by Jay Allan
“Commander Laussanne…”
She heard the voice on Laussanne’s comm unit. It was faint from where she was, but she could just make out the words.
“Stop,” the commissar commanded. She did as he demanded, trying to look like she was sullen, angry…but actually, she was listening carefully.
“Laussanne here…what is it. I hope it was worth interrupting my…”
“Commissar, our scanners are picking up a Confederation battleship. They have entered from the Z-107 portal, sir.” Lafarge wasn’t getting every word, but she heard enough to piece together what was happening.
They did it! They brought back a Confederation battleship!
“…heading directly toward the planet, Commissar.”
She saw the fear on Laussanne’s face. She had to fight a rush of giddiness at the cold terror in her nemesis’s eyes.
You gutless coward…it’s one thing to face helpless prisoners, to smack them around and act tough. But now you’re in trouble…
“You look like you’re going to piss yourself, Laussanne.” The words just blurted out, before she could rethink them. It was an impulse, a sudden plan with inadequate consideration, but just maybe, if she could get him mad enough while he was already scared and confused…
“What did you say?” His words were sharp, angry. She figured she’d made him forget his fear, for a few seconds. But she was confident it would return.
“You heard me,” she said, staring at the Union officer with cold intensity. “You couldn’t stop my ship.” She stared at the commissar’s incredulous face. “Yes, I know they got away. I heard you talking about it. You’ve got a big mouth, you and your trained monkeys. And you wasted weeks, first trying to find me and then questioning me. Now, you’re out of time. They’re back…with a Confederation battleship.” She smiled. “You’re going to die, Laussanne…or you’re going to spend the rest of your life in a Confederation prison.”
“Shut up,” he yelled, and he lunged toward her. She could see his balled-up fist coming, but she was much quicker. She ducked, and shoved her own shackled hands upward, hitting Laussanne right in the crotch. He screamed in pain and dropped hard with a thud. Lafarge had already leapt back to her feet, moving toward the junior officer. The man was fumbling for his sidearm, but she barreled into him, and the two of them fell to the floor. She heard the gun hit the deck, her eyes catching it as it skittered about a meter from where she lay.
She spun her head toward the officer. He was conscious, but he seemed dazed. She’d have felt better if she’d hit him again, just to make sure, but there was no time. She knew the FRs were there, that they’d react quickly…and she was well aware they were a far greater danger than Laussanne or his aide.
The pistol…that was her hope. She was betting on surprise, that the FR’s would be caught unaware, that it would take them a few seconds to respond. Long enough for her to grab the gun…and kill them both.
She lurched forward. It was difficult, with her hands still shackled, but she jerked hard, and reached out toward the weapon. Then she felt a dull pain, something hitting her between the shoulder blades. Then again.
The FRs…
One of them was standing behind her. She could see his shadow on the wall. He’d hit her with his rifle butt. The other had moved around, and now he reached down and picked up the pistol. She’d known her attempted escape was a long shot, but she still felt a wave of despair. It wasn’t the danger, or even the beatings, that wore her down. It was the captivity. She was used to her freedom, and she’d do anything, take any risk, to get it back.
The FR behind her grabbed her roughly and pulled her up, as the other one moved toward Laussanne, helping the still-groaning political officer to his feet. She could see the venom in Laussanne’s expression, the promise of payback. But she knew there wasn’t time now. Not with a Confederation battleship approaching.
“Commander Laussanne…” Lafarge could hear Pierre’s voice again. Laussanne’s comm unit had fallen when she’d attacked him, and it was lying on the floor. The political officer gestured for one of the FRs to pick it up.
Lazy sack of shit…
He grabbed it from the clone-soldier and put it to his face. “Captain Pierre…you are to debark all Foudre Rouge soldiers, fully armed and ready for battle. All superfluous crew as well, every man or woman you can spare and still fly Chasseur. I want them all armed. We have fleet units on the way, I am certain of that. We must hold this ship until they arrive.”
“Understood, Commander.”
“Once that is done, Captain, you are to take Chasseur and try to lead the enemy away from here, buy as much time as possible. You should have a speed advantage. If you can get them to follow you…those are hours gained for reinforcements to get here.”
Lafarge wasn’t an expert in Union command structures, but she knew there was an odd dynamic between a ship’s captain and its political officer. Technically, the captain was still in command, but the political officer had significant power. As a practical matter, the commissar could relieve the captain by accusing him of disloyalty, and as a result, the political officer could effectively overrule the ship’s military commander. Generally, she suspected, with unfortunate consequences, at least in a combat situation.
“Yes, Commander.” Lafarge couldn’t hear the captain’s voice all that well, but she got enough to detect the resentment there, something she realized Laussanne was too arrogant to perceive.
The political officer turned toward one of the FRs. “Take her to the large room where we boarded. Watch her carefully, Sergeant.” He glanced back at Lafarge, the hatred still bright in his eyes. “I’m not done with her yet.”
“Sir!” the soldier snapped.
Lafarge had known that the Foudre Rouge were clones, created expressly as soldiers. Their accelerated childhoods were little more than training periods, and they were indoctrinated and conditioned their entire lives to obedience. Their sex drives were chemically suppressed, and they had no relationships, no spouses, no children. They served until they were no longer able to do so. But even Andromeda Lafarge, born a cynic and skeptical of virtually everything she’d ever seen, had a hard time believing the rumors that old and badly wounded soldiers were simply euthanized. That was a system so monstrous, not even her mind, one that immediately saw the dark side of everything, could wrap around it. Was it possible that the FRs were so effectively conditioned that they accepted such atrocities? That they still unquestioningly served those who treated them that way?
Laussanne turned and walked down the corridor, back the way they had come. A few seconds later, the soldier shoved her forward, extending his arm and pointing down the hallway. “Go,” he said brusquely.
Brilliant conversationalist…
She hesitated for a few seconds, and the soldier pushed her again, harder this time. “Move,” he commanded.
She took a deep breath and started down the corridor. The arrival of the Confederation ship had revived her hope. It was possible, likely that the Union soldiers would kill her, even if the Confederation forces managed to take control of the ship…but she was still better off than she had been. Now she had a chance.
Whether they killed her or not, she knew her people had made it back. She wasn’t the type to open herself up to close relationships, but her people had been loyal to her, and she’d repaid that devotion with her own. She wasn’t done yet…she’d do everything she could to escape, to disrupt things. But if she failed…she preferred to die in victory rather than defeat. And her people escaping, the Confederation taking control of the artifact…those were victories, whether she survived them or not.
She just hoped she had the chance to kill that pompous ass Laussanne, whatever else happened.
Chapter Eighteen
CFS Dauntless
Z-111 System (Chrysallis)
Approaching Z-111 Transwarp link
“It’s a Union frigate, Captain. Chevalier class, one hundred forty thousand tons. Mai
n armament two five hundred-twenty-five megawatt focused energy lasers. Secondary weapons, six double turreted two hundred megawatt pulse lasers. Crew…”
“Thank you, Commander.” Barron interrupted gently. He was constantly amazed at the depths of information Travis stored in that vast and mysterious contraption she called her brain. It would have been yeoman’s work for any first officer to look up and recite such a litany of details, but Barron knew—from past experience as well as present observation—that Atara Travis was not looking at any screen as she delivered her report, nor was she relying on anything pulled from Dauntless’s massive database.
“Red alert,” Barron said. “Scramble Bl…Scarlett Eagle squadron.” The Blues were always his default squadron in a tight spot, and as much as he’d wrestled with Jake Stockton’s tendency to interpret orders…flexibly…he’d come to rely heavily on the ace pilot and his pack of veterans. But Stockton was down in sickbay, fighting for his life, and somehow it didn’t seem right to send his people out without him, not when he only needed one squadron. And apart from Kyle Jamison, who commanded his entire strike force, Dirk Timmons was next in line. And the Eagles were damned near as good as the Blues. As good, some would say.
“Yes, Captain.”
“I want all secondaries armed and ready to fire.”
“Yes, sir…all gun crews report in position and ready. All weapons stations check out…green indicators across the board.”
“Very well. Bring us toward the enemy ship.” Dauntless was in surprisingly good condition, at least on the surface. All her systems were fully-operational, but Barron knew his ship was held together by one patch after another. Her current status spoke, as usual, of the extraordinary skill of Commander Fritz and her engineers…and this time of Jake Stockton as well. Barron understood why Stockton had led that second desperate attack against Vaillant. Dauntless might have won the fight anyway…the hits from her primaries had been extremely effective. But she would have been gutted in the extended fight. Stockton’s run had ended the battle sooner, saving Dauntless countless hits. Barron would never have ordered his pilots to make that second attack…but Stockton, as usual, hadn’t asked for permission. He’d just done it.
But this time he didn’t come through miraculously unscathed.
Barron looked over at the display, at the enemy ship, of course, but also at the hulking thing right behind it. The smugglers had told the truth, their scanning data was accurate. They had indeed found an intact—more or less, at least—ancient ship of some kind. Barron couldn’t tell exactly what it was yet, except that it dwarfed his own battleship.
Barron felt the thrust as his ship accelerated toward the artifact and the Union frigate positioned nearby. It was gentle, Dauntless’s dampeners absorbing most of the 5g of pressure generated by the battleship’s massive engines. He watched as the range decreased…and then he saw movement.
“Captain, the frigate is running. Thrust at 10g…no, 12g.”
“Pursue. Engines to full thrust.”
“Yes sir.”
Barron leaned back in his chair, anticipating the pressure he knew was coming. The dampeners were fully operational, but Dauntless’s engines blasting at full would overwhelm them. The battleship’s maximum thrust was right around 11g, perhaps 12g if Fritz did her usual magic dance and pushed it right to the edge. But Dauntless’s force absorption capability maxed out around 7g.
He took a deep breath, exhaling just as the sensation of five times his body weight hit him. Then he turned his head slowly toward Lieutenant Darrow’s station. “Transmit our ID, Lieutenant.” His words were forced, and he stopped to take a tortured breath. “Clear channel. Advise the Union vessel we demand they cut their engines at once. They are to surrender, or we will open fire.” Barron knew there was some bluff to his threat. The frigate was a light, fast ship…it could out-accelerate Dauntless. The enemy was within primary range, but Barron would have to cut thrust and wait several minutes while his main guns charged before he could fire. And all the while, the Union ship would be blasting away at 12g. Almost 14g now, he realized as his eyes moved to the display. Whoever was in command of that ship was pushing it to its limits. It was risky…but it was exactly what Barron would have done in the same situation.
The enemy was just at the edge of the range of Dauntless’s secondary batteries. It would take a lot of luck to score a hit before they got away. A lot of luck.
“No response, sir. I’m repeating the communique on a continuing loop.”
“Very well.”
They’re not going to surrender. And we can’t catch them if they want to run.
The enemy wasn’t heading toward one of the system’s transwarp links…in fact, they were moving out into deep space. They’d have to come back within range of Dauntless to get to one of the jump points, or at least take a long and circuitous route around.
They can’t do much harm out in the far reaches of the system. But Barron still didn’t like leaving the enemy out there intact.
“Commander Travis, launch the Eagles. They are to pursue the enemy as far as fuel allows, and then they are to return. If they can catch the vessel they are to demand surrender again…and if there is no response they are to engage. I want that ship crippled, though, not destroyed. Clear?”
“Yes, Captain. Clear.” She tapped at her headset. “Fighter control, launch Scarlet Eagle squadron immediately. Orders…pursue enemy contact the extent of fuel supply. Demand surrender and if refused, engage targeting engine systems.”
Travis turned toward the command station. “Launch control acknowledges, Captain.”
A second later, the familiar feeling under Barron’s feet confirmed the launch in a more direct way. Less than a minute later, the confirmation came in. The Scarlet Eagles were on the way.
“Cut thrust, Commander. Bring us around…back toward the artifact.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want probes launched, Commander. Three full spreads. Cover the two transwarp points, as well as all approaches to the artifact, five hundred thousand kilometers out.”
“Yes, sir.”
Barron wasn’t taking any chances. It looked like Dauntless had gotten there in time, but he had no doubt—none at all—that more Union forces were on the way, ships far more dangerous than a single frigate. He was expecting his own support as well, but he knew how long it would take to pull a task force from the battle lines and get it out to the Badlands. However he figured it, he was looking at two weeks, maybe three…or even longer. And his gut told him the Union would be there first.
He had no idea if the ancient ship was operable, but the prospect of getting it moving under its own power seemed unlikely. At a major base, with legions of scientists and engineers, maybe, but out here in so short a time? He doubted it. And that meant he had to defend it against anything that came this way…until he was relieved.
Hold until relieved. However long that takes. Against whatever comes. Striker and Holsten hadn’t put it quite that way when they’d briefed him—when he’d “volunteered” for the mission—but he knew very well that was why he was here. Against whatever comes…what will that be?
“As soon as the probes are launched, bring us alongside the artifact, Commander. I want scanners at full power…there’s an active energy source inside that thing, a big one.” He didn’t really expect any attack—after all, the Union ship had been docked to the thing when Dauntless first transited, and so had Pegasus—but if the power readings inside that thing spiked by so much as enough to heat up a cup of coffee, he wanted to know about it.
“Yes, Captain. Active scanners are operating at full power. No change in readings. Just a steady background power source…but no signs of imminent attack or thrust.”
“Very well.” At least as far as we can tell. What we don’t know about the technology in this thing could fill an immense database.
“Power up all assault shuttles, Commander. And advise Captain Rogan I want his people ready to go in fifte
en minutes.” He paused. “Full combat gear.”
“Yes, Captain.” A few seconds later: “Captain Rogan acknowledges, sir. He advises his people will be in the bay ready to board in ten minutes.”
Barron suppressed a smile. Bryan Rogan was a Marine…as far as Barron could tell, he was as much a Marine as it was possible for a human being to be. Rogan’s people had always come through for him, and he had tremendous confidence in them. The Marines were an aloof group, and they tended to keep to themselves. They performed routine security duties on Dauntless, but mostly they were there waiting for a situation that required some genuine ground pounders. The artifact wasn’t actual ground, of course, but it was a boarding action. Barron had no idea what was waiting over there. And he wasn’t going to take any chances.
He sat for a moment, his eyes focused on the scans of the massive structure. He was both shocked—and strangely unsurprised—that the find had proven to be real, that the smugglers’ claims were true.
“Captain, the…crew of the Pegasus…is requesting permission to board the artifact.”
“Denied,” Barron snapped. He’d virtually confined the small ship’s crew to their quarters, and he didn’t want them underfoot now, getting in the way of his Marines. Still, he understood their desire to search for their captain, and he wondered if he’d been too hard on them, if his prejudices had colored his treatment of them. They had reported the artifact…and in a sense, perhaps, they’d helped save the Confederation. Barron didn’t know what the ancient ship could do yet, but he was sure it would be a disaster if it fell into the Union’s hands.
He shook his head, and even as he did, he felt his attitude toward the smugglers softening. “Advise them we are going to secure the vessel first…and then I will allow them to go over and join the search for their comrades.” He knew how Atara would have felt if he’d been missing and she’d been held back from looking for him. Indeed, every man and woman on Dauntless would feel that way, and he would about them. He disapproved of Badlands smugglers, but he couldn’t fault anyone for loyalty.