After some ten hours of down time, Magnus walked measuredly into CIC. He was early for his watch, having woken half an hour ago and reviewed the ship’s log with his mind’s eye. The human in him was disappointed for missing the drama of the brutal battle of the Salmis four jump point, but he needed sleep and the Commander in him reasoned that there was nothing he would have done differently. One downside of using his Psy-Guard abilities, was a far greater need for recovery, although it wasn’t something he widely admitted.
He took command on the log from Bainham, who stood down for his own rest period, then settled in to review the highlights of the battle. Jones and Cartwright had gone off shift with just a Junior Pilot left running the ship with a Watch Officer. Now the mission looked like it would not end quietly or quickly, he would have to look at balancing the available experience throughout the ship’s day. A crew of twenty could cope for a while, but not for a month or longer.
Armstrong had, extraordinarily, been busy. Normally a Paratrooper Corporal would have little to do with interviewing intelligence assets. Dreadnought was well short of her optimal crew, for this mission, he had taken on the roles of both security and intelligence. It gained him slightly more volume to work in on the ship. The interrogation suite and the briefing suite both became his territory. Armstrong ruminated to himself that at least he had been blessed with capable staff.
Gary Thresher has completed a memorable tour of duty on with the Laurentian Consulate on Baja Station. It was small, but due to the interface of several different human cultures and philosophical divides provided challenges, opportunities and risks few other posts shared. Nine significant human powers with purist, supremacist and integrationist stances had representation at some level there.
Interstellar politics dictated that only junior officials who could be disavowed easily worked on Baja. The officially accredited staff were lowly in rank, but high with responsibility and large in number. With so many sacrificial lambs, informal contact between states was consequently high. Any contact that went poorly resulted in an official apology and the ‘explanation’ that the fault was with a junior member of staff now rotated off the posting, followed by an invitation to continue talks at a higher level. Thresher had undertaken or assisted with the interrogations of numerous dissidents, intelligence assets and ideologues, even a few defectors.
Charles Lincoln had a very different background. He’d served most of his century. Before the Treaty of Good Faith, Paratroopers had served Laurentian interests across known space, both officially and less so. A number of his tours were mentioned only as one line summaries in his service file. Higher access and a need to know would have revealed his role in still denied deployments to the now defunct Babylon Colony, thriving High Treskilion and the puzzlingly significant Leonidas’ World. The gaps not available to Armstrong’s security rating spoke even louder. Lincoln’s speciality was intelligence gathering missions where the participants had nerves of steel, staying invisible but combat capable. Lincoln had been handed the role of head of the ship’s intelligence department, even if it only consisted of himself.
Lincoln and Thresher found themselves waiting near sickbay after the irascible Doctor Stamp had curtly sent a message by mind’s eye informing them that Athena had awoken and would be fit to speak with shortly. After several hours of fending off complaints from Chief Engineer Cartwright about the behaviour of the recovered sample of archeo-tech, this duty was somewhat refreshing.
Despite being freshly removed from a medical coma, Agent Athena proved more challenging than the troopers had hoped.
In the unkempt medical office, a tired but unbowed figure sat in the normal occupant’s chair. She had dull brown unwashed hair carelessly done up in a bun. Her physique was currently somewhat more androgynous than she usually chose. When on Avalon, she allowed a fuller, more feminine figure and let her hair grow out in its natural auburn colour. Whilst on off-world duties, she preferred to be less memorable. The molecular machines in every cell of most Laurentians provided physical toughness, long healthy lives and secure communication. Most importantly for a member of the intelligence community, the implants gave a high degree of control over appearance. It did mean that fashion was complicated not just by clothes, but for the really committed, body type. Getting major bones into new shapes was still uncomfortable though.
Her clothes were clean, but utilitarian and appeared to have been freshly created from one of the ship’s extruders, still exuding that newly made smell.
Afterwards, Lincoln would privately reflect that she had set out to draw them off guard, then subvert the conversation. In complete contrast to her outward appearance, her eyes were fresh and radiated absolute confidence.
The Intelligence Officer currently known as Athena, smiled inwardly, as she sized up the two men sent to speak with her. Both of them had the weathered skin of regular planet dwellers, were very athletic and moved around with perfect balance, it was obvious they were soldiers. Such people were physically deadly, though could usually be manipulated by a skilled practitioner.
With such targets in sight, she would have normally taken the time to dress in formal yet flattering clothes, assume a haughty air of authority, take the chair of the person who owned the office, then waited until her supposed interviewers were walking through the door before imperiously demanding the Ship’s Commander immediately attend her.
However, she didn’t have time for the full set up. Doctor Stamp had followed advice about interrogations and debriefing, calling in her would-be interviewers as soon as he was sure of her recovery. He had shown his patient one small mercy, his refusal to send her to the interrogation room.
Athena had wanted control of the conversation from the start. Fortunately, Doctor Stamp was not especially tidy. She released the floor latch on a small medical cart. She rolled it to partially block the door, then reset the latch.
As both soldiers were mid-step around her improvised obstacle, she spoke with an authoritative tone “Gentlemen, I’m afraid I must ask you, summon Dreadnought’s Commander to a meeting in a secure briefing room immediately”.
She paused melodramatically, raised an eyebrow and said “Take me to your leader, if you will”.
Lincoln had his own experiences of speaking with difficult, clever subjects, but knew he had lost when Thresher had given into frustration, banged his hand of the desk and nearly shouted “We will ask the questions”. From back in the medical bay, a quiet but firm voice “Damn it boy, she won!”, continuing “Just go get the Skipper”.
Thresher stalked out of the medical office, eyeballed both Doctor Stamp, who scowled back.
Lincoln leaned back in his chair, allowed himself a small sardonic grin. “I think you pulled his leg right out the socket”.
“So, while bad cop’s busy, you can call me Athena”.
“Hmm. Like it, goddess of wisdom, craft and war. Which you bringing us?”.
“At least two out of three”.
“Which two?”, he quipped. Athena arched an eyebrow in response.
Armstrong rarely found fault with his Paras. The small Tor Station squad had been formed of experienced settled soldiers. Other than a habit of drinking far too much and liking to fight each other, there wasn’t much they did wrong.
Thresher found himself standing in the security office on the sharp end of the Corporal’s gold standard bollocking. He tried to count the number of bastards, arseholes and shitwits thrown his way. Armstrong didn’t seem to pause for breath in four minutes. Thresher’s ears burned at the tongue lashing. “Now, turn right, gain some height and fuck off”, in a deep burr.
“Yes, Corporal” Thresher slunk back out of the office, leaving Armstrong to speak with Magnus.
Armstrong wasted little time and contacted Magnus by mind’s eye “Skipper, our damsel will only speak with you”.
“Fine, I was just about to contact you. Bring her direct to the conference room to join the brain storming session. Magnus out”. To Armstrong he
seemed somewhere between exasperated and amused.
When she arrived in the conference room she paused just outside the doorway for a few seconds. The eavesdropping revealed two important truths. One, the tactical situation was more than a little grim. Two, Magnus’ plan was unconventional.
They had to overcome three groups of ships, preferably in detail. If Dreadnought assaulted all the Blight ships at once, she risked being overwhelmed by the first force, or weakened enough for reinforcements to block the jump point and finish her off.
Ideally, Athena would have explained the reasons they would gallantly risk their lives for. In reality, the information was too important to trust people who could soon be blighted themselves. So she lied. A bit anyway.
She sauntered in like she owned the place and sat down on a chair facing Magnus “Commander, thank you for the assistance. I’d like to speak with you. Privately”. She threw is a dash of flirtation at the end. Men could still be led by their baser instincts.
He looked up from a display. “Ah! Agent Athena, I presume”. He sounded bored. “I’m not really interested in listening and then repeating everything to my Officers. So, let’s skip over the bollocks. Brief us on what you’re doing here”.
“I’m afraid I have to ask more from you and your crew. I need to get back to Avalon, fast!”.
“We’ll do what we can, but leaving the system is looking … dicey”.
“I have the intelligence haul of the century sitting down in your hangar bay”.
“That is bloody obvious”. His frustrations spiked. He’d dealt with enough secret squirrel shite to last a century. “Your cry for help pulled us head first into a trap. There are unidentified ships at the two nearest jump points.” Athena looked aghast. Magnus rolled on “We have endurance and stealth on our side. We hide until they leave. Then use the in-system jump points or we set out for interstellar space and jump once we are far enough out”.
“Both of those options will take far too long. My intelligence is time critical”.
“I’m not risking my ship on so little”.
Cartwright spoke up “What is so important it can’t wait a few weeks? The Blight has been inactive for decades now” her tone was somewhat accusatory. “Laurentian defence policy is based on guarantees, from your agency no less, ten years warning before any interstellar threat can arise. That’s why you’re out here isn’t it? Keeping a finger on the pulse”. Cartwright’s own brief history working in concert with Laurentian intelligence community had left her with little trust with that group.
Athena turned to her. Athena’s eyes blazed, her tone terse “Don’t shoot the messenger. Armageddon is coming”.
Cartwright interrupted “When?”.
“Soon…….. days, maybe weeks. The Blight infections are up. It’s taken fleets of ships in the last few months. It’s big and it will overwhelm the whole human race if we don’t get the warning back”.
Benbow threw in his question “Why Avalon? We could go to any of the major interstellar ports and get warnings out to the other nations at once”.
“The Blight’s changed. There’s a new strain, much better at self-replicating. It’s been baiting the ……. How to say this?............ less technically able human cultures. It takes their ships and bodies. I’ve seen it infect natural humans in minutes, completely taking over every cell in days”.
Athena paused, only to be met with stunned silence.
She took that as invitation to continue “It’s really virulent with primitive ships. Once it gets inside the avionics, Blight control is almost instant. But it’s worse than that. It’s infiltrating the purist and supremacist factions. It makes everyone into slaves and nobody will know. We could face space stations de-orbiting onto cities or warmongering between old enemies”.
Armstrong stepped in with more questions “How long has this been going on for?”.
Athena replied “I don’t know, I’ve found evidence going back years, but it could be longer. Six months ago, I was sent out in the field to get a sample of the new strain. My work has been beyond top secret. The project is known as Spectrum. If any of the Blight’s agents realise someone’s on the them, they’ll suicide attack and take as many with them as possible”.
Armstrong wasn’t done probing for information “Before, the Blight victims attacked like berserkers. Their ships, their people just came at you swinging. We’ve never needed to check for infiltration”.
Athena continued the rapid back and forth “Is there any way we check for people or equipment for evidence of Blight infection? Can we check this crew, this ship, me? We’ve all been exposed to some degree”.
“I’ve given Doctor Stamp some ideas that will be ready to go in a couple of days. Fortunately, so far, Laurentians and our tech has proved highly resilient to the new strain. If you bathed in it for a few hours you might become infected. We could still have some infiltrations. The sample I’ve collected is vital. We have to get back. Now!”.
Chapter 7
“Charlie”.
No response.
“Hey! Charlie”. Louder.
Still no response.
“Charlie. You awake?”.
Through his mind’s eye to the loud mouth in question “I am now. What do want?”.
“How do you think he’s gonna do it?”.
“Who’s gonna do what, Gaz?”
“You know, the Skipper, how’s he gonna beat those Blighter ships at the jump point, save the Spartans? You know. Win!”.
“Dunno. The Corp didn’t tell me, Gaz”.
“But they outnumber us, Charlie”.
“Yeah”.
“How are we gonna win?”.
“He’s probably using us as a decoy Gaz”.
“What!!!” Charlie bit down hard on the bait “The Corp wouldn’t let him do that”.
“You did fuck him off a bit earlier. He might”.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Charlie?”.
“Have a little sleep Gaz. You might not get the chance again for a while”.
The assault shuttle continued on its course, cold and unseen.
Two of her crew slept on whilst the third tried to copy their example.
In Dreadnought’s CIC, Harry Bainham watched his handy work fly away. For the last two hours he’d sat at the Tactical post managing flight after flight of smart missiles and one departing assault shuttle. It had made an interesting change from his role at Sensors. Now Dreadnought was falling steadily behind her opening barrage. He and one junior pilot held a minimum watch to preserve the bulk of the crew for the upcoming fight.
On reflection, the attack plan put together by the senior Officers was bold, clever and full of guile. On the downside, it smacked of desperation and failed the keep it simple stupid test. Options were limited however, given the nearest two jump points were blocked by Blight Squadrons.
Eight hours later, Magnus walked into CIC with a spring in his step. Jones hadn’t seen it since before they’d been posted to Tor Station. He doubted Magnus got laid last night, sleeping with the crew wasn’t normally his style. Clearly starship command agreed with him.
Over the next two minutes the whole CIC shift changed. Heisenberg came in next to take up the Sensors post. Hannah Cartwright walked in with Chris Benbow just behind her.
The senior crew had all been relieved to rest eight hours ago. Dreadnought’s first battle in over six years would be conducted by the most experienced staff that the Tor Station misfits could offer.
Magnus had taken his seat. He’d been up for an hour, showering and eating a small breakfast. Sitting in the command chair in CIC with a mug of coffee in hand, contemplating how much he missed his true vocation whilst languishing in charge of Laurentia’s junk yard.
Few knew how desperately he’d tried to keep his skills up. He’d run through as many of the tactical simulator programmes as possible off duty. As Tor Station Commander, he had become responsible for wrecking the ships he’d dreamed of commanding. Alcoho
l numbed the wound, but he never gave up hope. Now he had this second chance to do what he was born for.
On the large wall on the far side of CIC, the display had split to display on four objectives.
At the Salmis four jump point, two Blighted frigates sat waiting to call in reinforcements. Half the Blighted squadron had spread out still looking for any remnants of the Lycurgus’ Battlegroup. Orbiting Salmis four’s moon, the other half of the Blighted squadron carried out the same task. Finally, Dreadnought’s flying course, tracking the ship’s progress and her flocks of smart missiles.
Normally battlecruisers like Dreadnought best fought at long range, pounding away with a spinal missile launcher. It was a classic idea, never yet bettered. However, today she had to get in close to with a more numerous foe. Magnus hoped that initiative would prevail.
Agent Athena walked into CIC half an hour before the engagement was due to begin. Deep down she needed a release from the discipline of covert work. She would have liked to make an impression, but she put that off a little longer however. No point jogging the elbows of Dreadnought’s crew or her Commander whilst her mission was still in the balance. It was a little frustrating to have come this far and have so little to contribute now.
She strolled to a supernumerary seat near the Commander’s post at the top and rear of the room. Magnus barely took his eyes off his work to acknowledge her. Professionally, she was pleased with her ability to pass unremarked, but the human in her craved a little more contact. With the slightest nod, Magnus went back to his work.
She’d only known Magnus by reputation until now. As a young man, he’d attended the Psy-Guard Academy for a number of years, then been invited to leave under something of a cloud. The details were unknown so the gossip mill fuelled scandalous theories.
Those lacking imagination had speculated he was insufficiently talented in the psionic arts and simply been moved on to a more suitable calling. With his family’s status, they could have smoothed over a failure easily enough. Athena took little at face value though.
The Syracuse Deception Page 5