me.”
Her struggle increases as Amye contemplates pinning her on the ground.
The delicate skin of the bride’s arms reddens as she twists and turns in a vain attempt to free herself. Amye knows she’s going to have to let go soon or the girl will bruise.
Reynard bounds from the transporter cubical, supporting a bleeding Scott. He struggles to drag the muscular man toward the door. “I see you have boarded with our guest.”
“She’s reluctant.” Amye moves the princess’s arm so pain shoots through her in order to march her to the corner of the transporter room.
The princess reduces her struggle, and the pain ceases. “Where do you want her?”
The transporter activates, filling the chamber with blinding white light.
Scott tumbles from Reynard’s grasp.
Joe and JC materialize. They grab the engineer under his armpits before he collapses from the gaping wound in his abdomen.
Struggling between his bleeding comrade and the mission, Reynard answers, “Locked in her new quarters would be prudent, but bring her to the bridge. We’ve got to escape the solar system first, after I get Scott to the Medbay.” Reynard lifts the Lieutenant by his feet.
“If you do not return me to my husband…” the princess demands in a huff.
“He’s not your husband, and he’ll hunt us down and fillet the flesh from our bones. We knew the repercussions of stealing you before we took the task,” Reynard mocks as he carries Scott from the transporter room. With Joe’s assistance, JC slips past them to prep the medical bay.
“My mother will pay any ransom you demand. You perform a simultaneous transport exchange. If you hurry, before the Mokarran launch fighters, you’ll elude capture,” she pleads.
“Your mother’s already paid me a ransom for you,” Reynard’s voice trails down the corridor. His priorities focus on Scott’s prompt medical attention over the wailings of a teenage girl.
The princess’s face reveals her lack of understanding as she bundles up the bottom of her dress to prevent pooling blood from ruining it.
The transporter activates again.
REYNARD LANDS IN his chair. “Athena, everyone accounted for?” He snaps the seatbelt harness into place across his shoulders.
Amye presses the princess into the control station chair across from her post. “Athena, disable all controls at this station.”
Doug pulls the shoulder strap and locks it into the buckle at the communications controls.
Amye slides into her chair and punches in her own command sequences. Her head swims from Harbuu’s blow. But what hurts it worse is the agony of owing Scott her life. He took Harbuu’s death blow meant for her.
The tactical computer lights up as dozens of fighters lock targeting systems on
to the Dragon.
“Commander!”
“I know we’re about to be the target in an all-out shooting gallery.”
The bridge doors open for Australia.
“Aus, plot me a navigational course back into the heart of Tri-Star Federation.”
“Are you smerth’n insane?” Amye screams.
“Clinically. It’s the last place they’ll expect us to run.”
“For good reason. They’ll mobilize most of their fleets along our projected course. Any place we drop out of hyperspace will be crawling with fish heads.”
Reynard says calmly, “Aus.”
Her thoughts return to the crisis before her. “Do you have a destination in mind...Commander?” She adds Commander as an afterthought of her adherence to procedure.
“Any place allowing us to drop out and slip right back into hyperspace. I want them chasing us deep into their territory.”
“Because we are.” Amye believes the Mokarran won’t quibble about firing on the Dragon even with the princess on board, once they escape the solar system.
“Release me. Transport me to the Mokarran battle cruiser, and I’ll order them not to pursue you.” The princess tugs at her belt, attempts to stand and clicks the buckle release to no avail.
“She has the distinct belief we are inexperienced enough at this to believe her.”
“Commander, this is your first kidnapping,” Australia points out.
“Maybe so, but we don’t plan to give her back.”
“Warning! Null field has prevented hyperspace insertion,” Athena reports.
“Shit.”
A Mokarran battle cruiser materializes before the Silver Dragon. Reynard pulls back on the joystick controller narrowly avoiding collision with the craft.
“How long to recalculate the jump?”
Australia explains, “Craft of extreme size exit hyperspace creating a disruption…”
“I read the textbook,” Reynard snaps at his first officer. “How long?”
Enter the Sandmen Page 9