“Sorry to disrupt your solitude, my friend,” Jason said.
The rhino grunted and gave Jason a sideways glance. Jason was well aware of his friend’s growing boredom within the confines of HAB 17. It wasn’t the environment; it was the total lack of any conflict there. Traveler was a warrior at heart. Simply put, there was no one to war with in that desolate habitat, which he and several hundred other rhino-warriors now cohabited.
“Not sure how much you’ve been told. The short story is, five thousand Craing warships have willingly joined our side and have been added to the U.S. fleet. There are multiple dreadnaughts … and, as you know, inside dreadnaughts, and even some heavy cruisers, come confinement cages.”
Traveler’s deep voice filled the space, “Rhinos are here. We need to free them.”
He looked agitated. Jason nodded and said, “I wanted you here before that process began. They don’t know me … as far as they’re concerned I’m the enemy. So you’ll be their ambassador. That work for you?”
Again, Traveler grunted. “Take me to their cages.”
“The first one’s this way.” Jason headed down the catwalk at a brisk pace, knowing Traveler would easily catch up and overtake him in seconds. He stopped, turned around, and nodded toward the cages on his right.
Traveler, coming up, turned toward the cages holding three immense rhinos. The reaction from the three caged rhinos was one of obvious agitation. Bursts of snot vapor filled the air.
The truth was, Jason had expected an even more volatile reaction. These were Reds. He’d dealt with this breed of rhino-warriors, from the planet Mangus, before, and was well aware the Greys, like Traveler and his kind, had been at war with the larger Red species for millennia.
One of the Reds moved closer to the bars. “A Trumach Grey … have you come to gloat? Perhaps you and the Craing and this other disgusting breed fornicate together like desert Wilbies.”
Traveler didn’t answer right away. He stepped forward, bringing his own face close to the bars. He had to look upward to make eye contact. “Trumach no longer exists. Destroyed by the Craing.”
His words had an immediate effect on the three Reds. Their shoulders dropped—an eerie silence filled the space around them. Traveler continued, “The Reds and the Greys, at the end, fought and died together.”
“And what of Mangus? Was our home also destroyed by these barbarians?”
Traveler did not answer right away. “In the end … yes. The Craing returned to our home space … destroying many planets. Mangus was one of the worlds destroyed.”
The three Reds stood and let the devastating reality of what Traveler had conveyed sink in. Jason weighted the reaction. Rhino-warriors were a proud species, they would not show their pain … at least not now in front of Traveler and Jason.
“And what now? What do you want with us?”
“I want to release you, and all the other rhinos … Reds and Greys. But there is no place for war here. Not anymore,” Traveler told them.
“Where will we go? What is to become of us?” the tallest of the Red rhinos asked.
Traveler first looked to Jason, then back up at the tall Red. “This breed … humans. They have given us a home. It is not Trumach, or even Mangus, but it is adequate. There is quarry to hunt and much more open land to explore. You could live there.”
“Why would you do this for us … for the Reds?”
“I told you, the days of war between us are gone. We are few in number now; we must become brothers.” Traveler gestured toward the latch. “Open their cage, Captain.”
Jason had been given the master key—a long metal rod having an oblong electronic pod at one end. He inserted the pod into an opening and turned the rod. There were the sounds of internal mechanical workings before the cage door sprung open. Jason and Traveler stepped aside as the three Reds hesitantly stepped out onto the catwalk.
“We need to free the others … Reds and Greys. You will help me keep order. You will help me transport all freed rhinos into HAB 17,” Traveler told them.
Jason wasn’t sure this was going to work, but he knew there could be just as much friction coming from the human prisoners, as they were released. A small part of him wanted to keep them all locked up, and deal with the shit later on.
“I need to handle some things. Let’s meet up later. Traveler, you need to find another rhino … either one here in the cages, or back on HAB 17, who can take over this task for you.” Jason handed him the key.
“Why? I will handle this task myself.”
“Ricket and Gaddy have been captured. They’re in a far worse place than this.”
Traveler snorted and stood up taller. “We will leave now. We will rescue my friend Ricket.”
“Soon. I need you first to find someone you trust to manage the relocation of all the rhinos, both Greys and Reds. In the meantime, I need to put together the rest of an assault team. I also need to find us a ship.”
More and more cage doors were clanged open by SEAL teams in the distance. Jason noticed Craing crewmembers were now integrated into each SEAL team. A necessary move as Serapins still wandered up and down the catwalks. Jason couldn’t figure out what the exact power was the Craing wielded over these deadly, blue raptor-looking beasts. At seven feet tall and with massive razor teeth, they were one of the deadliest creatures Jason had ever come up against.
Traveler snorted his agreement and headed off down the catwalk, with the three Reds in close pursuit. Before phase-shifting away, Jason noticed a scuffle up ahead. One of the Reds was lifting something over the railing. Jason watched with curious astonishment as a Serapin, his screeches echoing off the corridor walls, was dropped, falling five decks below to its death.
* * *
The integration of the three Craing fleets was an all-encompassing undertaking. Jason caught up with his father, along with Secretary of Defense Walker, once back on the Minian. Short tempered, the admiral looked up as Jason entered the bustling ready room.
“What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were dealing with the rhinos?”
“They’ve been dealt with … it’s all in good hands.”
The admiral turned his attention back to a Craing officer Jason hadn’t seen before. “No! What I said is, you all need to stop that shit completely … send out communication right now, to all fleet commanders, that the next Craing crewmember who fires up a caldron will get thrown out a fucking airlock. Meals come from only one place … a food replicator. Go!” The admiral looked back to Jason, exasperated. “What is it you want? A bit busy here.”
“I’m leaving.”
“Like hell you are.”
“I’m going after Ricket and Gaddy.”
“With everything going on here—”
“This will be crazy for weeks, if not months … I need to get out there before we completely lose track of that prison barge.”
The admiral sat back in his chair. “What do you need from me?”
“A ship.”
“You’d need a fleet of ships to crack that damn prison barge, Jason.”
“That’s why I’m taking a different approach. A small ship … a small team. I’d take the new one, the little transport ship Ricket designed, the Streamline, if we still had it.”
The admiral shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, Jason.”
“Actually, thinking of the Streamline, if I get Bristol involved … he should be able to output a comparable duplicate vessel via the Minian’s phase-synthesizer.”
“So do that. You’ve never asked my permission before. Sounds like it would be perfect for your purposes.”
That was true, he hadn’t. The truth was, Jason wanted to say goodbye. He didn’t feel particularly confident he’d be returning from this mission. He knew the odds weren’t in their favor. “All right … I’ll get back here as soon as I can. It may take a few days.”
The admiral’s face was taut, his smile forced; he too was well aware this could be the last time they would
see each other. “Just get back as soon as possible. If you hadn’t noticed, we have a shortage of qualified command personnel around here.”
Jason stood tall and saluted his father. The admiral stood and returned the salute. Neither spoke further as Jason headed out of the ready room.
Chapter 14
Ot-Mul was pleased with himself. He’d maintained a level head and he’d stayed the course. There hadn’t been a defection by a crewmember, or by a warship, in over a week. The truth was, he was almost disappointed. He’d come to enjoy the carnage his four amazing battle droids exhibited when in full-action mode. Looking at them now in their holding berth, standing motionless against the bulkhead, he pondered if somehow they too missed those ruthless encounters—if something hidden deep in their advanced droids’ psyches had achieved a small level of consciousness, and that they were now restlessly awaiting their master’s edict.
“Soon, my friends … I assure you, it won’t be long.” He waited several more moments, almost expecting one of the droids’ gun-turret heads to nod its assent, but no … he was sure they were far too disciplined for that.
* * *
Ot-Mul arrived on the bridge exactly seven minutes later. He made his way to the raised platform, ignoring the other three bridge commanders as he sat in the number one command chair. While he kept perfectly still, he let his eyes roam the wide expanse of what was considered the Craing’s most quintessential warship bridge. An assault class destroyer, the ship was far and above anything the Craing had produced at any of their many deep-space shipyards, spanning out to multiple distant sectors. The assault class destroyer, appropriately renamed the Assailant, hadn’t been manufactured by the Craing—they’d absconded with her. One of the few alien races the Craing could never quite defeat, even with far greater numbers of warships, the Korlm, even to this day, were able to thwart whatever the Craing threw at them.
Seizing the Assailant was more good luck than strategic battlefield prowess. The Craing had stumbled upon the Korlm shipyard when fleeing a devastatingly powerful small Korlm armada. Now, six months later, Ot-Mul had an excellent opportunity to battle-test the destroyer … and against one of his own Craing meganaughts, no less. As the Craing’s most formidable warship fled to open space, another important asset attempting to desert, Ot-Mul commanded the fleet to hold back. He took up the pursuit himself in his newly acquired Assailant. Easily overtaking the fleeing meganaught, they were soon going head-to-head against each other. The Assailant withstood a relentless pounding—fusion missiles, plasma cannons, as well as hundreds of fighter droids—everything the four coupled, heavily armed dreadnaughts could throw at the smaller vessel. But it was the Assailant’s own formidable DMEWs, Dark Matter Energy Weapons, that decisively won the day. The Assailant had taken less than twenty minutes to completely gut the combatant meganaught. Obliterated it. Yes … many thousands of Craing crew died—but they hadn’t died in vain. Not with the knowledge Ot-Mul had acquired. Now, as he sat back in his chair, he was sure he had a vessel that was more than capable of battling his hated enemy The Lilly. Perhaps, even the Minian.
“Admiral, we have reached our final convergence coordinates. We are being hailed by the ChorLok,” Ot-Mul’s second-in-command announced.
“On the screen.”
An elderly, round-faced, Craing officer appeared on the holographic display.
“Admiral Too. Report,” Ot-Mul said, with a cold stare.
“Welcome to the Orion system, Supreme Commander. All fleets stand ready for your command.”
“Still no more desertions?”
Nervously, Admiral Too took in a breath before answering, “There have been … several ships. We dispatched four heavy cruisers in quick pursuit.”
“Let me guess—no sign of the deserters, or the four heavy cruisers in pursuit?”
“Unfortunately … that is correct, sir.”
Ot-Mul was tempted to make an example of Admiral Too’s ineptitude. Perhaps he’d let his battle droids loose into that old admiral’s dreadnaught, currently sitting less than two hundred miles off the Assailant’s bow. He stared at the old idiot, someone who’d risen far beyond his true capabilities. But then again, Too had demonstrated loyalty over the past year. Something Ot-Mul valued more than intelligence, at least at this particular moment in time.
“What is the measure of your assets?”
The admiral looked relieved the subject matter had changed. “One hundred and sixty-two thousand warships, Supreme Commander.”
That number was somewhat less than Ot-Mul had figured it would be. Still … formidable. And, added to the two hundred and twenty separate fleet assets he’d just arrived with—approximately one hundred and ten thousand warships—they had now amassed the entirety of the Craing forces in space: Two hundred and seventy-two thousand battle-ready ships.
Ot-Mul stood and took in the other active visual feeds around him. At first glance, they looked more like distant star systems than the twinkling lights of thousands upon thousands of warships. His plan was wonderfully simple. Bring back every Craing vessel—those from the farthest reaches of the universe—into a convergence of the most powerful phalanx ever assembled. Moving forward, there would be no more defeats. No more surprises. Tomorrow, when his combined forces moved out, they would clear a swath of destruction that would, finally, end all resistance. He’d start with the biggest thorn in his side, the Allied worlds. And, of course, Earth. He’d destroy their insignificant fleet, along with their two Caldurian vessels. Once and for all, he’d quell the Allied influences that had recently plagued his people. Then, he’d return home to the Craing worlds where, without influences from the outside, their pathetic quest for independence would wither and die.
“Be ready, Admiral Too … we move out first thing in the morning.”
“Yes, Supreme Commander. I will alert the fleet captains.”
The visual feed disappeared. Ot-Mul left the bridge, still feeling uneasy. Why? He should be elated at what he’d accomplished. Everything was coming together. Ot-Mul headed in the direction of the battle droids’ holding berth. Their small compartment had become his refuge … his sanctuary. He tried in earnest to avert his thoughts from Captain Reynolds. But soon the hatred he felt seethed and slithered up from the darkest recesses of his mind. The face of the repulsive human soon dominated his consciousness. I’m coming for you, Captain Reynolds. First I will destroy all you care about, and then … only then … I will watch you die.
Chapter 15
Ricket could barely make out what was happening in the adjoining cell. The quasi-transparent, cube-like observation compartment distorted his view. He saw movement. More like wavering shapes than anything having real detail. He was sure that was no accident … it was all part of the intended psychological imprint this place made on its inhabitants.
Ricket sat cross-legged in his cell and stared at what was happening, he surmised, within an enclosure identical to his own. He was quite certain who was who. There were two shapes, one small and one large—Gaddy and the guardian. Although he hadn’t actually seen a shape other than Gaddy’s moving about within the cell, her voice—and later, her screams—were unmistakable. As for the guardian, Ricket had endured, first-hand, experiences with that most unpleasant alien being.
Three separate visits now—each one progressively more invasive—more painful. Aside from the guardian’s proclivity to cause pain, Ricket found the creature fascinating. Easily as large as a rhino-warrior, he was an interesting amalgamation of serpent and reptile. And then there was the smell. A strong, fishlike odor. Fish and something else … chloride?
Thus far, their keepers were unaware of either Ricket’s, or Gaddy’s, internal nano-devices. Their inset devices had been their one saving grace. As the torture sessions began, both Gaddy and Ricket had come to the other’s aid; not physically, but emotionally. This, the two had worked out, allowed them to go into something akin to autopilot mode. The ability to turn inward and deal with the misery—misery
that inevitably turned into extreme agony.
Now, listening through Gaddy’s open NanoCom channel, Ricket concentrated on what the guardian was asking her.
“And how did you return to Halimar? How did you skirt the thousands of warships that surrounded the Craing worlds?”
Calmly, Ricket told her exactly what to say: A small shuttle. We weren’t noticed.
Ricket listened to Gaddy’s raspy voice repeat his words. “A small shuttle. We weren’t noticed.”
Ricket let out a breath. Any mention of HAB 12 and their ability to move between The Lilly’s Zoo and the Craing world of Halimar could have dire consequences in the future.
The guardian’s frustration instigated a quick reaction and the progressive turning of a small dial. Frustrated with his lack of any real progress, the guardian resorted to a new variety of devices—each designed to produce the highest levels of pain, with minimum actual physiological damage. It made sense. The guardian wanted to extend his torment session timeframes as long as possible—a totally incapacitated prisoner, or worse, a dead one, would be of no use.
Ricket also experienced this particularly terrible device just hours earlier. He heard Gaddy scream out in pain as this same device, now attached to her toes, came alive. Red hot heat, indistinguishable from the sensation of an open flame, first blisters the soles of the feet, then the flesh begins to char, and exposed nerves start sending excruciating, white hot jolts of pain up the leg, and the body goes rigid—to the point leg bones are on the verge of shattering.
Ricket’s eyes filled with tears as he heard Gaddy’s heightened shrieks of pain. And then, finally, there was quiet.
Ricket heard the wet, lispy, voice of her tormenter say, “I want you to imagine something for me, Gaddy. I want you to imagine having a long life. Many more years. Imagine those years spent right here. Spent right here with me. Did you know my species has a remarkable lifespan? My father survived close to two thousand years. I am a mere three hundred years old, so I will be here long after you take your last breath. If you don’t start cooperating, we will be spending decades together … right here in this little cell. Understand, you will not be rescued … there is no hope of that. No one has ever escaped the confines of Dreathlor prison barge.”
Scrapyard Ship 7: Call to Battle Page 8