by P. C. Haring
“How did you encounter them?”
Again, she hesitated.
“We encountered them in an unfortunate set of circumstances. Many years back, generations before my time, one of our border patrols responded to a distress call from a Verasai research post. The Ralgon had attacked it. We were successful in turning them back, but not before they destroyed the base. The Verasai were quick to blame us for the loss, and for the Ralgon attack in the first place. Not only did it escalate our tensions, but it also alerted the Ralgon that we were a threat. Since then, we’ve been in a fight for our very survival.”
Amado took this in. The similarities between the Remali and the Alliance were apparent, if he could trust the truth of her story. Even so, the losses the Ralgon would have inflicted spoke for themselves and the pit in his stomach grew ever more intense.
“For whatever it’s worth, General, I’m sorry for what’s happened to your people.”
Again, Rashar replied with a nod. “Captain, please understand. But we are on the verge. We fight every day for our survival, not only as a galactic civilization, but as a species. We used to be a proud confederation that spanned most of mapped space. But now we’re reduced to only a handful of worlds, and sanctuary stations such as this. The Ralgon have weakened us, but we’re constantly under pressure from the Verasai and other mercenary interests looking to poach what little we have left. We are not a violent people, despite our first encounter. But in our struggle to survive, we’ve become...”
“Desperate.”
Rashar met his eyes. Her hard shell had shattered and all that remained was the tired and broken General who had seen one too many engagements, lost too many friends and too much ground to an enemy that would never relent. It was no wonder why she had warmed so much over the past couple of weeks. She was on the ragged edge and needed something, anything to keep her from falling into the abyss. The Alliance had seen this too but where they had been granted a reprieve by the unpredicted Ralgon retreat, the General had not been so lucky. His heart sank. It sank for her, for what she had experienced, and for the knowledge that if the Ralgon had, indeed, returned, it would only be a matter of time before the Alliance became what the Remali were today.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
November 3, 2832
08:00
Mjöllnir
WHILE AMADO and the crew allowed themselves to be led by the nose around Surahan station, Agent Schrider took the downtime to accelerate the timetable. Things were moving too fast and swift action need to be taken in order to curtail the threat to Prime. Leaving the ship in play this long had been a calculated risk; one intended to avoid raising suspicions. But the longer the Mjöllnir remained intact, and interacting peacefully with the Remali, the larger a threat it posed.
Schrider’s task today had always been a part of the plan, however the meeting of the Alliance and the Remali forced the agent to move faster than anticipated. A formal peace accord between the Alliance and the Remali would tip the balance of power unfavorably and it was up to the agent to ensure this did not come to pass. Schrider knew what Prime knew, statistical probability indicated both the Agent and Ares would be lost in the process. But they lived to serve Prime and if that meant their sacrifice for the greater goal, then so be it.
Schrider twisted the torso so the body could lie horizontally along the service tunnel. This would, in turn, provide a better angle with which to install the device Ares had designed and fabricated. A thing of beauty, the data shunt would filter the Mjöllnir’s operational data—energy distribution, weapons status, repair requests, command codes, logs, everything—through an encrypted data stream camouflaged in the ship’s engine output. Camouflaged, that is, to everyone except those who knew where to look and how to decrypt it. Not only that, but the data stream would leave a trail in space; a line of breadcrumbs that would be used to track the Mjöllnir no matter where it went. Ares would cull that data and forward it to Prime and the rest of the Phalanx. Then, at the opportune moment, Prime would strike.
November 3, 2832
10:00
Surahan Station
THE ONLY THING easier than sneaking around a half empty battleship, was sneaking around an overcrowded space station. Whereas the agent had to sneak around corners and avoid the eyes of the random passerby on board Mjöllnir, here Schrider could walk right in, talk past any questions and keep moving. If directly confronted by a member of the Mjöllnir crew, the agent would simply revert back to the cover persona. It was just that easy. With the overcrowding of the station, security was nonexistent; a pathetic statement about the last self-proclaimed sanctuary of a pathetic race, to be sure. Still, Schrider did not question the good fortune.
For all of its resources, Prime had never been able to locate this Remali stronghold. The mainstay of the Phalanx had been dedicated to preservation and protection roles, defending both Prime and the seeded planets. While direct offense was not warranted at this stage, the phalanx did continually harass and press against Remali defenses here and there. However, the encounters had never been enough to push the Remali into further retreat. The required expenditure of resources towards that, or to begin a coordinated sweep of the sector, would have been an inefficient usage of resources, one not warranted at this early stage. Soon enough, the seeded planets would begin to crack and the constraint of resource allocation would no longer be an issue.
The agent ascended the service ladder and crawled through the access tunnels to the appropriate junction. Ares had forwarded the specifications and deck plans, making the job that much easier. The panel fell off the wall at the agent’s mere touch, and it took no effort at all to install the device Ares had provided for the station.
Unlike the Mjöllnir, there was very little data that needed to be sent. As a noncombatant, this station would be an easy target. Yes, the perimeter held significant defensive potential, but punching a hole through would of little issue. All Prime needed was a set of coordinates. Then, after the Remali military lay in ruins, their broken hulls drifting through the cold void of space, wiping this station and the Remali from existence would prove easy.
November 3, 2832
11:00
Ares
MANIPULATING the Surahan computers proved too easy. Within five seconds, Ares had sliced through the ramshackle firewall and accessed docking berth controls. Two seconds after that, a system error appeared on the Surahan dock control computers indicating the docking clamps on a berth along the stations central axis had seized in the open position. The prescribed repair would not begin for several hours, but until then, the berth would have to be shut down. Four minutes after the repair authorization and shut down had gone through, Ares slid into the open berth while under cloak and docked up, allowing Schrider to board.
“The devices have been installed and set to their standby modes. Run a full sweep for them,” Schrider said, wasting no time.
Ares beeped and chirped as it executed the Agent’s orders.
“Detected. Two signatures- one aboard Alliance Mjöllnir, the second aboard Remali held Surahan station. Test pattern telemetry is strong.”
“Good.”
Schrider stepped over to one of the consoles and began reviewing the telemetry as it came back. Everything seemed to be in order. Now to set the plan in motion. Schrider’s fingers ran over the console with lightning dexterity as the commands to activate the tracking beacons were entered and executed.
“Schrider, both beacons are online.”
Schrider did not respond other than to keep working at the station and after a few minutes, the agent broke the silence. “Ares, I have an assignment. Three objectives.”
“Ready for input.”
The display in front of Schrider opened into a new prompt and the operative keyed the orders- update Prime, create a diversion that would force the Mjöllnir to leave the station and then begin the offensive.
“Objectives accepted.”
“Mission begins in two hours.”
> Ares gave no verbal response, but a countdown timer appeared on the display and began ticking off the seconds. With one more stop to make, Schrider departed.
November 3, 2832
13:00
Mjöllnir
OF THE FOUR that had been recovered alive on the surface of Artez, one had succumbed. That left three, of which Schrider would need two. The medical staff had put them together in the same ward, citing an easier time caring for them. Schrider did not care, beyond the fact their presence in the same room made it easier to commune as one.
They remained weak, but alive. Medical staff had put them into comas, rendering them thus far unable to assist Schrider’s efforts. But notes in the system indicated they were being weaned off the medication and they would be brought out of their deep sleep. Given how things had progressed, it did not appear that Schrider would be able to make use of these resources. Prime had to have known that and yet three had been provided, though none would be used. They would be wasted. But Prime did not waste resources, did not make mistakes when computing proper allocations. Such a thing was simply not possible. Yet here they were, sent here by Prime. But why?
Did Prime question Schrider’s ability to get the job done?
That was the only legitimate conclusion that could be drawn. Prime did not have confidence in Schrider. But when the time came and Mjöllnir existed as little more than a burning wreck, Prime would know Schrider’s value. Whether the agent survived what was to come or not, it did not matter. If, by some stroke of poor luck, the Mjöllnir survived what was to come, Schrider would need the help of the sleepers, if for nothing more than to save face and finish the job.
But it would not come to that. Schrider’s work was sound and the plan was statistically flawless. The agent stood and made for the door to the ward and back to the rest of the ship with one thought resonating in mind. The Mjöllnir was doomed.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
November 3, 2832
15:00
Dropship Survey 1138
LABONNE STRETCHED in her seat as the ship drifted above the mass of civilian ships. Why the hell Lieutenant Melor needed to take this survey was beyond her. Even more so was the reason she needed the CAG to babysit. She sat hunched over her tablet poring over her results. These ships were all junkers: not worth the time or effort to investigate. The panel beeped as a quick stabilizing burst fired to keep the ship in position. Labonne returned to her own tablet and the book she was reading. The world around her melted away leaving only the text and after what seemed like only a few seconds, Melor stood over her, a hand on her shoulder.
“Can you take a look at this? I need a second opinion.”
Labonne slid out of her seat and worked her way to Melor’s aft work station. She had zeroed in on one of the larger refugee ships and seemed to picking through the sensor returns on a high-res holo.
“What do you make of this?” Melor zoomed in on one of the larger breaches. Labonne examined it before responding. The section in question had deformed outward.
“Internal explosion or some other violent ejection. My bet is a through and through shot.”
“A warhead enters one side of a ship, and exits out the opposite without detonating,” Melor muttered. “Yeah, I had thought that too, but there’s no apparent entry point.”
“Could they have repaired the entry, but not the exit?”
“I suppose, but take a look at this.”
Melor brought up an even more detailed image of the damage. After a moment, the hologram highlighted the stressed hull fragments that hung off the ship and simulated the hull pulling back together as if undoing the damage that had been dealt to the ship. When the computer finished, it re-highlighted the hull sections indicating the path of each from their blown open state. Labonne’s eyes narrowed as she now saw what Melor was getting at. The hole that remained, due likely to debris that had been destroyed and could not be accounted for by the simulation, was quite small: perhaps a quarter meter, if that. Any weapon or explosion capable of leaving a hole several meters in diameter in the ship’s hull would have dealt far more damage to the surrounding sections and would have fragmented more of the hull. Only one possible solution remained.
“Something ripped that hole open?”
Melor nodded.
Although she had never seen it in the field, Labonne knew of only one enemy that employed of this kind of attack. There had been much study at flight school about how Ralgon minions would land on a ship’s hull and tear through it in order to gain access inside the ship. She had flown over three dozen exercises, both in the simulator and in the cockpit of an actual ship, where the objective had been to skim the surface of a ship’s hull and strafe off would-be Ralgon boarders. They were hard as hell to hit at combat speed.
“Well,” she offered, her throat dry, her voice unsure. “This certainly lends credence to the Remali’s assertions about their war with the Ralgon. What’s our next step? Report to the Captain?”
“Not yet. We might be premature at this point.” She turned away from the console to look at Labonne. “Colonel, would you mind opening a comm channel to that ship? Let’s see if they’re interested in a repair job.”
November 3, 2832
19:00
Mjöllnir - Science Lab
NIRA ROLLED her eyes as she closed the communications channel at her desk. How typical of Cody to lose track of the time and miss dinner. She sighed. She had been right; she was going to lose him to the ship. Back on Lumo, she had hoped her joking tone would have stuck in his mind. But he had been too ready to dismiss the concerns. Perhaps he had thought she was worried he might go down with the ship if something catastrophic happened. But no—it had been this that had given her pause. This slow descent into total immersion by the monstrosity that was this ship and the crew within. It had been his dedication and focus that had drawn her to him in the first place. But now it was the very same thing that threatened to pull them apart. For now, at least, he was lucky that Lieutenant Melor and Colonel Labonne had brought her this special project. The distraction of the analysis had provided a bit of an entertaining curiosity, one she never would have expected when they had called her to the cargo deck to look at some ‘slime.”
“I’m not sure what we’re looking at, Doctor,” Melor had said. “Colonel Labonne and I were running a survey on the refugee fleet and found some interesting damage patterns. We negotiated with one of the crews in good faith that if they’d let us take the debris from their ship we’d repair their hull. They were only too eager to accept.”
“Careful you don’t start a trend; I’m not sure the Captain would approve.”
Melor was beside herself, going out of her way to re-assure her this had not been their plan. She had found herself backing way off to calm this before something got out of hand.
“How can I help you two?”
“We were running through our initial inspections of the debris when we found this slime.” Melor poked at the congealed substance with one of her tools, “We were hoping you could tell us where it came from.”
To the untrained eye the substance would appear to be little more than some sort of congealed slime, freeze dried by its exposure to the vacuum of space for who knew how long. But if the analysis results were anything close to accurate, this was an enzyme. Given how much damage had been done to its structure from the flash freeze and exposure to the vacuum, to say nothing about any of the cross contamination that likely occurred while it rode on that hull fragment, it was a bit of a surprise that she had managed to pull any reliable result out of the computers. Even so, finding a more accurate analysis would require a little leg work.
A brief sojourn to the cargo bay gave her a much-needed opportunity to stretch her legs. The walk did her good, but as she entered a wave of lightheadedness took her, leaving her short of breath and leaning against the bulkhead for support. The moment passed and she straightened up, feeling lucky that none of the technicians seemed to have noticed
her spell.
Neither Melor nor Labonne were here, for which she was also grateful. They would want some sort of answer, one she was not yet ready to provide. She found the debris where it had been the last time she had come down, but this time only a single tech stood over it.
“Excuse me…” Nira started.
The tech looked up from his work. “May I help you, ma’am?”
This was military and they loved their protocol.
“I was wondering if you’d had the chance to complete an analysis on the composition of this fragment?”
The technician offered a smirk. “If you’re referring to a metallurgical analysis, Doctor, then yes, the results are available.”
“Yes of course.” How had she forgotten that term? Granted, she was no engineer but even so. “Might I have a copy of the findings?”
He consulted his tablet, tapping the screen with his stylus. “Just sent them to your handheld. Can I help with anything else?”
She shook her head. “Thank you, but no. That’s everything. I appreciate the time.”
Her tablet was waiting on her desk in the lab when she returned, beeping a notification that she had received a file. After transferring the data to the computer, she used the results of the metallurgical analysis to create a filter. It wouldn’t be perfect, of course, but it would give her a basis to remove as many of the contaminants as possible. She could get a better feel for what this damn thing was without getting mixed up with whatever else had been on that ship.
Riding on that ship. Was that why Cody had spent so much time with the General? Had he wanted to see aboard her flagship? Had she been any less secure in her relationship, she might have thought Cody attracted to the General. But that thought had found blanket dismissal almost the instant it attempted to enter her mind. No, his fidelity and the trust between them had always been rock solid and she would not embark on that path of paranoia.