Test of Mettle (A Captain's Crucible Book 2)

by Isaac Hooke

  “No,” Robert agreed.

  “Captain!” Ensign McNamara said. The urgency was obvious in his voice.

  “What is it now, Ensign?” Jonathan said. He was dreading the response.

  “The thirty reinforcements have arrived,” McNamara said.

  Jonathan glanced at the tactical display. Sure enough, from the Slipstream on the outskirts of the system, thirty red dots had appeared.

  “We weren’t expecting the main group for another day or so.” Robert sounded stunned.

  “It’s possible we experienced some sort of chrono-dilation in the wormhole,” Ensign McNamara said. “Due to time effects previously unnoticed at the shorter distances of ordinary Slipstreams, effects that would have been amplified by the potentially millions or even hundreds of millions of light years we traveled.”

  “Maxwell?” Jonathan asked.

  “It is possible,” Maxwell agreed. “Though the more likely explanation is that the reinforcements reached the Slipstream faster than originally estimated.”

  “Have we determined their course yet?” Jonathan asked the ops station.

  McNamara nodded. “They’re headed toward the greenhouse planet we currently orbit. So basically: us.”

  “How long until they reach us?” Jonathan asked McNamara.

  “It looks like Maxwell is right about their speed,” the ensign answered. “They’re traveling slightly faster than we originally thought possible.” He looked up. “They’ll be here in two days.”

  Jonathan rubbed his forehead. “Six ships two days out in front of us. Thirty ships two days out behind us. Just when you think things can’t get any worse.” He tapped in the tactical officer. “Miko, regarding the strategies you’re working on: I’m going to need you to make some slight adjustments to your starting conditions...”

  twenty-four

  Eating lunch, Wolf and Lin sat together in the mess. They had once more elected to forgo Wardroom One for the better food of the enlisted mess.

  The tension was obvious in the hall, which was quieter than usual, though crowded as ever. Most of the conversations taking place at the various tables were hushed. What laughter there was seemed muted and forced. Everyone had heard the news by then: thirty-six more alien ships had arrived. The fleet was hopelessly outnumbered.

  Heads turned and whispers rippled through the hall as someone new entered the mess. Obviously it was some high ranking officer. Wolf leaned to one side to see who it was and he spotted Commander Cray.

  That was highly unusual. The executive officer was in charge of the officer’s wardroom, and he never ate in any of the lower rank messes. In fact, while technically he was allowed to grab meals there, it was considered an abuse of power or unbecoming conduct. Except... the Commander didn’t actually grab a tray and walk to the food counter. He appeared grumpy. Wolf didn’t blame him: if Lin had been a prisoner like the commander’s wife, Wolf wouldn’t have been very happy either.

  Wolf very carefully didn’t meet the commander’s eye, and hoped Cray would pass them by. Unfortunately, the executive officer approached their table directly.

  “Good evening Lieutenant Commander, Lieutenant.” He nodded to Wolf and Lin in turn. There was no warmth in his voice.

  “Good evening, XO!” Wolf and Lin replied.

  The commander grabbed a free chair from a nearby table and sat with them.

  “So, Commander,” Wolf said cheerily. “To what do we owe the honor?” Couldn’t be good, he knew.

  “Lieutenant Commander Albright has brought it to my attention that the two of you are fraternizing,” Cray said without preamble.

  Wolf was shocked. Not so much because of the accusation, but because of who had made it. He always thought Albright was the type of man who would have dealt with a problem on his own, rather than involving a superior officer.

  “I actually knew about it two months ago,” Cray continued.

  “Albright told you two months ago?” Wolf asked weakly.

  “No,” Cray said. “Maxwell did. Isn’t that right, Maxwell?”

  The AI answered, its voice coming through their aReals immediately. “That is correct.”

  “I chose to ignore the news,” the commander said. “We’ve been under a lot of stress. But now that Albright has brought it to my attention, I can’t brush it aside any longer. Rather than press formal charges, he wants to split you up. I’ve agreed.”

  “Split us up?” Wolf said numbly. “To different squadrons?” That wouldn’t be so bad. At least he’d still be able to see her outside of sorties.

  “No, to a different ship. I’ve had her reassigned to the Salvador. A shuttle is waiting in hangar bay five to take her over. You are to pack your things and report there immediately, Lieutenant Akido. You have thirty minutes, so make it snappy. Once you dock you will report to the Salvador’s space wing commander for assignment. They need every pilot they can get over there.”

  Wolf stared open-mouthed. One moment he had been basically living the life of his dreams, without consequences, and the next everything had come crashing down.

  “Yes, sir!” Lin told the commander weakly.

  “Well, go,” Cray said.

  She got up, saluted, and hurried from the mess.

  The commander stared at Wolf. “You’re punishment won’t be so light, I’m afraid. While Lieutenant Akido gets to keep her wings aboard the Salvador, as of this moment, yours are clipped.”

  Wolf stiffened. “What do you mean, sir?”

  “Exactly what I said. We have enough pilots aboard the Callaway. So you’re going to sit out all upcoming sorties, Lieutenant Commander. Indefinitely.”

  JONATHAN CALLED MIKO and Robert to his office a few hours later, along with the space wing commander, Lieutenant Commander Albright. Maxwell was there, too, of course, the omnipresent AI seeing and hearing everything that was discussed.

  Robert and Albright seemed slightly agitated, and refused to look at one another: Jonathan guessed they had been at loggerheads with one another, likely over some administrative matter that didn’t concern the captain. He knew they would put aside their differences soon enough. They would have to.

  “So you said you had a plan ready, Miko?” Jonathan asked the tactical officer when he and the others were settled.

  “I do, Captain,” Miko responded. “Do you remember when we were still in Vega 951, and the enemy reinforcements first appeared I mentioned using the gas giant to level the playing field by reducing the speed and maneuverability of the enemy? And utilizing the Grimm and Marley as bait to get them to split up their forces?”

  Jonathan nodded slowly. “I remember.”

  “Well, what I want to do takes that idea to the next level...” Miko went on to explain his strategy.

  Jonathan tapped his lips when the tactical officer finished. “It’s risky, but it just might work. Comments? Suggestions?”

  Albright provided his input, as did Maxwell. Jonathan applied some of his own ideas, making tweaks to the plan.

  Robert, meanwhile, remained uncharacteristically silent the entire time.

  “Commander,” Jonathan said. “Look, I know you’re angry because I’ve ruled out any rescue attempt for Bridgette, but that doesn’t mean you should hold back your opinion.”

  “I’m not angry at all,” Robert said. “In fact, I understand completely. It’s not worth risking the lives of MOTHs and expensive combat robots to save one woman. A civilian at that. We’ve had similar conversations in the past.”

  Jonathan pressed his lips together and nodded grimly. “We’ll avoid firing upon the ship where she’s imprisoned.”

  Robert lowered his gaze. “As I said, I understand, sir.”

  He’s already given up, Jonathan realized. My poor, torn friend.

  “You know,” the captain said. “She probably has the greatest chance of surviving the next few days out of all of us. You realize that, don’t you commander?”

  Robert merely stared straight ahead.

  The
captain sighed before continuing. “I’ve arranged a fleet conference at sixteen hundred hours. Miko will present his strategy to the other captains. Maxwell, set a course sunward immediately, using the parameters from Miko’s presentation, and engage. We have no time to lose. Relay the orders to the fleet.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to run the strategy past the captains, first?” Maxwell asked.

  “I’m sure. Like I said, we have no time to dawdle. I’ll present the strategy at sixteen hundred. If they don’t agree, I’ll listen to their arguments, of course. But unless there’s a fatal flaw we’ve somehow missed, I won’t be changing the plan. There’s no time for second guessing, not now.”

  He glanced at Robert. “Commander, instruct the engineers of the Marley and Maelstrom to begin the necessary structural modifications they’ll need for the upcoming battle. Let’s just hope they have enough time to finish.” He surveyed the faces seated before him. “If there’s nothing else, that will be all.”

  Shortly after the others vacated the office, Jonathan received a call from Lieutenant Harv Boroker.

  Jonathan tapped him in. “Tell me you’ve figured out the alien fighter technology, Harv.”

  “Getting close!” the chief weapons engineer replied cheerfully.

  Jonathan smiled in defeat. “Guess it was too much to hope for.”

  “Don’t let your hopes drop all the way to the deck just yet,” Harv said. “I heard you fellas were trying to level the playing field...”

  “You heard right,” Jonathan told him. Miko was supposed to inform him of the planned strategy, as Harv’s participation was crucial. “What do you think?”

  “I like it,” the lieutenant replied. “That Miko is devious as hell. But... I’ll need to borrow a few more 3D printing drones to give him what he wants in time.”

  “I’m authorizing you to use every 3D printer you need,” Jonathan said. “Get it done, Lieutenant.”

  JONATHAN STOOD IN cargo bay seven, in front of the glass container Lieutenant Connie Myers was using to study the newly recovered specimens. The three cylindrical anomalies resided near the center of the container, while the four lifeless humanoids were situated around them. A glass partition separated the tank into two compartments; robotic arms were mounted into that partition for manipulating the specimens without entering the main chamber.

  The exoskeleton “environmental suits” had been removed from two of the bodies, which looked surprisingly humanlike. One was male, the other female. Because Connie had adjusted the atmosphere and temperature to match the planetary surface, the skin of those bodies was completely white. It probably didn’t help that the three anomalies drained what little heat there was from the surrounding area.

  Those porcelain faces reminded him somewhat of Famina, the woman he had abandoned on a mountaintop long ago. But only because of their color. The features were nothing like hers, nor like any other living humans. Instead, they belonged on man’s distant ancestors.

  While the faces had two eyes, a nose, and a mouth, the foreheads receded drastically above stark brow ridges. The noses were thick, ape-like, the lips even thicker. The ears were little more than holes on the surface of the bald heads, but Connie reported scarring consistent with the removal of external lobes, possibly at birth in some ritualistic practice.

  “So have you figured out what they are?” Jonathan asked when Connie joined him.

  “We have,” the chief scientist said.

  Jonathan looked away from the specimens to regard her. “Oh?”

  “They’re undoubtedly human.”

  Jonathan folded his arms. “Really. You know we’re in a different galaxy, right?”

  “Their DNA is a ninety-nine percent match to our own,” she said. “What are the odds of finding an alien species out there whose members have followed nearly precisely the same evolutionary path as our own? Astronomical. Though I suppose, well, there is a theory that the universe is infinite, and if true, that means there are an infinite number of galaxies, which in turn implies that there might be a world out there similar to Earth where it may be possible for a species to evolve with nearly the same DNA as our own. The whole ‘give a roomful of monkeys enough paper and enough time and they’ll draw something legible’ deal. But even if that were the case, what are the odds we’d contact that species at precisely the right moment in history when their homegrown DNA proved the closest match to our own? Again astronomical.”

  “So you’re going with O’Rielly’s working theory then?” Jonathan said. “That aliens kidnapped Neanderthals from ancient Earth and this is the result?”

  “That’s one theory we’re working on,” Connie said. “And it does fit, if you think about it. A one percent deviation in DNA is entirely within the realm of possibility, given the amount of time that’s passed since the Elders disappeared. Assuming the Elders were the kidnappers, of course. Also, keep in mind that Neanderthals were already a ninety-nine point seven percent match, in terms of DNA base pairs, to modern humans.”

  “Please don’t tell me you think the three anomalies are ‘eggs,’ too?” Jonathan said.

  “That’s the working assumption,” she replied.

  “But you have no proof,” he said.

  She bit her lower lip. “No,” she admitted.

  Jonathan sighed. “If it’s true these are alien embryos of some kind, then what the hell would our human forebears or distant offspring or whatever you want to call them be doing guarding these eggs?”

  “Who says they were guarding the eggs?” Connie replied. “Maybe they were hunting them.”

  Jonathan scratched his chin. “So many possibilities.”

  “An infinite number,” she agreed.

  “But all you have are guesses so far. I want evidence. No more theories. Give me concrete proof.” He turned to go. “Keep me updated on your findings, Lieutenant.”

  twenty-five

  Jonathan sat in his office, thrumming his fingers on the table, willing the final minutes to the conference to pass faster. He wasn’t sure how the captains would take the plan. It was dangerous, daring. And there was a good chance it wouldn’t work. Still, it was the best chance they had.

  The alien course vectors had updated shortly after the fleet left orbit. The two units definitely intended to converge on the human task group. It seemed obvious they wanted to fight.

  Jonathan stared at the aReal-generated stars beside him. Hundreds of millions of years of evolution had operated in tandem, creating the two lifeforms known as the humans and the Raakarr. Different paths had led each race to where they were that day. Cultures and social norms had arisen based on the structure of their respective brains, and the influence of their environments. Ships had been built, planets colonized and terraformed, space-faring status achieved. These twin evolutions had occurred hundreds of lightyears apart, until fate decided to take an opposing fleet from each species and intertwine their paths, hurling them into a common battleground millions of lightyears distant, in a galaxy far away from anything either race had ever known. Or at least, anything humanity had ever known.

  He knew so very little about the aliens he faced. The Raakarr possessed an equally small amount of knowledge about his own species.

  We should be working together, learning about each other, not fighting.

  He sighed. Humanity was still trying to find its way in the universe. As were the Raakarr. And war, protecting one’s territory—one’s species—was all either of them really knew.

  A small tone echoed from his aReal. One minute to the conference.

  Time to tap in.

  “Maxwell, connect to fleet conference,” Jonathan said. “ID three five eight.”

  “Connecting to fleet conference three five eight,” Maxwell returned. “Please provide the passcode.”

  “Five seven seven five.”

  “Access granted,” Maxwell said. “Establishing remote connection.”

  His aReal grew opaque and the office was completely replace
d with a conference room that would not have been out of place in a president’s situation room.

  He ran his gaze across the faces of the captains who sat in swivel chairs around the long, oval table. Rail of the Salvador. Rodriguez of the Dagger. Carter of the Aurelia. Smith of the Maelstrom.

  And then there were the two civilian captains. Salari of the Builder Marley. Souza of the Harvester Grimm.

  Behind them, standing against the portraits of the historical navy officers that decorated the walls, were the surviving captains of the vessels that had been lost. While they wouldn’t be participating directly in the battle, their input would be considered. Among them were Captains Felix, Brown and Chopra. At the front of the room, Lieutenant Miko stood beside a virtual holographic display.

  Roughly half the captains wore aReal spectacles, like Jonathan. The remainder had either contact lenses or Implants. While anyone present could have tweaked their virtual representations, that was considered bad form. As such, he saw them as their crews did, warts and all. While their bodies were lean, with a hint of muscularity underneath many uniforms, most had had very little rejuvenations done to their faces, preferring the weathered skin and grizzled hair that human beings unconsciously associated with command. Men wanted to follow experienced officers, and age was an indicator of that experience, however biased the notion was.

  The only two who bucked that trend were Captains Rail and Chopra. Rail’s youthful face spoke of several rejuvenation treatments. Too bad a grumpy frown seemed permanently stamped onto her lips; that, combined with her glacial blue eyes, ruined her otherwise attractive features. Chopra, meanwhile, was only forty years old, and while she might have had a few treatments done, her youthful features were likely the result of good genetics.

  While the seven ships of Task Group 72.5 resided within a five hundred kilometer diameter of one another, the communications delay was a rather hefty five seconds, mostly due to the large size of the dataset—the constantly updating three dimensional vertex data had to be continually streamed to meet the two hundred and forty frames per second requirement of the aReals.