Traitor

by Scott Bartlett

  Chapter 4

  Condescended To

  Keyes’s alarm went off, but he was already awake. After days of the voice’s absence, it had woken him again, shortly before oh two hundred hours. That had killed any hope of falling back to sleep. He’d been staring at his cabin’s ceiling ever since.

  Slowly, he dragged himself out of bed and began donning his uniform. He’d ironed it the night before, and polished his boots till they gleamed. As he dressed, his face looked grim in the nearby mirror.

  Shit. I was supposed to spend time in the centrifuge last night. The thought struck him out of nowhere. No doubt the technicians had recorded his absence, which would be relayed to Captain Husher. And Keyes would catch flak for it. The magnets installed throughout UHF uniforms didn’t completely negate the effects of perpetual freefall—to do that, they would also need to be inside the body’s cells, which presented problems. The captain didn’t react well to his crew neglecting to regularly build up their G-tolerance inside the ship’s centrifuge.

  Making his way to the Hornet’s CIC, he found the corridors blessedly empty. Keyes had never been one to engage in easy camaraderie with his crewmates, but in the last couple of weeks, relations had grown even less warm. In short, they thought he was crazy. And I’m beginning to think they may be right.

  Just inside the CIC, Ackerman stormed past, glaring at him. Keyes found that refreshing, and he stared back. He’d always had a high tolerance for situations others would have found awkward.

  Anyway, anger was preferable to the way most everyone else avoided his gaze. He’d only mentioned hearing the voice once, and had shut up about it shortly after, but rumors spread quickly aboard the carrier. The crew remembered.

  Ackerman’s anger originated with Captain Husher’s decision to make Keyes the primary Tactical officer, bumping the Chief Warrant Officer down to secondary.

  Most of the pilots under Keyes’s command had been lost in the Coreopsis system—many of them old friends, something he knew he hadn’t fully processed yet. Keyes was a CAG whose Air Group had been taken from him, and Husher trusted him a lot more than he trusted Ackerman.

  “Good timing, Lieutenant,” Husher said as Keyes took his place at the Tactical station. “We’re just reaching the wormhole. Going into the next system, it’ll be good to have a Tactical officer who knows his head from his ass.”

  Keyes suppressed a wince, wondering whether Ackerman had heard that on his way out. Captain Husher wasn’t known for mincing words.

  In Keyes’s peripheral vision, he noticed Commander Vaghn twitch in the XO’s chair. Going through wormholes tended to make the crew jumpy, and the XO’s emotions could often be read from her larger-than-life body language. A small percentage of the time, wormholes destroyed the ships that passed through them. A small percentage, but significant enough to make each transition at least a little tense. The price of interstellar travel.

  The captain’s gaze swept across his CIC crew. “With Coreopsis lost, we’ll have to go the long way around to get to Ixan space. I want to avoid contact with the enemy for as long as possible, to minimize our chances of getting blown apart before ever broaching the subject of this cursed ceasefire.” Husher sniffed, his gaze settling on Keyes. “So we proceed with caution.”

  “We’ve arrived at the wormhole, Captain,” the sensor operator said.

  The Coms officer nodded. “The Tumbran in charge of this side has sent us a transmission request.”

  “Accept,” Husher said.

  The Tumbran appeared on the main viewscreen. Its gray chin-sack hung shorter than most of its species, but its bulging eyes made up for it. “Captain Husher,” it said in a tone that sounded perplexed and somewhat affronted. “I have not yet received your papers.”

  “That’s because I haven’t sent them yet. You’ll have them soon enough.”

  “If you’d transmitted them before you arrived, I might have had them processed by now.”

  “I doubt it. Anyway, passage through the wormhole isn’t the only thing I’m here for.”

  When the alien blinked, its eyelids folded over its ivory orbs, momentarily concealing them from view. “Then perhaps you should repair to your office, Captain, so that we can speak over a private, encrypted channel.”

  “No. I want you to come to my ship and meet with me. I don’t like the condescending way you Tumbra speak to me during transmissions. I’ve found you a lot more mannerly in person.”

  Slowly, the Tumbran raised spindly digits to its horizontally oblong head, touching it and then lowering them at the same speed. “Have I condescended to you, Captain?”

  “Of course not. Just get over here, will you?”

  “I will have my ship prepare me a shuttle.”

  Husher rose from the Captain’s chair. “Keyes, you’re with me.”

  Chapter 5

  Piper

  They waited in the Captain’s office, drinking from tumblers of whiskey. Husher had skipped breakfast today, and the drink was already putting him in better spirits.

  “Do you think the Tumbran will want any?” he asked, raising his glass a little.

  “I don’t know whether their bodies can metabolize it,” Keyes answered, without a trace of mirth.

  Husher set his glass on the desk with a thud. “Come on, Keyes. I know you’re not entirely humorless.”

  The lieutenant returned his gaze impassively and said nothing.

  Leaning back in his chair, Husher exhaled in a prolonged whoosh of air. “I don’t like this ceasefire idea the admiralty has foisted on us. Foisted on all of humanity, if we’re being honest. Playing dice with the species’ future.”

  “With all due respect, Captain, they had to do something.”

  “Indeed. And I intend to follow through with it.” For now. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it. Anyway. Now that you’re my primary Tactical officer, I decided you should be let in on the arrangement we have with the Tumbra.”

  That drew Keyes’s interest. “Arrangement?”

  “Yes.” Husher raised his eyebrows, refusing to say more until Keyes inquired further. I’ll draw the man out, God damn it.

  “Do the Ixa have a similar arrangement?”

  “Negative.”

  The lieutenant’s eyebrows inched together, bunching the dark skin between them. “But the Tumbra are supposed to be neutral. They were given the responsibility of administrating the transport system because they’re known to never favor or discriminate against any species.”

  Husher shrugged. “And yet…”

  “We have an arrangement.”

  “Correct.”

  “What is it?”

  “The Tumbra constantly transmit data to each other, across systems and through wormholes, via encrypted radio signals.”

  “That’s well known.”

  “Included in that data are the whereabouts of every Ixan and Gok warship—at least, as of a few hours ago.”

  “Also common knowledge. The Tumbra know where every ship in the galaxy is.”

  “They share the locations of Gok and Ixan warships with us.”

  Keyes blinked, then nodded. “Okay. That’s new.”

  “The Tumbra admire how humanity has conducted itself since stepping onto the galactic stage. They like our persistence, and they like our sense of honor. True, they agree with the Wingers that we waited too long to involve ourselves in this war, but obviously the Tumbra can appreciate caution, too. You only have to look at a Tumbran to know it likes being cautious.”

  “And the Ixa…”

  “Well, the Ixa’s radically xenophobic ideology doesn’t poll very well among anyone who isn’t Ixan, does it? The Tumbra see themselves as stewards of the galactic balance of power, and they consider this intelligence sharing as the best way to maintain that balance.” Husher held up his index finger. “This is a closely guarded secret, known only to a handful of UHF officers. That was the one condition the Tumbra imposed—that we tell no one, not even the Wingers. As you say, the Tumb
ra are supposed to be neutral, and the revelation that they’re picking favorites would definitely cause a power imbalance.”

  “Thank you for bringing me in on it.”

  “Don’t thank me. This is a burden I’ve dumped on you. Let’s not pretend it’s anything else.”

  “I’ll shoulder it.”

  “I know that you will.”

  A sharp knock sounded from the hatch. “Come in,” Husher barked.

  The hatch opened to reveal the Tumbran flanked by a pair of marines.

  “Close the door and dismissed,” Husher told his soldiers.

  The Tumbran stood less than half the height of an average human. Currently, it had the air of a bothered cat. Bothered, perhaps, that it had recently been declawed.

  “This other human knows of our agreement?” it said, cocking its head sideways at Keyes as it eyed Husher.

  “He does now.”

  The alien made a spitting sound, though luckily for it, no saliva was produced. “One would think, given that humans have come to rely so heavily on us, that you would tread a little more carefully in your dealings with us, Captain.”

  “You know you love me.”

  “Am I to be provided with a seat?”

  “Oh. Shit. I forgot to send for one.”

  Keyes rose to his feet and gestured at the chair he’d vacated. “Please.”

  The Tumbran climbed up, studying the lieutenant warily as it did.

  “You know what I want, I’m sure,” Husher said.

  “I’d hoped that you might have some special justification for demanding my physical presence on your ship. I hope you don’t mind my saying that the Hornet’s structural integrity seems in question.”

  “We were involved in a bit of a scrape. As for inviting you over, the truth is, I miss you when you’re not around!”

  “You don’t even know my name.”

  “You’ve never offered it. I assumed you enjoy having me at a disadvantage.”

  “At the last update, the nearest Ixan strike force was seven systems away. There have, however, been reports of Gok raiding parties within two systems of our location. I advise caution as you proceed, Captain.”

  Husher raised his eyebrows at Keyes. “See? Told you.”

  Even through Keyes’s characteristic impassiveness, Husher could see that he was mortified.

  He turned back to the Tumbran. “Well, that wasn’t hard, was it?”

  “Will that truly be all?”

  “That’s it.”

  The Tumbran dumped itself off of the seat and waddled toward the hatch. Before it got there, Keyes crossed the cabin in a couple of strides and opened the hatch for the alien. It looked at the lieutenant for a moment, and then made to leave.

  Before it could, Keyes spoke. “What is your name?”

  “Piper. What is yours?”

  “Leonard Keyes.”

  The alien left with no further comment.

  When Keyes closed the hatch behind it, Husher stood to signal the meeting’s end, and the lieutenant kept his hand on the hatch’s handle.

  “I want you to see the ship’s doctor, Keyes. You’re clearly exhausted, and probably on the verge of a breakdown, if we’re being honest. I want you to have a psychiatric evaluation.”

  Keyes opened his mouth, though it took him a couple of seconds to speak. “I don’t need—”

  “I want you to have a psychiatric evaluation. Would you like me to rephrase it as an order?”

  It took another few moments for Keyes to realize Husher didn’t intend to give him an out. “I’ll see the ship’s doctor.”

  “Yes. You will.”

  Chapter 6

  Distress Signal

  Keyes avoided the ship’s doctor for as long as he could justify it, but in the end, an order was an order, and as a Fleet member he was bound to obey.

  “Have you been hearing voices?” Doctor Padmore asked, peering at Keyes over his spectacles. With the cheap availability of vision correction surgery, glasses were rare these days, but Padmore was a fairly rare breed himself.

  “Yes, actually. That’s the entire reason I’m here.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Padmore checked something off on his chart. “And how’s your appetite?”

  “Fine. I’m not here about my appetite. I’m here about the voice.”

  “I see.” Another checkmark.

  Keyes’s com squawked from where he’d placed it on the table. “Keyes, it’s Captain Husher. Where are you?”

  “Uh…I’m undergoing the psychiatric evaluation.”

  “Oh. Right. Well, it’ll have to wait. We just received a distress signal from a Sol Industries construction platform in this system. They’re under attack by the Gok.”

  “You…need me in the CIC?”

  “Negative. The platform was boarded—no warships in sight. I want you to go in there with Chief Ralston and provide backup to Sol’s security forces. If we don’t help them out soon, they’ll be overwhelmed.”

  Keyes closed his eyes, struggling to make sense of his captain’s words. “But…aren’t I in Tactical, now?”

  “Well, yes. But you’re also the CAG. And you used to serve with the marines, right?”

  “Yes…”

  “Then I see no reason not to try you in a couple different places. See where you fit best.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get going. Meet Ralston in the weapons locker.”

  Before long, Keyes was sitting aboard the combat shuttle, in a crash seat across from Chief Ralston, who was looking at Keyes like he’d just watched him turn into an Ixan.

  “The old man sure has a funny way of going about things, doesn’t he?” Ralston said in a thick Scottish accent. A few of the marines glanced at their commander and then looked away just as quickly. “A few days ago, you were CAG, then you were Tactical, and now you’re aboard my shuttle, bumping down my second-in-command.”

  “Our captain has given an order and we are following it,” Keyes said. “I can’t see how the matter warrants any further discussion.”

  The marine commander held his gaze for a long time, but Keyes couldn’t remember the last time he’d been the first to break eye contact with someone he was staring down. Ralston knew Keyes was right, and Keyes knew he was right, and so at last the chief’s focus flitted elsewhere.

  In truth, he agreed with Ralston, to an extent. Keyes didn’t like it when the captain played fast and loose with protocol either, or when he defied Command. But that didn’t change the fact that Warren Husher was his captain, and that Keyes had immense respect for the man.

  “What do you think the Gok will do to those platform workers?” one of the marines, Carson, asked Keyes. “If we don’t get there in time, I mean.”

  Keyes shook his head. “Nothing good. There are rumors of the Gok wiping out entire stations for no strategic reason at all. They seem to revel in bloodshed for bloodshed’s sake.”

  At that moment, the shuttle pilot’s voice came out of the troop compartment’s sole intercom. “I just received a transmission from the construction platform, Chief. The security forces say they’re about to fall.”

  Chapter 7

  Civilized Warfare

  Their shuttle entered the landing bay unopposed, which Keyes didn’t like at all. If the Gok weren’t busy fending off the Hornet marines, then what were they busy doing? Maybe we have more time than we thought.

  The marine squads spread out through the cavernous landing bay, checking behind shuttles and mining ships for signs of the enemy. Sol Industries’ construction platform orbited a resource-rich planet, and they often dispatched mining expeditions to a nearby asteroid belt as well. This station saw a lot of traffic.

  Keyes commanded one squad and Chief Ralston led another. Ralston’s usual second-in-command, Sergeant Nagura, took her squad up several flights of stairs leading to an airlock that let out onto the platform’s surface, where ships and other space-based structures were constructed.

  Captain Husher had tran
smitted the platform’s schematics to every marine’s heads-up display, and after a few minutes of studying it, Keyes had come up with the idea of sending one squad up top. That way, Nagura and her squad could use one of several entrances to join the battle whenever and wherever they were needed.

  With the landing bay secured, Keyes and Ralston led their marines deeper into the station, through a much-narrower corridor.

  “I don’t like this silence,” Carson said.

  “And I don’t like your noise,” Ralston hissed. “Shut up, you reprobate. Act like a God-damned solider.”

  Keyes chuckled, glad his transponder wasn’t transmitting. For some reason, hearing someone getting chewed out in a thick Scottish accent struck him as hilarious.

  Mission objectives included saving as many civilians as possible, and so there wasn’t time to carefully check around corners or through doorways. Instead, they rushed past each in as orderly a fashion as possible, always ready to engage an enemy that could be lying in wait at any turn.

  It didn’t take long. By Keyes’s count, it was the fourth turn that brought them face-to-face with the Gok, who were big enough to hold heavy machine guns that humans would need tripods to support.

  The aliens’ tactics were sound—they’d spread out across a spacious cargo hold, and the hallway the marines found themselves pinned down in was a short one, leaving them with little time to react. Gunfire’s thunder began, and two marines went down, one of them Carson.

  Training took over. Keyes and Ralston were out front, and they both dropped to one knee in unison, offering the marines behind a clear firing solution over their heads.

  To pick their targets, no communication was needed. Keyes was on the right, and he shot at the Gok farthest to the right, since the corridor blocked the marine behind him from targeting it. That marine chose the next target to the left.

  The assault rifle vibrating in his hands, Keyes sent a steady stream of lead at his enemy. Within seconds, four Gok went down, and the marines chose new targets.

  “Move,” Ralston said a moment later, after two more Gok were neutralized.

  The marines rushed into the cargo bay, and just like that the Gok lost their superior firing arc.