Man of War (Rebellion Book 1)

by M. R. Forbes

  FIFTY-NINE

  On a ship as large as the Magellan, slipspace was a chance to finally get a little downtime. It hadn't occurred to Gabriel that he had been running for nearly twenty-four hours without sleep until Colonel Graham had been summoned to the bridge along with a small replacement crew, and they had all been sent to their quarters to get some sleep.

  "I didn't even know I had quarters," Gabriel said.

  "We did yours and your father's first," Daphne replied.

  They were walking down to his room. Theodore had requested Gabriel be put a little closer to the launch tubes, so that he could be ready if he was needed. Ready for what? He had no idea.

  It didn't matter. He felt alive on the Magellan, as if all of his years of training and all of the missions he survived had all been leading up to this moment. Unlike some of the other crew, he didn't share the mixed emotions over disobeying Cave's orders.

  "How do you like her?" Gabriel asked.

  "The Magellan? The corridors are a little claustrophobic, and the bunks are tiny. Otherwise, I have no complaints."

  "I'm glad you decided to come."

  She laughed. "It wasn't much of a choice. I'm not going to leave Soon to fend for himself, and he wasn't about to let you go off and steal all the glory."

  "He said that?"

  "Word for word."

  "I think there will be plenty of glory to go around."

  "Me too. Even for logistics officers like me."

  They reached the door to Gabriel's quarters. Daphne pulled the handle, giving it a shove with her shoulder to convince it that it wanted to open.

  "The hinges need a little attention," she said. "Well, what do you think?"

  Gabriel stared in at the room. He had been expecting something simple, like on Delta Station. Instead, the quarters were expansive, with carpeting and couches, and a raised bed, a real bed, on a platform near the back. To the left of it was a large viewport, and to the right an archway leading into a large bathroom.

  "You're lucky, you get your own shower. No three minute rule here," Daphne said. "Every drop of liquid on this boat gets processed and recycled, and the tanks are large enough for a crew of thousands, not hundreds. This is the Orbital Group Commander's quarters."

  "The COG's quarters? My father didn't say anything about that to me."

  "I guess he figured it was obvious."

  "I don't know. Soon is just as qualified for the job."

  "You're humility would be annoying if you weren't so sincere. Nobody is as qualified as you. Do you like it?"

  "It's amazing. I didn't know the Magellan was so opulent."

  "Most of it isn't, but it's still a step up from Delta, at least for as long as we have such a small crew. If you think this is fancy, you should see the General's quarters."

  "I'm sure I will at some point. Hey, where's Wallace?"

  "Soon is keeping an eye on him. I'll send him over."

  "Thanks, Daphne."

  "You're welcome. Try to get some rest, will you. You can't be a hero with your eyes closed."

  Gabriel gave Daphne a quick hug. "You, too. You can't organize a starship with your eyes closed either. You'll keep running into walls."

  Daphne turned to leave at the same time Wallace appeared in the doorway. He hurried over to Gabriel, putting his head down to be pet.

  "I found this mangy thing hanging out next door," Soon said.

  "Are you talking about yourself, dear?" Daphne asked.

  "Of course."

  "Thanks for running interference out there," Gabriel said. "It's good to have you with us."

  "Us pilots have to stick together. I've always got your wing, Captain."

  "And I have yours, Captain."

  "Come on, Soon. Let's leave the man and his dog to relax for a while."

  "Whatever you say, boss." Soon replied. "See you later, Gabe." He put his arm around her waist, and they headed off together.

  Gabriel pushed the door closed, and then scanned the room again. In eight hours he would be suiting up to make a run on Earth. A run unlike any other he had made before. He had confidence in his abilities, but he had never flown outside of a vacuum before. None of them had except for his father. He had used the simulator, of course, but that wasn't the same thing.

  Nothing was chasing you in the simulator.

  He looked over at the bed, and then to the bathroom. He began stripping off his clothes.

  If he was going to die soon, he would die clean and relaxed and having enjoyed the longest shower of his life.

  SIXTY

  "Can you hear me okay?" Miranda asked.

  Gabriel adjusted his helmet, tapping on the side. "Try again."

  "Testing. One. Two."

  "It has to be on your side."

  "I'll get one of the engineers to look at it while you're gone. It should be fixed by the time you get back."

  "It better be."

  Gabriel leaned back in the seat of the starfighter, holding his mother's crucifix. He closed his eyes, concentrating on his breathing. This mission wasn't like all of the others. Not just because of the atmosphere. There would be no slipstream ride to Earth. The Magellan would fire him at max power from its launch tubes, bringing him up to speed in a matter of seconds. After that, he would do a light, continual burn that would get him to Earth within ten hours.

  He was nervous, and that was okay. It was normal. The fear was normal. If he didn't feel it, he knew he would get sloppy and die. He felt ready. He had showered, slept for a few hours, and woken to a hot bowl of oatmeal waiting at the end of his bed. It was the best food he had tasted for some time, so much better than the nutrient bars.

  Gabriel tapped his control pad, and then eyed his power levels. Guy and Colonel Graham's crew had been hard at work during the entire slip, using a spare cell that had been loaded into storage and somehow finding a way to shoehorn it into place beside the primary. It had meant removing the ion cannon's targeting computer, but what good would that do him anyway?

  Reza and Sarah had also done their part, running tests against the Magellan's onboard network to determine when they had solved the transmission problem. From there, Reza had gotten the circuit boards in the fighter pulled so he could do some additional soldering on them to expand the capabilities of the equipment. They had done a simple test only minutes earlier, ensuring that the whole package functioned as expected.

  As far as Gabriel was concerned, if anyone was going to be called a hero for this, it should be the scientists who had even made his run possible. He hated to admit it, but that included Guy as well. For all of his complaints, the man had come through when it mattered the most.

  "We're going to be getting a clear shot in one minute," Miranda said. "Try not to hit anything on your way in."

  The Magellan was sitting about three quarters of the distance between Earth and Mars, as close as Theodore dared to take it without risking discovery.

  Gabriel laughed. "I'll do my best."

  "Gabriel, this is your father," Theodore said, his voice cutting into the comm. "I don't need to tell you what to do, or how to do it. I know we've had our differences over the years, but then, who hasn't? You're a St. Martin, and that makes you a stubborn gator by default. But you're a damn fine pilot and a damn fine son. I want you to know your old man is proud of you, and I know your mom would be proud of you too."

  Gabriel felt a chill wash over him. Who didn't want to make their parents proud?

  "Thanks, Dad."

  "Captain, prepare to launch on my mark," Miranda said, switching the tone of the conversation to a purely professional one.

  "Roger. Wish me luck."

  "Good luck, Captain," Theodore said. "May God be with you."

  Gabriel squeezed the crucifix one last time before letting it drop and taking hold of the control sticks. He took one more long breath and held it for a few seconds before releasing.

  "Launching in three. Two. One."

  Gabriel was pushed back in his seat as the
magnetic launcher pulled him forward through the tube. The lights were a growing blur while he streaked through the tunnel, his pulse quickening in an instant.

  Then he was out, rocketing forward through space. Mars was at his back, small and red. Earth was a distant speck ahead of him. It wouldn't be for long.

  He turned his head, looking back over his shoulder at the Magellan. It was shrinking fast, growing more distant with each passing second. He could picture his father up on the bridge, watching the starfighter vanish within moments. He wondered what he was thinking, smiling as he did. He imagined his father was telling him to hurry the hell up.

  He put his eyes forward again, keeping his attention on the HUD and ready to fire the vectoring thrusters should any solid masses pop up in front of his course.

  Ten hours quickly became nine, and then eight, and then seven. The Earth began to come into view as he reached the one hour mark, continually to growing larger ahead of him, slowly morphing from a bright point of white light to a more bluish tinged point, to a small blue sphere.

  His thoughts redirected to Jessica. He knew how much she would have wanted to be a part of this. She had always been so passionate about her beliefs, and the war was something she had believed in. It was that passion that had led them to fall in love. It was the same passion that had sent her to her death. He used it now to steel himself against the coming storm. To find strength and focus.

  He was a warrior, a soldier on a mission.

  He wouldn't be denied.

  SIXTY-ONE

  "General Rodriguez," Donovan said, standing at attention and saluting.

  "At ease, Major," Rodriguez said.

  Donovan adjusted his stance before making eye contact with the rest of the assembly. He had come running when one of Carlson's assistants had found him and asked him to head down to the lab right away, but it seemed even his best time was slower than the General, Diaz, Montero, and Sharma.

  Maybe if he hadn't dropped Ehri with his mother first.

  It had been three days since Donovan had brought the alien clone back to the resistance base. They had been the three busiest and most fulfilling days of his life. When he wasn't escorting Ehri around, teaching her about human life, or in many cases just allowing her to observe his routine, he was working to organize and prepare for his next mission to make one last ditch effort to contact the space forces. It was more work than usual, mainly due to his need to find at least six more volunteers for the mission, though he preferred to take as many as he could find. The resistance base had a limited pool of potentials to begin with, and many of the fighters weren't in good enough physical condition to make a good runner.

  As for Ehri, she was absorbing what it was like for them with alarming aptitude, quickly adjusting her speech patterns to better match theirs, as well as learning everything she could. She spent time with Doctor Montoya, answering his questions. She spent time in the kitchens learning to cook. She spent time with the seamstresses learning to sew. She even spent time with Matteo, watching him repair this and that around the base, and quickly making everyone on the base forget she wasn't human or truly one of them.

  Of course, it was the nursery where she was the happiest. Every moment with a child was a learning experience for her, and she delighted in their generally unpredictable nature, finding a great challenge in trying to understand how they thought and functioned, and somehow maintaining her patience when she couldn't. She also enjoyed his mother's stories about him, and about how he had been as a child. Rambunctious and independent. He hadn't changed since then.

  "Carlson, we have everyone here," General Rodriguez said, giving the CSO the floor.

  "Thank you, General," Carlson said. He had a smile on his face, though his hair was dirty and messy and he looked as if he hadn't slept since Donovan had returned.

  Donovan realized he probably hadn't. Carlson had joked about it, but it was no joke at all.

  "I've been working on the alien tech that Major Peters and Lieutenant Diaz returned after their last mission. I wanted to give you all a quick update on what I've discovered."

  "Do you know how to defeat their armor?" Rodriguez asked bluntly.

  Carlson shook his head. "Well. No. Not yet. But we're working on it. The rifle is incredibly complex, and of course, we need to make sure that our work on it doesn't damage it in any way. It's made reverse engineering it a bit of a challenge. We have made progress on the power supply; however, and I think we may be able to design something similar based on it. I know the reactor keeps this place going, but it isn't exactly portable. That's not why I asked you to come down."

  "It isn't?" Montero said.

  "No. I wanted to talk to you about the cloth."

  He had a pair of the pants hanging against a heavily shielded wall beside them, and it was clear he had tried to puncture them with gunfire.

  "This material is unlike anything I've seen before. Completely bulletproof, it actually hardens in direct opposition to the amount of force placed against it. Meaning, the harder you hit it, the harder it gets. We've been examining it, and it appears as though it is constructed of nanometer-sized particles that act kind of like springs, loose in general, but coiling up as pressure is applied."

  "That's interesting, Carlson, but not that useful," Rodriguez said.

  "You're so impatient, Christian," Carlson said. "Okay. This is the super cool part that's got me all excited. So, we left one of the shirts sitting under the microscope while we switched gears to look at the rifles. When we came back, the springs molecules had reorganized."

  He opened his mouth, mimicking his total amazement and expecting the gathered officers to respond in kind.

  "I don't know what that means," Diaz said.

  "Ah. Uh." Carlson shook his head. "I should have known better. It means the cloth is alive."

  "What do you mean, alive?" Donovan said.

  "I mean, the thing that makes it so impervious is a nano-organism. There are billions of them living on the base fibers of the cloth, which is made of some kind of silk. They seem to be feeding on the cloth, so I imagine that over time it wears down to point of uselessness. This is nothing that you can find here on Earth."

  "Okay," Rodriguez said. "I understand why you're excited, I think, but was this really something worth calling us all down here for?"

  "Yes, sir," Carlson said. "Don't you see? This cloth is an example of using a biological ingredient in making super strong cloth. What if this is a primitive version of the Dread armor? If we can find a way to kill these creatures, maybe we can do the same to destroy their shells?"

  "We have a way to destroy the shells, Carlson," Major Sharma said. "The rifles Donovan brought you can do it. What you need to do is figure out how."

  "I said, I'm working on that."

  "You were wasting time on a shirt when you could have been learning about the weapons technology. You do understand we're at war, and on the verge of losing it?"

  Carlson's face turned beet red. "I understand completely. If you would open your mind the teeniest bit, you would be able to conceptualize the parallels between the cloth and the carapace. The goal here is to defeat the enemy shields, and understanding how they work is the best key to doing so."

  "Assuming they are even remotely the same."

  "Yes. I do believe the armor is biological in nature, at least in part."

  "But you don't know for sure."

  "No. What I do know is that I don't have the equipment here to do a more thorough analysis on this. I've seen these rifles before. I've broken them down and scanned them under a microscope. The problem is that even with it turned on, there's nothing new for me to discover here. At least, nothing new that I'm capable of discovering. Considering the nano-tech in the cloth, it is reasonable to assume there is other nano-tech within the weapon."

  "The rifle has a switch on it," Donovan said. "A clear indication that it has two different modes. You can't figure out which is which?"

  "I can't figure out
which does what. Something is happening when I flip the toggle. I can hear it; I can sense it. I can't see it. Not with the equipment we have here. I could try taking the weapon apart and hope that I can put it back together, but that is precisely what you ordered me not to do."

  "Damn," General Rodriguez said. "So close, and still so far."

  "I can try taking it apart,'" Carlson said.

  "No. Not yet. Let me think about it."

  "We don't have a lot of time, sir," Montero said.

  "I know. We only have two. We can't risk losing either one without being certain we can get what we need from it. Carlson, how confident do you feel that you can take the weapon apart and put it back together in working order?"

  "We have some older disabled weapons in storage, maybe if I practice on those a few more times, I can be more sure."

  "Okay. Do it. But don't start breaking down either of the active weapons until you come and see me."

  "Yes, General."

  "And keep your people on the cloth. See if you can find something that will kill the organisms. It was good thinking, bad timing."

  "Yes, General."

  "Donovan, walk back to my office with me. The rest of you are dismissed."

  "Yes, sir," Diaz, Montero, and Sharma said.

  Rodriguez exited behind them, with Donovan at his side. "How are the preparations for the run going?"

  "As well as can be expected, sir. I only have six in my squad. That's a bare minimum for any run, and considering how heavily the Dread have been coming after us any time we expose ourselves, it doesn't leave me feeling that positive."

  "Understood," the General said, rubbing at his mustache. "I can't order people to do this. Not in good conscience."

  "I'm not asking you to, sir. If we have to use six, we'll use six. Even if we don't make it back, we'll get the message sent."

  "I know you will. I've been reading Doctor Montoya's reports on Ehri. The bek'hai culture is interesting, wouldn't you say?"