by Jay Allan
Ethan called out a command for the lights to dim. The room plunged into near darkness, and then Tova stepped inside, and she stopped squinting. As the doors swished shut behind her, she walked to one side of the room where she stopped and stood with her eyes flicking suspiciously from one officer to the next, as if she were equally mistrustful of the humans as they were of her.
Ethan reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of aural translators. He passed them to Ithicus Adari, who was sitting to his left, and asked the pilot to put one in his ear and pass the rest around the table. Looking up, Ethan said, “These translators will help you understand Tova as she will understand us.”
The assembled officers each took one of the translators as they were passed around the table, fitting them into their ears which were not already wearing a comm piece.
As soon as they were done, Ethan went on, “Tova is going to help us detect cloaked Sythian ships along our journey.”
“But, sir, we have a cloak detector for that,” Corpsman Goldrim, the gravidar operator, said.
Ethan turned to Goldrim with a smile. The boy was young, too young to be a part of a bridge crew under any normal circumstances. “I apologize for the lie, but there is no such thing as a cloak detector. Tova has been our cloak detector all this time, hiding in her crèche aboard our ship.”
The assembled officers grew very quiet, and the air seemed to grow thick with accusation. “She’s not been a visible presence on this ship until now, but Tova is as much an officer of the fleet as any of us.” Ethan’s eyes swept around the room. “The Gors are able to detect cloaked ships because they are telepaths, and in the same way that they communicate they can also find and locate one another.”
The comm officer turned to look at Tova. “So why doesn’t she just contact the Gors aboard Obsidian Station and have them pass on our message to the fleet?”
“That was my question when I brought her here,” Ethan said. “Tova tells me that she needs to be within roughly 10 light years of another Gor to be able to contact them. She also warns that if she does so, whoever she contacts will be able to locate her, too.”
“Then she can’t help us detect cloaked Sythians without revealing us to them,” Goldrim said.
“Without a cloak, we’re already visible, but even if that weren’t the case, the Gors are on our side. If we’re not planning to rescue them, they can’t afford to disobey their Sythian masters overtly, but they can help us in covert ways—by revealing the location of cloaked Sythian ships and by not revealing ours.
“Now, here is the problem. We need to get to within at least 10 light years of Obsidian Station so that Tova can contact them for us. We’re low on fuel, and we don’t have any long range scout ships aboard. That leaves us with exactly two options that I can think of—one, we send the Defiant on the most direct route possible to Obsidian Station. Or two—we modify Brondi’s corvette for extended range and send it instead.” With that, Ethan turned to Petty Officer Cobrale Delayn. “Can we do that?”
Delayn hesitated. “I’m not sure . . . how far are we talking?”
Ethan turned to Damen Corr, the helmsman. He was another middle-aged man, but his hair was still a vibrant red, and his face relatively wrinkle-free. He appeared to be making calculations in his head. Ethan saw the man squinting and scratching his head too much, so he triggered the star map on the captain’s table and set the zoom so that they could see both their current location and Obsidian Station. Ethan nodded to the helmsman. “Use the controls on your side to set the most direct course from here.”
“On the lanes or off?”
“Off the lanes for now. If we have the fuel for it, that’s the course we’ll take.”
Damen Corr nodded and turned to his controls. A moment later, a jointed green line appeared on the map, joined with three points where they’d need to revert to real space to navigate around obstacles between them and Obsidian Station. “All right, according to the map, the shortest route is 41 light years. . . .”
The engineer was already shaking his head. “To travel that far off the lanes with the Defiant will take us almost twice as much fuel as we have left aboard, and to refit a smaller ship for such a trip would take one much larger than a corvette. The drive system and fuel supply alone would take up more cubic space than we’d have if we stripped the corvette to its beams.”
Ethan frowned. “And if we travelled on the lanes?”
“On the lanes . . .” Damen Corr bent to his controls once more, and another jointed line appeared, this one less direct and joined with many more points where they’d need to revert to real space. “It’s 57 light years, but because the gates will open the wormholes for us, we’ll have more than enough fuel to make the trip with the Defiant.”
Ethan looked from the helmsman to the engineer and back again. “Would a modified corvette make it that far on the lanes?”
“Maybe . . .” Delayn said, rubbing his chin. “But she won’t have shields or weapons.”
Caldin shook her head. “Then the fuel is not the problem. A naked corvette would never get that far. Even one Sythian fighter would be enough to take it out.”
Ethan pursed his lips and nodded. “We’ll take a hybrid approach. The Defiant will make half the trip using the lanes, and then we’ll send out Brondi’s corvette to skirt the most dangerous systems. Delayn, Mr. Corr, would you please run a calculation of how much fuel we’ll expend and where would be the optimal point to stop and send out the corvette? We can afford to fall short by a few light years if need be, and then have Tova contact the station for help.”
Both men nodded and began conferring between them. Damen worked the star map while Delayn brought out his holo pad and started making calculations.
The rest of them waited while Damen and Delayn came up with the optimal flight plan. A few minutes later both men looked up from their work, and Damen nodded to the glowing blue grid which rose out of the captain’s table between them.
“Our best option would be to send the Defiant along the space lanes until the Odaran System. From there we could conceivably stop to send out the corvette and have it travel off the lanes the rest of the way to Obsidian Station. There’ll be just enough fuel for the corvette to make it the whole way, assuming nothing goes wrong.”
Ethan frowned. “What might go wrong?”
“Well,” Delayn began, setting his holo pad down on the table. “A modified corvette with maximum space devoted to the drive system and fuel supply might make it as far as 21 light years, travelling off the lanes, but we run the risk of seriously overheating the reactor. If that happens, it could suffer a meltdown and destroy the ship. If the crew sees that happening, they’ll have to drop out of SLS early to let the reactor cool. That will mean opening an extra wormhole and using even more fuel to make the trip. The route we’ve plotted allows for one such emergency stop. If the reactor is spent by then, hopefully Tova is close enough to make contact with her people.”
Ethan sighed and nodded. “Okay.”
Caldin frowned at the route outlined on the star map. “Even two systems is a lot to cross without a cloak.”
Ethan turned to study the map with her. “Taylon, where we are now, is remote, so it should be relatively empty. If there were Sythians here, they should have found us by now.”
Ithicus Adari chose that moment to speak up. “We could send out the nova trainees on a recon flight to check that.”
Ethan turned to him. “A live training mission? What if they find something? We could lose all our novas right out the launch tubes.”
“As you said, they’d have found us by now if they were here—” Ithicus turned to look at Tova. She stood leaning against the wall with her brawny arms crossed over her thick, masculine chest. “And wouldn’t she have detected them if they were here?”
Ethan nodded. “Okay, send the novas out to make sure we’re clear to the gate, but pick the best candidates for that mission. We don’t want any accidents.” Ithicus nodded,
and Ethan turned back to the group to say, “The next system in line is Forlax.” He tapped the associated point on the map so they could view more detailed information about the system. The most recent recon report was just a month old. A cloaked guardian-class destroyer had been sent out to investigate. They’d found a small fleet of Sythians at Forlax, but nothing significant.
“It would appear that Forlax is also fairly empty,” Ethan said, reading the report. “After that comes Odaran. We’ll drop out of SLS a few million klicks short of the gate and send out Brondi’s corvette. That’s just two systems to cross, and one of them is most likely empty. We can definitely make it that far.”
“Agreed,” Ithicus Adari said. “Assuming the recon data is still accurate. What if we send a scout ship ahead of us to Forlax?”
Ethan grimaced. “And let them know we’re coming?” He shook his head. “Even if the recon is out of date, we’re better off keeping the element of surprise. There’s roughly 10,000 klicks between the gate where we’ll enter Forlax and the gate to Odaran. We should be able to cross that before the Sythians can react and intercept us.”
The dubious looks being traded around the table told Ethan what his crew thought of that, but he ignored their skepticism. They didn’t have a choice. “I can think of just one further matter to address.” Turning to Delayn, Ethan nodded. “Tova’s mate is trapped aboard the Valiant, and Brondi has no idea. I need you and Tova to discuss ways that he might sabotage the carrier before we arrive to take it back. Do you think you could walk Tova through a plan that she can easily explain to her mate?”
Delayn cast a wary glance over his shoulder to where Tova stood. He visibly started as the alien’s yellow eyes found him. “I . . .” Delayn trailed off. “I could try,” he finished.
“Good. Is there anything else to discuss?” Ethan asked, his gaze travelling around the table.
“Just one more thing,” Atton said from the opposite end of the table. His features were blurred blue by the star map hovering between them. The bright points of stars and star systems seemed to dance across his face as they slowly swirled above the table. “We need to have our resident biochemist, Dr. Kurlin Vastra, test everyone aboard for live strains of the virus that killed our crewmates. We can’t afford to infect anyone else when we meet with reinforcements from Obsidian Station.”
Ethan nodded. “I agree. Get Dr. Kurlin working on it.”
Ithicus turned to Ethan with a frown. “Do we even know what the frek that virus was?”
“Not yet,” Ethan replied.
“I’ve never seen anything kill so quickly before,” Caldin said. “And why did we survive?”
“We’re still investigating the matter,” Ethan replied waving one hand dismissively. “It would appear that we all had some sort of immunity. The virus was engineered, so that’s how it got past our sensors. Brondi propagated it through the Valiant as a prelude to his attack. Our resident expert on the matter is Dr. Vastra, so it would be better to direct any questions you have to him when you see him.
“If there’s no further business to discuss, then this meeting is adjourned. You all have your assignments, and we all know the plan. We can do this. It’s just two systems.” Turning to Ithicus, Ethan said, “I want that recon flight to fly tomorrow morning. We’re going to head out as soon as you give us the all-clear.” With that, Ethan snapped off the holo projection above the table and dialed the glow panels in the room up to full brightness once more. Tova turned to him with a squinty-eyed glare, but Ethan ignored her. Rising from the table, he gave them all a grim look and said, “Immortals be with us.”
* * *
Alec Brondi reached the lift tube with his bodyguards to find a whole platoon of armored soldiers awaiting his command. The platoon sergeant saw him coming and saluted.
“Sir, we’ve sent a probe down to scan the deck, but something took it out when it reached the med lab. Preliminary scans from the probe show no active life forms in the area, so we have to assume that everyone is dead and that the assailant is some form of automaton.”
“No life forms?”
“None, sir.”
Brondi frowned. “I see. Let’s go take a look.” He started forward, but the sergeant didn’t budge.
“I would advise against that, sir.”
“Why?” Brondi’s smile faded to an impatient look which warned against further contradicting his wishes.
“I’m only considering your safety, sir. It would be best if we cleared the area first.”
“You will go first, but I’m following. As soon as your platoon clears the area around the lift tube I will join you.”
The sergeant hesitated briefly before giving a curt nod. “Yes, sir.” He turned to his men and said, “Squad one, into the lift!”
Four men stepped out of line, turned, and marched into the waiting lift tube. Brondi watched the lift doors closing behind them and the tube dropping away.
“Tune your comms to the platoon frequency,” the sergeant said to Brondi. “Frequency bravo echo five.”
Brondi and his bodyguards changed frequencies and then listened as the point squad’s transmissions began filtering into their ear pieces.
“It’s frekkin’ dark down here! Several of the fixtures are smashed.”
“It’s also frekkin’ cold!” another man said.
“Keep it down! I think I saw some movement up ahead. . . .”
They heard a loud whoosh over the comms and then a clatter as some metallic object fell to the floor.
“The frek? Where’s Three?”
They heard a muted gurgling.
“Something’s in here with us!” the first man whispered sharply.
“Two? What happened to . . . oh krak. . . . Two are you . . . he’s dead! Frek it! He’s—”
They heard a loud pop, and then silence, followed by heavy breathing. Someone was trying to wheeze out a word. “Heh . . . hehhww . . . hehwwp!”
The sergeant yelled into his comm piece, “Squad one, squad one, come in!”
Static answered.
“Shut it down,” Brondi said. The sergeant turned to him with a blank look, so Brondi nodded to the lift. “I said shut it down. Shut down the lift. We’ll vent the atmosphere on that deck and whatever the frek it is can go blue in the face for all I care.”
The sergeant shook his head slowly. “It’s not even alive, sir, and we need to get another squad down there to see if we can pull out survivors.”
Brondi scowled. “Did it sound like there were survivors?”
The sergeant’s lips formed a thin line. “We won’t know until we look.”
“Drop a plasma grenade down the lift and stop wasting my men and my time.”
“Don’t you want to know what it is?”
“You’ve seen one bot you’ve seen ‘em all. Now flush it with a grenade and get back to clearing bodies off my ship. They’re starting to stink.”
Brondi spun on his heel and began walking away, his bodyguards following a step behind. He wasn’t sure what angered him more—that Verlin had gone and gotten himself killed by a bot, or that the rest of his men insisted on throwing their lives away just as pointlessly.
As Brondi was about to turn a corner in the corridor, he heard the muted rumble of an explosion and then felt the subtle vibrations of it rumbling underfoot. At least the platoon sergeant knew how to follow orders. Whatever they’d unearthed down there was dead now.
* * *
Roan was halfway back to his crèche when he heard the deafening boom and saw the wall of fire rushing toward him. Loose objects went flying, and the fire reached him in a searing wind, picking him up and tossing him the rest of the way down the corridor. The roaring in his ears was deafening, and he felt a molten wave of shrapnel pelt his armor. When the noise and heat finally subsided, just a few seconds had passed, but Roan felt like it had been an eternity. He heard a sizzling sound above the ringing in his ears and the pitter patter of debris settling to the deck. When he cracked his eyes
open he saw that the sizzling was the sound of water boiling off his armor.
Roan grimaced and pushed himself to his feet to check himself over. His cloaking system still worked, and he hadn’t sustained any major injuries. He turned in a slow circle to study the melted ruin of what had once been his home aboard the Valiant. The ice pillars were chipped and melted down to their duranium poles, and bare deck was exposed under foot. Great puddles of water were running down into the floor grates and into the pool. Flaming bits of debris were flickering in the dark, causing Roan to squint against the brightness.
He had no doubt that the men he’d been fighting were responsible for the explosion. Roan turned to look over his shoulder and saw the entrance to his crèche half-blocked with some sort of twisted metal framework.
Roan hissed. They had intended to kill him. They had failed. Now it was his turn, and he would have his revenge.
Chapter 8
There was a bustle of activity on the lower decks where the crew quarters were located. Some of these decks had been previously exposed to space and now they were hastily patched with the drab, unpainted gray of spare hull panels.
The glow panels flickered as Atton proceeded down the corridor, making him realize that the electrical conduits were still damaged. He heard the crackle and hiss of laser welders in the distance, and saw them flashing in the dimness up ahead. As he walked, he noticed that some of the doors to the bunkrooms had been blown open and jagged molten holes were all that remained.
Atton passed a repair crew guiding a giant hull panel on a hover gurney down the corridor just before he came to bunkroom number 42. This was the room assigned to Dr. Kurlin and his family. Atton paused briefly at the door to straighten his uniform. The upper left shoulder was now emblazoned with the gold star insignia of a captain.
Atton knocked twice, and a moment later the door swished open to reveal the tall cadaverous form of Dr. Kurlin. The man had bags and dark circles beneath his bloodshot blue eyes, which spoke of too many sleepless nights.