The Log of the Gray Wolf (Star Wolf Squadron Book 1)

by Shane VanAulen

  “How soon ‘til we can get underway?” Hutton wondered, knowing that a fight was the last thing they wanted to get into, and that “Discretion is sometimes the better part of valor.”

  “Commander Richards relayed that the starboard engine is almost ready, but that the portside engine is still not answering the startup sequence.”

  “Fuck!” Cappilo swore.

  “What do you think, sir?” Gunny asked, looking to Collins.

  Mike glanced around and saw that they were all looking at him, even Commander Hutton. “Padre, you and Rufo get down to engineering and get us ready to leave even if you have to get out and push. Martin, go up to the bridge, help Commander Richards, and signal for all hands to board and prepare for battle. While you are doing that I, Gunny, Mister Dover, and with his permission, Commander Hutton, will set up a little welcoming committee for the shuttle.”

  They all looked grim, but determined, and replied with a chorus of agreements. The group quickly split up, going off on their separate tasks. Commander Hutton cleared his throat and spoke up. “I suggest we recruit a few more hands, and by the way, do you have any explosives?”

  Mike, Gunny, and Alister all started to laugh, finding the way he asked as well as the innocent look on the officer’s face immensely funny.

  The Austro shuttle slowed noticeably as it approached the repair dock’s portside. It had been traveling at its maximum speed, trying to get their anxious guests to their destination as fast as possible. Inside, the diverse occupants stared across the aisle at each other.

  On one side sat a sweating and clearly nervous-looking middle-aged man wearing a tailored silk syntho-suit and silk tie. He was one Mr. Art Rutford, the Minister of Interior to Austro Prime, and it was his job to make the Karduans welcome and to cooperate with them to the best of his ability. He clutched a worn-looking leather briefcase in his lap and continued to smile at those around him, especially at the strange visitors seated across from him.

  Next to him sat an old, gray-haired, and slightly out of shape officer. He was Admiral John Kirkland of the Austro Defense Force. It was his unfortunate duty to coordinate the destruction of the Confederation ships; a duty he wished he could have passed on to someone else.

  Accompanying them were two plain-clothed security officers armed with gauss pistols. It was agreed that each side would be limited to two armed guards even though neither party was expecting the other to renege on their treaty agreement.

  Seated on the other side of aisle were the four alien visitors. The Karduans were also commonly called Blues by their human foes. This nickname was due to their physical appearance. They were thin and tall with white lucid skin so pale that you could sometimes see through their flesh to the very nerves and blue veins beneath it.

  Blues were also hairless, and possessed an extra knuckle to their thin, delicate hands. What was equally disturbing about them was that their eyes were iris-less, being a pale orb with a solid black center. Their transparent skin had, for most humans, a disturbing effect. So much so, that this was one thing that most humans had trouble getting use to. The minister kept staring at them, and then nervously looked away, whereas the admiral wouldn’t look at them at all.

  The leader of the four was a Karduan woman called Lady Siel-Ca, who, even by human standards was a little disturbing, yet beautiful in an elegant and exotic way. She was young, looking to be about the same age as a human woman in her early to mid-twenties. She was dressed in silk-like flowing blue robes, and carried a medium-sized ornate walking stick in her right hand.

  The stick was old and looked as if it might have been hand-carved. It depicted some sort of plant or vine that was entwined around the stick almost as if it was choking it. To the casual onlooker, she seemed as if she was disturbed, which kept the conversation to a minimum. In fact, she was anxious to be done with this nonsense so she could return to her House and family.

  Her two security officers were part of her personal guard, and were armed with battle rifles, non-powered but sealed armor, and Vorooshin patar swords. The swords were a relic from their past and their time as slaves to the reptile men of the planet Voroosh. The patar was the principal dueling and gladiatorial weapon of their onetime masters. Many of their conquerors’ customs still remained part of Karduan society, and the sight of the weapons bought back bad memories for many humans.

  The Karduans, like Humans, had at one time been conquered by the reptilian race. Unlike Earth, who had only been slaves for a mere two years, the Karduans had been their servants for almost a hundred years. It was also the humans who had broken their chains of slavery and had rebelled with the Kazads to bring down the once mighty Voroosh.

  The Kazads had later come and removed the Voroosh from among them, taking the reptiles back to their home world where an Earth Fleet still guarded them from escape.

  The Karduan people had fallen into anarchy just after the collapse of the Voroosh. Suddenly leaderless, they fell onto themselves, and a civil war amongst the Great Houses broke out. A bloody war that had lasted until just before the opening day of hostilities with humanity had started.

  The Blues, though resembling humans, were still very different both physically and socially. Their society was based on a matriarchal female-dominant government with a caste system for their males.

  Both of the guards were female, tall, and strong looking with elegant yet solemn features. They were ready for a fight, and looked down on the human males around them. The last of the Karduan’s party was a male of the species. He was dressed in a plain brown, one-piece uniform. Though the same physical size as the female guards, he kept his eyes downcast whenever he looked to them, and his head bowed at all times.

  His job was to carry her ladyship’s luggage and serve as her body servant. He was of the lowly male worker caste and it was his lot, no his privilege, to be given the opportunity to serve. His name was Bre-Nan, though it was doubtful his fellow Karduans actually knew it.

  Passing along the portside of the repair station, Mr. Rutford pointed to the porthole. "Excuse me, but you’ll be able to see the Confederation ships as we pass,” he said, sounding as nervous as he looked.

  Looking out the small window, they could see the ISF Cape Town. The freighter was missing almost all of its defense turrets; much of its remaining hull plating was either damaged or had been entirely removed. The most astounding thing was that its entire engine section was completely gone.

  The Karduan Lady seemed, if not pleased, at least satisfied at the ship’s deconstruction. Looking back to the humans, she paused and noticed that the planetary admiral was frowning. This was not unusual; the man was a warrior of his people and he would not want to see any ship so ruined. Focusing on him for a moment, she found her answer. “You should make sure you keep up on your backlog of reports, and then you wouldn’t be so surprised, Admiral,” she commented, turning back to the porthole.

  Admiral Kirkland’s eyes bulged in panic and shock. How the hell did she know that he was behind on his reading? Did she have a spy in his office, or was his poker face less than stellar? Perfect, that’s just what he needed, was a wisp of an alien girl being able to tell from a glance what he was thinking.

  This last thought reminded him of an old intelligence paper that he had read from a Confederation Intelligence Agency memo. It stated the possibility that the enemy had a means to break or even read the thoughts of humans. It was widely regarded as a remote possibility, but yet…?

  Continuing on, they were now passing by the ISS Rebecca. The minesweeper was still in relatively decent shape. Her system engines were intact, and though her hull was damaged and her bridge was a mess, she looked as if she could still be restored. The Karduan ambassador frowned, her smooth, translucent skin wrinkling in displeasure. She turned and looked back at the Minster of the Interior, who shrank from her gaze. "Work on this ship must be increased at once!” she demanded sternly.

  “I… I assure you, we are working as fast as we can to meet your… I m
ean, our treaty agreement,” Rutford stammered as he looked from her ladyship to her guards and back again. Next to him, the admiral kept quiet, trying hard not to be noticed.

  Still frowning, she turned away and looked out the porthole as the ISS Surprise came into view. This sight caused her to smile as she reassessed her judgment of their work.

  The old frigate was a wreck with virtually nothing but a skeleton hull left of the once proud warship. Unbeknownst to her, the sacrifice of the Surprise allowed one, maybe even two other Confederation ships to rejoin the war effort. The old girl did not die in vain.

  Coming up on the last ship, the shuttle passed the attack cruiser ISS Star Wolf. The repair dock’s outer lights were off and the ship was dark. Still, they could see that of the four ships, she looked to be in the best shape. In fact, to the Admiral’s trained eye, it looked as if she was in better shape than the last report he had read about her.

  Lady Siel-Ca was about to chastise the humans once more for their inefficient work but then reconsidered. If the attack cruiser was salvageable she may, under a minor clause in the Austro-Karduan Peace Treaty, take the ship for the Karduan government. At the signing of the treaty, the Austro Government assured them that the ships at the repair dock were all badly damaged. Hence, the clause to them was meaningless, and yet the cruiser looked, to her, to be in serviceable condition.

  “Dock the shuttle; I wish to inspect the cruiser more closely,” she ordered, her command being repeated by the Interior Minister to the shuttle’s pilot. She was still smiling with this thought as the shuttle slowed and matched airlocks with the station’s docking port.

  The minister’s security men and the Karduan warrior women exited first and fanned out tactically on the landing platform. Her Ladyship rose to leave followed by Mr. Rutford and the admiral. Departing from the shuttle, she strode forward, her eyes seeking someone in authority to demand access to the cruiser.

  Her search found an old man in an ill-fitting security uniform and a much younger man holding a mop and a bucket that sat on old-style rollers. Both of the station’s employees seemed to be surprised to see them, and were waiting in awe for them to approach.

  Signaling with a wave of her walking stick, her two guards moved forward and passed by the pair, taking up positions behind them. Striding forward, her robes seemed to flow around her, giving her an illusion of almost floating on air as she walked.

  “I wish to see the interior of the cruiser,” she instructed to both of the staring men. Her voice carried the power of her position and the authority of command. Neither moved, and she wondered if her English, as crude as the language was, was understood by them.

  What truly amazed her was that the young one with the mop seemed to smile at her demand, clearly unafraid of her or her guards. This was curious, and drew an intent stare from her. Focusing on the smiling youth, her eyes cringed as her mental probe was deflected and an intense headache started to form within her head.

  Turning her gaze from the youth, she focused her gift on the old security guard. Her eyes flared as she read what was on the surface of his mind.

  “It’s a trap,” she said to herself, amazed that anyone would try to harm them. “IT’S A TRAP!” she screamed, raising her walking stick and pointing it at the old man.

  Across the platform, the two men acted before she had even gotten off her warning. Gunny Masters brought his Krager from his hip holster were his old service automatic would have normally been. His first shot hit the plain-clothed Austro security officer standing to their right in his throat, just above his body armor.

  The officer fell to the ground before he knew what had hit him. Shifting targets, his second shot took the admiral in the shoulder. Unlike the security officer, the old sailor wasn’t wearing armor, and the location of the shot didn’t matter as he dropped like a rock.

  Before the Gunny could shift to another target, he was hit in the torso with a wave of heat that felt as if someone had laid a hot poker on his chest. “Shit!” he yelled, and moved to the left, feeling an immediate relief from the pain. The Karduan woman moved her cane after him and the severe, numbing pain followed and was once more on him.

  Next to the old marine, his young partner in crime also took action at the same time. Mike reached into the mop’s bucket and pulled out his Krager, immediately shooting the second human security officer and the Minister of Interior.

  Hearing and seeing the Gunny’s pain and its source, he shot the Karduan noblewoman with not one, but two shock darts before her body had even managed to hit the pseudo-crete floor. He would have shot her a third time if he weren’t sure it would have probably killed her.

  Behind the pair of human shooters, the two Karduan personal guards reacted to the unforeseen threat. Both Blue women acted quickly, bringing up their battle rifles to shoot the human assassins down, but instead both fell to the ground without firing a single shot in defense. Protruding from their open pale faces was a pair of shock darts, which could now easily be seen as they lay helpless on the floor.

  Mike glanced behind him at the two unconscious Karduan soldiers and counted his lucky stars. The only place their armor had been vulnerable was at the open faceplates. Of course, having two of the best shots from the academy take those risky shots did make him feel a little better.

  Mister Dover and Commander Hutton stepped out from the cover of a plastex packing crate. Dover was holding Hutton’s Krager pistol and the Commander was cradling his Colt auto-needle rifle. From around the corner, Mister Rabb and Chief Bell appeared with two sophomore cadets and two old veterans. The six-man squad was wearing full body armor, carrying the old caseless M-21 assault rifles at port arms, and had holstered 8mm auto pistols on their hips.

  “Mister Dover, would you and Mister Rabb please secure the shuttle and take the pilot into custody before he can get off a distress call?” the Navy Commander ordered in a normal voice, sounding as if he was still a teacher giving an easy assignment to his students.

  Dover and Rabb jumped to their task and ran to the shuttle. In a few minutes, they had returned with not only the pilot, but also with the Karduan body servant. The Blue male was strangely smiling, and had his hands held above his head.

  By the time the last two prisoners arrived, Mike had already ordered the squad to take the other prisoners to the ship and secure them in the brig after a thorough search. Gunny, who had recovered from the effects of the odd energy weapon, seemed to be no worse for the experience. He even refused medical attention and took charge of the unconscious prisoners. It was easily apparent that his experience as a CCF police officer made him invaluable in the handling of POWs.

  “I’m telling you, she knew it was a trap,” Mike said, looking down at the Karduan noblewoman.

  “Sure she did, old man, that’s why she yelled a warning,” Dover agreed, slapping his friend on the back.

  Frowning, Mike shook his head and leaned over to pick up her walking stick. “No,” he started, carefully holding the harmless-looking cane as he tried to find the words to describe what had happened. “It was like someone had knocked on the side of my head,” he said, reaching up to massage his temple and fight off the headache that was forming.

  Hutton had been standing nearby listening to the conversation as had Mister Rabb, the pilot, and the Karduan male. “When I was in the commandos, we had been briefed that some of the Blues’ female nobles may possess a talent for reading the thoughts and emotions of others,” the Commander announced as everyone looked to him.

  “She is a bloody telepath?” Dover said in disbelief; after all, this was real, not some poorly written vid or e-novel.

  Commander Hutton noticed the Blue male was still smiling, and seemed to be following the conversation. The look on his pale face seemed to indicate that he wanted to speak, but was either afraid or was waiting for permission.

  “Ok, Smiley, you seem to be understanding what we’re saying, so what’s your story?”

  The Karduan let out a quick strea
m of what sounded like gibberish to the rest of them. Commander Hutton held up his hand stopping him. He then said for him to slow down and speak English. The Karduan smiled again and swallowed before he started once more. “The young man and the Commander are correct, the Lady Siel-Ca is a telepath. Many females of the ruling Houses have this power. It helps them to keep us their…” He stopped for a moment, searching for the correct human word “…slaves.”

  Their group looked not only surprised at his mastery of English, but also at his revelations. At that moment, a signal from the Wolf stirred them back into action.

  “We need to get loaded,” Mike announced, looking down at his palm pad's comm. screen and the text message it contained.

  The Karduan male fell to his knees and hung his head, “Please, sirs, take me with you. I wish to be free!”

  Hutton reached down and offered his hand to the man. “We’ll take you with us, but you’ll still be a prisoner for now.”

  The Blue smiled and took his hand, letting the human help him to his feet.

  “All right, let’s get going,” Hutton, said as Mister Rabb returned with several crewmen and finished gathering the enemy’s fallen weapons.

  Mike turned to the shuttle pilot and smiled as he gripped the walking stick a little tighter. “Now, you’re going to be helpful, right?”

  The human pilot nodded, knowing that he had little choice.

  Ten minutes later, the last of the crew had boarded, and the ship’s starboard engine fired into life. Mister Martin Daley was waiting for them at the airlock, and had quickly run a three-dimensional scanner over the captured shuttle pilot’s face, whose name was Ken Ueshiba.

  Ueshiba was of mixed Asian and European descent. He stood almost two meters tall, and had long, thin arms and legs. His hair was cut short and unsurprisingly silken black. His features were a handsome mix of his ethnic background, and his eyes were blue.

  At age forty-five, he had already done his time in the military and was not eligible to be drafted into service for the war. Instead, he had worked hard to build his charter shuttle business. He had turned it from a charter for hire into a service that corporate executives and political bigwigs had a need for.