Dr. GooYee strutted into the cabin. He’d changed into a bright white lab coat and had even found a pocket protector holding green, red and black felt-tip pens. He was back to his old pompous self.
"I demand to see Heinbaum. In the brief time I've been gone he's changed several fundamental variables on the shield equations without my advice. I don't want to be an alarmist, but he is not detail oriented."
"Calm down Gooey," Becky chided. "From what I've seen of the new shield's performance, I can’t wait to get one of the new PDS's."
"I am so impressed with your knowledge of high energy physics," GooYee replied with a sneer. "You humble my meager intellect."
Doug grabbed double handfuls of GooYee's lab coat and hoisted the lizard into the air. With his toes scraping the deck, his voluntary muscles locked in place by the power of the human's mind, GooYee could only stare helplessly as Doug's thoughts burned into his brain.
"I know it's been a long time since you were with Heiny, but if it wasn't for his work on the shield, we'd all be dead. So back off your high horse and be thankful your ass was rescued."
Stunned by the outburst and overwhelmed by Doug's physical and mental strength, GooYee managed a nod, wondering what a high horse could possibly be.
As Doug lowered him to the deck, Dr. GooYee thought, "These humans won't recognize their betters. It must be a common mental illness. Nothing else could explain their angry reactions to simple logic."
At that moment, the Destinnee swung into view. The sight was magnificent in its size and splendor. The FORCE logos showed crisp and clear against the ebon black hull of the craft. As the ship drew near, its size dwarfed the Torrblennd.
"Colonel Stoneman. Would you please enter docking bay 180?"
"Certainly Lloyd."
"Who's Lloyd?" Dr. GooYee asked as he tried to smooth away the fist-size creases Doug had created.
"Hello Gooey. I'm your new computer friend. I look forward to working with you despite your challenges. Dr. Heinbaum has assured me they are treatable mental issues which dedicated therapy will resolve."
Sputtering with indignation, GooYee bellowed, "Mental issues? The only ones with mental issues around here are Heiny and McPherson."
"Captain McPherson advised me about your denial of the conditions. Please be assured I will not hold them against you. I cherish diversity."
"Ooohhh!" was the only response GooYee could utter.
The sniggers from Doug, Becky and Whatsit didn't help.
***
The master control room of the Destinnee was smaller than expected, and the crowd assembled to welcome Doug's little band of heroes made it feel cramped. Many hands were shaken, high fives exchanged and backs thumped. Chellsee rushed to embrace Whatsit as he walked through the entry hatch. She'd traded her black sharkskin combat outfit for a dark blue pantsuit with a wide white collar and matching cuffs. Her only accessory was a diamond encrusted dragonfly brooch.
"I missed you," she murmured as she nuzzled the side of his neck.
Enjoying her pleasant warmth, Whatsit whispered, "Not as much as I missed you."
At that moment, Heinbaum entered the cabin followed by McPherson, Roemer and Princess Peregrine. Caroline strutted regally beside Miguel. She'd seen nothing to indicate the Destinnee was anything more than a pleasure liner. Wide corridors, bright colors and palace-like accommodations didn't strike her as battleship design. The harsh cramped condition aboard an active duty Asiddian cruiser was a proper environment for a warship. Thick armor plating and multiple fusion reactors took up the bulk of usable space on her ships, not swimming pools and recreation areas. Her musings were interrupted by McPherson.
"Bout time you got back from vacation. Was beginnin' to think you were on sabbatical," he said in the direction of Doug and Becky.
"Ha Ha," Becky chuckled. "I can see you haven't lost your odd sense of humor."
"Odd isn't the word for it," Heinbaum sneered. "Unfunny, misguided, mean-spirited and a few other descriptive words I dare not utter in mixed company."
"Heiny, if I didn't know any better, I'd think we weren't pals," McPherson said as he grabbed the weasily scientist in a crushing shoulder hold.
"Enough of your inane babble," GooYee demanded. "It's imperative I study all the changes you have wrought during my absence. The very survival of Chrysalis and my people is in peril, and all you can do is argue."
"Keep your shirt on, Gooey," McPherson growled as he released his grip on Heinbaum.
"Yes," Heinbaum squeaked as the pressure on his shoulder subsided. "You'll have plenty of time to review my work and congratulate me."
"My shirt is on," GooYee muttered. "And congratulations are the furthest thing from my mind."
"Enough," Tom bellowed. "We didn't come all this way to satisfy egos. I want a thorough briefing so an attack strategy can be formulated. Conference room."
“Just a moment General,” Caroline said. “I demand to be returned to my people. My release will serve to lessen the severity of my anger. It might even lead to the survival of your crew.”
When she realized Blunt was ignoring her, she added, “You seem like a reasonable animal with survival of your species your ultimate goal. Don’t ignore my benevolent offer.”
At those words, Tom faced her and said, “Either you’re a liar or too detached from reality to know what suffering your people have inflicted on my Chrysallaman friends.”
“Are you mad? Only military personnel have been eliminated by my armies. General Harrier would never kill innocents,” Caroline retorted.
“Colonel Stoneman, please FLIT to Planet 6 orbit. Lloyd, initiate VIEW mode the moment we arrive.”
The ship blinked and reappeared within the largest cloud of Chrysallaman bodies orbiting Planet 6. Without further warning, the compartment bulkheads, deck and overhead vanished, and the grisly sight of thousands of Chrysallaman bodies surrounded them. Drifting in a permanent orbit of death, the bodies of hundreds of males, females and children bumped against the hull of the massive ship.
Caroline screamed, and Miguel caught her as she feinted. Shaking his head at Tom, he said, “I think she got the message.” Looking around at the sick faces in the compartment, he added, “I think we all got the message.”
***
The conference cabin on the Destinnee was an exact copy of Tom's conference room at the Nevada base. Chellsee had earned a seat as the result of her knowledge of Chrysalis and the rescue operations. Roemer had left to return the Princess to her quarters. She hadn’t uttered a sound since Tom’s demonstration.
"The Assids are completely ruthless. They kill without hesitation. It makes no difference in their decision whether the subject is armed or unarmed, old or young, sick, wounded or healthy. Any species not Assid is killed outright or put into slavery and eventually killed. The only end result is death," Doug said.
"Until our shield, nothing could withstand their disintegrator ray. The beam coupled with the Absorbisteel hulls of their battleships rendered them all-powerful. The Chriks never stood a chance," Becky explained. "The Asiddians' natural immunity to telepathic control made them immune to the Chriks greatest asset."
"We have the technological advantage right now; however, they have plenty of ships, and the people to crew them. They have one of our scouts. If they discover the secret of the HKG, we're defeated," Whatsit said.
"We don't think they had an HKG available to study," McPherson rumbled. "Interrogation of Yuri Milost's thug, DeLoth, indicated the computers, ship weapons, shield and power generators on board the Salterr were destroyed, and all weapons off-loaded."
"I think they missed the Bowlers," Doug mused. "They were attached to rope netting and stowed near the brig."
"Oh no," McPherson grated. "I've never even thought about them."
"I'm not surprised by your lack of foresight," Heinbaum declared. "Your ability to perform simple tasks like breathing in and out without instruction has always baffled . . ."
The rest of his se
ntence trailed into silence as the look McPherson gave him threatened to melt the skin off his bones.
Dr. GooYee broke in, "Just before we escaped from the Asiddians, one of their scientists named Corvus said they'd found nothing in the saucer. It was a derelict."
"We have to assume they kept searching and found the Bowlers. If they did, it'll only take a few days for someone to discover their secrets," Tom said.
"It will take time to re-equip their ships with the new tech. If I was in charge, I'd concentrate my efforts on re-fitting one ship completely and use it for defense while I prepare other ships for a full offensive battle," Amanda muttered.
"Having the tech and knowing how to use it are two different things," Becky said. "I suggest we use our magic to demoralize the enemy before it knows the full capabilities of an HKG."
"What do you have in mind?" Tom asked.
Becky didn't answer immediately. She just smiled.
***
Captain Raooley Kestrel was resting in her quarters when the battlestations siren began its scream. Struggling into her coveralls was made all the more difficult by the constant lurching as the Navigator moved the Red Kite from side to side, up and down. The sudden movements were straining the inertial dampeners. Kestrel slammed the button to open the hatch and entered her Bridge.
"Report," she bellowed to the back of the Navigator's head as the Red Kite took another sickening slew to port.
"We're being attacked by a squadron of fighters. Computer analysis indicates three to ten vessels of unknown size and armament. So far the Absorbisteel hull is withstanding the assault."
"Continue evasive maneuvers and find out why the Weapons Computer isn't firing," Kestrel commanded.
"Weapons can't get a lock. The attack ships are moving too quickly Sir"
In the moment of stunned silence while Kestrel's brain mulled the impossible statement the computers couldn't match the speed of the attackers, an odd voice came over the speakers. In perfect Asiddian, it said, "Good afternoon, Captain Kestrel. I hope I haven't disturbed your beauty rest."
"Target the source of the transmission and fire," Kestrel ordered.
"Now, now, Captain. Is that any way to greet your captors?"
The growling of the full power of three merged disintegrator beams was met with radio silence for perhaps five seconds. A smile of victory began creeping into the lips of Kestrel as the seconds passed. Without warning, all the power to Navigation winked out and artificial gravity failed. Grabbing at her seatbelt to buckle herself in place, Kestrel looked with alarmed fascination as anyone not seated and belted down lost their footing and floated into the air.
A single Chrysallaman scout saucer swung into view and the familiar voice said, "Captain, I have taken control of your master computer. Your ship is under my command now. Prepare to be boarded."
"Weapons Control, manually fire a merged ten beam ray at the miscreant," Kestrel sneered.
The throaty growl of the wicked beam of destruction rumbled through the Red Kite. The ray struck instantaneously but a magenta-yellow bubble appeared around the saucer protecting it from harm.
"What the . .," Kestrel began, but her exclamation was cut short by the Science Officer.
"Sensors show only the one ship, Sir. There is no squadron."
"Impossible. Nothing can move faster than our computers can calculate. Your readings are incorrect."
The saucer disappeared from the viewscreen. One moment, the ship surrounded by its magenta-yellow bubble was visible, the next it was gone. At the same moment it vanished, a deep metallic thunk vibrated the structure of the battleship. Without warning, a metallic looking spear broke through the deck and embedded itself in the overhead. The ship's intercom became clogged with reports of metallic spears penetrating the vessel's structure from a central node.
"Welcome to the FORCE commuter system," the voice of Lloyd echoed from the speakers. "Please place your tray tables in the upright and closed position. Make sure your seatbelts are fastened. Store all loose objects under the seat in front of you. Remember smoking is prohibited in this vessel at all times."
"McPherson, you slack-jawed hyena, you've ruined Lloyd. He's nothing more than an electronic jokester."
"Now Doc. You need to be emotionally sensitive. Lloyd is just being thoughtful and diplomatic. I find his behavior quite refreshing."
"What is going on," Kestrel screamed.
"Be quiet," Heinbaum and McPherson said in stereo.
The Red Kite winked out of existence.
***
The looks on the faces of General Harrier's staff ranged from desperation to exasperation. Thirty battleships had disappeared in the last ten days. No distress call. No debris from an encounter or mishap. Nothing except empty space and silence. Fully one-third of the Asiddian strike force stationed within three light days of Chrysalis had disappeared without a trace. Anger mixed with a growing undercurrent of fear gripped the Asiddians.
There was no indication of third party violence other than one radio transmission from the Battleship Red Kite. During a routine report about the operating temperature of its fusion reactors, a technician had screamed the ship was under attack. She had described a metal pole smashing through her power room bulkheads. There followed some weird message about tray tables in their upright position, and then her transmission had cut off as if a fuse had been blown. All attempts to restore communication had failed.
It had taken an hour for a rescue party to arrive at the Red Kite's last known position. There was no trace of the ship or its crew. Attempts to contact other missing battleships proved fruitless as well. Giving up on making contact by radio, search and rescue ships were dispatched at light speed to investigate why some battleships forming the perimeter wall weren't responding to hails. It was thought radio transmissions were crippled by some form of electronic jamming. Physical contact proved impossible. Empty space was all the rescuers found, and the mystery of the missing ships catapulted into the realm of terror.
General Harrier ordered all remaining ships to fall back to a defensive orbital perimeter around Chrysalis. Even battleships in dry dock for refurbishment of their fusion drives were sent into orbit. Fusion drives could be repaired during guard duty. Working disintegrator weapons were needed. The orbital lanes became so crowded, collisions were commonplace. Morale plummeted as cloying fear dug at the souls of enlisted personnel and duty officers. The command of Colonel Hannah Wren became the focal point of both blame for the losses and hope for a military solution.
Harrier's past fits of anger were legendary, but now he was apoplectic. The Princess was kidnapped, his precious battle fleet was being decimated and the morale of his troops crushed. He called a meeting of senior advisors. To get to the conference room, staff members had to step over three bodies Harrier had left where he killed them. Disappointing the General was the fastest known method of forced retirement. The hallway was so drenched with blood from the decedents it was impossible to cross the mosaic tile floor without stepping in dark red pools of the sticky slime. Two people had thrown up as they tiptoed through the gore, and the smell of blood mixed with vomit was revolting.
Hannah Wren sat to the right of the head of the table doing her best to ignore the odor and the general atmosphere of despair. She was perusing a solar system map and marking the locations of the missing ships. There was no pattern. The craft had been stationed over an area tens of millions of miles wide. Coordination of the attacks would be impossible given the limiting factor of light speed. The disappearance of the ships coupled with their separation in space would require a massive number of enemy craft in a coordinated operation for the assault to be successful. Even if someone had known an exact location of each ship and was able to overcome each crew without a fight, simply making the huge craft disappear without a trace indicated powers approaching magic. The rumor mill was full of stories of mythical beings with god-like powers. One of the stories described a lightning bolt coming out of the fingertip of a bla
ck ghost.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Harrier's arrival. He burst through the door with a look of rage Wren had never seen. Instead of sitting, he stood at the head of the table. His attempt to control his temper and breathing rate was evident, but his clenched fists confirmed a level of anger barely controlled. It was several moments before he spoke. No one broke the silence for fear of retribution.
"Any person I deem incapable of giving helpful advice will be summarily executed," he grated as he gazed around the table. His hand shifted to the butt of his gun.
"I've lost thirty percent of my tactical command. Needless to say this is unacceptable. I left the persons most responsible for the loss in the hallway. I'm sure you noticed them. You're here to help formulate a plan not only to stop this loss but find and repatriate our comrades."
At that moment an aide opened the door, "Sir, the missing ship count has increased to forty-five. Our attempts to contact the remaining fleet within the three parsec field of operations have failed."
Evolution of F.O.R.C.E. (The Origin of F.O.R.C.E. Book 3) Page 11