Traitor

by Scott Bartlett

  Keyes cradled his weapon against his chest and dropped his shoulder, executing a forward roll that brought him behind a metal crate. Popping over it, he sent a spray of bullets across a Gok’s torso and ducked to avoid the answering salvo.

  When the fighting ended, he counted fifteen Gok down. The marines had lost one woman and two men, with three more injured. Two of the dead belonged to Keyes’s squad. That stung, even with adrenaline coursing through his veins, and he knew it would cost him sleep.

  But the enemy had lost many more. Luckily for the marines, Gok raiding parties wore inferior armor compared to their military counterparts. Usually, that worked out for them. Usually, they didn’t have to confront trained UHF marines.

  “Let’s keep moving,” Keyes said.

  Ralston nodded. “Agreed.”

  “Where do you think they’re keeping the civilians?” Keyes asked as they crossed the chamber to a corridor on the opposite end.

  “If they’re keeping them anywhere, the station’s cafeteria would make the most sense.”

  “That’s where we’ll find the largest concentration of Gok, then.”

  He turned out to be right. The enemy made their last stand in the final intersection before the cafeteria. The corridor leading to it stretched longer than the one before the cargo bay, affording the marines more room to maneuver.

  That came in handy right away, when one of the Gok lobbed something at the advancing marines.

  “Grenade,” Ralston barked. “Fall back!”

  As the others retreated, Keyes ran forward instead, kicking the explosive with all his might and sending it careening back at the Gok. Then he turned and pounded back toward his comrades. The grenade erupted behind him, and he hit the deck.

  Heat washed over him, searing his calves, even through his suit. The corridor shook, and guttural cries rose up behind him, followed by a wave of smoke-induced coughing. Rising to his feet, Keyes felt battered but more or less okay.

  “We surrender,” one of the aliens called in a gravelly voice.

  “Prove it,” Ralston shouted back, having retracted his helmet’s faceplate. “Drop your weapons now, or we start shooting.”

  A great clatter followed of shotguns and heavy machine guns hitting the floor. One of the Gok stepped forward through the smoke, its massive forest-green arms raised. The alien towered over the human marines, at least half again as tall.

  “It’s not over,” it said, enunciating its words carefully. It seemed to know that humans often had trouble understanding Gok speech.

  “Oh?” Ralston said. “Why’s that?”

  “We have armed soldiers in the cafeteria, watching over this station’s workers. They are our prisoners.”

  Keyes lowered his faceplate, glaring at the beast. “Have you harmed them?”

  “No. Only the guards.”

  “Why did you attack this station?”

  Forehead ridge drawing downward, the Gok’s tiny black eyes fixed on Keyes. “The planet below once belonged to the Gok. We do not appreciate you stripping it of its resources.”

  “We don’t appreciate you taking our people prisoner.”

  “We will release them to you. Unharmed.”

  “In exchange for what?”

  “Our freedom.”

  Keyes exchanged glances with Ralston, and both men raised their faceplates for private, two-way radio communication. “Now’s the time to call in Sergeant Nagura,” the Scot said. “She can take the cafeteria while we stall for time.”

  “No. We have a clear path to recovering the civilians unharmed. Your plan is likely to get at least some of them killed.”

  “And your plan involves trusting Gok.” Ralston shook his head. “You’re the one with the captain’s ear, boy. Feel free to handle this any way you wish. But know that you’ll answer for it, too.”

  I’m not much of a boy anymore. Though Keyes supposed Ralston was older. He turned back to the alien. “We’ll arrest your leaders. The rest of you can go.”

  “I am one of our leaders.”

  “Then we’ll arrest you, too.”

  A long pause while the Gok studied Keyes. “Very well,” it said at last.

  Some of the Gok’s prisoners were Sol Industries security forces, who’d surrendered after losing almost three-quarters of their number. Without incident, the remaining guards took the Gok leadership into custody. The aliens would be held here until a UHF ship could be dispatched to collect them.

  The Hornet marines took charge of the Gok who would go free. After stripping them of their weapons, they escorted them to the combat shuttle they’d come on, which had forced its way into a landing bay on the end of the station opposite where the marines had entered.

  Once the unarmed Gok had departed, Ralston gave a satisfied nod. “Good work, Keyes. You were right after all. Now we can radio up to Captain Husher to shoot down the Gok as they try to leave.”

  Keyes looked at the chief, brow furrowed. “We’ll do no such thing.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “They negotiated for their freedom.”

  “But they’re Gok. Scum. We’d be doing the galaxy a favor by purging them.”

  “They treated their prisoners decently, and they were true to their word. They abided by the rules of civilized warfare. And so will we.”

  Ralston blinked and rubbed his forehead with one hand. “It’s on your head, boy.”

  Chapter 8

  Command Leader Pate

  “The enemy fought harder than expected,” his Strategy auxiliary said. “I apologize for failing to anticipate their fervor in this matter.”

  “I don’t believe you’re at fault,” Command Leader Pate muttered as he gazed at the viewscreen, where newly-liberated Rik rotated with slow majesty. “Something else is at play, here. Something not even I expected.”

  The auxiliary’s relief was palpable. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know yet. Rik is our most valuable colony we’ve ever lost to the humans. But even that doesn’t account for the desperation with which they and the Wingers tried to keep it from us. All will become clear with the fullness of time. For now, we have business to attend to.”

  “Leader,” his Communications auxiliary said. “The planetary prime minister has contacted us to request a meeting with you. He wants to discuss the colony’s defense going forward, to ensure Rik is never retaken by the humans.”

  Pate placed cool hands over both his eye depressions, gently massaging their rims. “Tell the prime minister I will happily meet with him—later. In the meantime, we have Scion Baxa’s will to carry out.” He favored the Communications auxiliary with his gaze. “Commandeer all planetary media channels. Immediately.”

  “Yes, Leader, I just need to contact the Bureau of—”

  “Without delay,” Pate barked. “I don’t wish to give the conniving half-breeds any chance to concoct an escape.” The words made him curl his lip in disgust, which was his usual reaction to contemplating the Ixan females who’d taken advantage of their ability to integrate the DNA of other species during conception.

  “You should be live within five minutes, Leader.”

  “Good.” Command Leader Pate motioned for an aide to come to him. The diminutive Ixan scurried over and began straightening Pate’s uniform. That done, the aide produced a powder, which he applied to Pate’s face using a soft brush. The product would conceal the whiteness where Pate’s scales stretched over his face’s bone protrusions. An unwelcome change that had befallen him years and years ago.

  At last, the aide opened a mirror and held it before him. “Perfection,” Pate said.

  “The Ixa of Rik await you, Leader,” his Communications auxiliary said.

  Pate settled into his Command chair, shoulders thrown back, staring the hovering recorder drone right in its eye. “Residents of Rik. I have liberated you from the apes, and now I will carry out the divine mandate Scion Baxa has bestowed upon me. In exactly three hours from now, the death dr
ones will be unleashed on your planet in their thousands. They will use your online networks to identify all of the half-breeds living among you, and to determine their locations. The drones will then exterminate them. You are advised to round up the half-breeds and corral them in wide, open spaces, to expedite the drones’ work. Anyone hiding half-breeds within their homes will suffer the destruction of those homes. That is all.”

  The broadcast terminated, and Command Leader Pate rose from the Command chair, his gaze falling on his Strategy auxiliary. “You have the bridge. I retire to my quarters to reflect on Scion Baxa’s dictates.”

  Chapter 9

  Desperate Gambit

  Slumped over in the Captain’s chair with his cheek leaning against his palm, Husher watched as the magnified Tumbran monitor ship grew larger on the viewscreen. The view adjusted, causing the ship to leap away before starting to grow larger once more.

  With all the excitement surrounding the Gok attacking that construction platform, he’d once again forgotten to transmit his papers in advance to the Tumbran at the next wormhole. Even back in the academy, he’d never anticipated having to deal with this much red tape in the middle of a war. He fully expected it to give him an ulcer, before everything was said and done.

  “Captain,” the sensor operator said, “there’s a warship emerging from the wormhole.”

  “Ours or theirs?”

  “Neither. It’s a Winger Roostship. According to our records, it’s captained by Flightmaster Korbyn.”

  “Send him our welcome. He’ll have news from the front, I’m sure.”

  “Captain…Captain, another ship is coming through. It’s the Wakeful.”

  “What? Put it on-screen.” Ships never came through a wormhole that close together. The Tumbra would never have it.

  The Wakeful, a missile cruiser, appeared on the CIC’s main viewscreen. Husher only had time to register that it was almost as battered as his carrier before the sensor operator spoke again.

  “Sir, the Maddox just emerged from the wormhole as well.”

  “Good Lord.”

  “We’re getting a transmission request from Flightmaster Korbyn’s Roostship, sir,” the Coms officer said.

  “Put him on.”

  The diminutive young alien looked harried, even for a Winger. His white-gray feathers stuck up every which way, and his muscled wings were spread in agitation. Husher knew of Korbyn—scuttlebutt often contained idle rumors about their ally’s more notable officers, and Korbyn was said to be among the youngest Wingers in history to ever command a Roostship.

  “Captain Husher, I presume?” the flightmaster said with a casualness he clearly didn’t feel.

  Right. Korbyn was also said to be incredibly cocky.

  Husher decided to dispense with formalities. “Rik was taken, wasn’t it?”

  The Winger blinked. “Correct.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “You humans lost another supercarrier. The Bulldog.”

  “God damn it.”

  Korbyn clacked his beak. “Indeed. As always, it became the focal point for the Ixa’s firepower. And when it went down, we knew we were done.”

  Husher drew a deep breath. The faces of his wife and son flashed in his mind’s eye. “We need to retake Rik at once.”

  “I’m aware of the colony’s significance, Captain Husher.”

  “You know of the admiralty’s plan? With the ceasefire?”

  “Yes. It’s why we fought such a desperate battle to retain Rik. But the Ixa came in greater numbers, and when the Bulldog fell, we had no choice but to flee.”

  “You have me, now. You have the Hornet. We’ll retake Rik.”

  A pause followed as the Winger drummed its talons against its chair. “To be frank, Captain Husher, your ship barely looks spaceworthy, let alone battle-ready.”

  “She’ll surprise you, Flightmaster. The Hornet still has some sting left in her. And I’ll join what’s left of my Air Group to your Talons, under the command of your CAG. I see our fighters as the key to winning this engagement.”

  More silence as Korbyn contemplated Husher and his words. The Winger’s featureless, black eyes betrayed nothing. At last, he said, “All right, Captain. Against my better judgment, I will turn my ship around and join you in the effort to salvage this plan of your admiralty. I’m sure your human compatriots aboard the Maddox and Wakeful will join us.” Korbyn clacked his beak. “I’ll admit, the human spirit continues to impress. And you yourself are not without renown. I will join you in this, Captain Husher.”

  “Thanks,” Husher said, and tapped his console to terminate the transmission—a feature he’d asked his Coms officer to install on his station, so that he could leverage it for dramatic effect. “I never have been one for pomposity,” he told his CIC crew. “Keyes, you’re back in a Falcon for this engagement. I hate to rely on Ackerman again to run Tactical, but I need your instinct flying for me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Muster your wits, everybody. This one’s gonna be close.”

  Chapter 10

  Pate Scoffs

  Pate had decided to let the prime minister wait while he refreshed himself with a nap. He considered it best to let politicians know where they truly stood, especially ones that had been elected democratically. That type tended to harbor foolish ideals that ran counter to Scion Baxa’s will.

  Sleep had just taken him when the intercom near his bunk started murmuring. “Command Leader, your presence is requested on the bridge.” It was his Communications auxiliary.

  He jerked upright, scowling at the wall. “For your sake, your reason for interrupting my meditations had best be a good one.”

  “The Wingers and humans have returned, Leader.”

  That silenced him for a moment, as he tried to piece together a scenario in which the news would make sense. “Did they bring reinforcements?”

  “One ship. According to our records it’s called the Hornet, a carrier that suffered extensive damage in the battle for the Coreopsis System.”

  “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  He donned his uniform once again, as quickly as he could, and checked the mirror for any flaking scales. Then he marched across his spacious quarters to fling open the hatch.

  On the bridge, the tactical display confirmed his auxiliary’s words. The Winger Korbyn had split his forces, with the Winger and human carriers angling to confront Pate’s destroyer and the three Ixan warships that held orbit over Rik’s single supercontinent.

  The earlier conflict with Korbyn had occurred around Rik’s largest moon, which was where Pate had left his two support ships, guarded by another destroyer and two corvettes. The tactical display showed the human cruiser and frigate headed there.

  With a sidelong glance at his Strategy auxiliary, Pate pointed at the display. “Both of these are doomed engagements for the Winger. He’s distributed his forces exactly wrong.”

  “It certainly appears that way, Command Leader.”

  Pate shook his head. “For some reason, this colony must be central to the enemy’s strategy. So much so that they’re willing to make this suicide run in a hopeless attempt to recapture it. So we hold firm. I have a feeling we’re about to win this war.”

  Chapter 11

  The Cruiser and the Corvette

  Keyes caught himself tapping his Falcon’s console. He always got restless in the hour before a battle.

  Thank God for the Falcons’ and Talons’ maneuverability. It had taken a lot of coordination to squeeze the fighters into the Maddox’s and the Wakeful’s shuttle bays, and they hadn’t had long to do it.

  The cruiser and the corvette only had four shuttle bays between them, but a few close calls later, not to mention a lot of swearing, and they’d managed it. The Roostship’s Talons and the Hornet’s remaining Falcons were packed in, sitting almost end-to-end.

  Korbyn’s CAG, Wingtip Fesky, briefed the pilots over a wide channel. Keyes had never met her before, though the name ra
ng a bell. I’ve probably heard her name at some point through the scuttlebutt.

  “I’ve appointed a controller for each shuttle bay,” she said. “Do not take off unless your controller has cleared your row for departure. I repeat, do not take off until your controller says so. We aren’t used to taking off in such close quarters, and so we will proceed with extreme caution. All it takes for this mission to go south is one collision inside a shuttle bay. Stay frosty. Fesky out.”

  The tapping had begun again. Keyes put his left hand over his right. Think of anything. Think of trees. Breathing. Just stop this eternal fidgeting.

  “Can I expect you to follow my orders without question out there, human?” His heads-up display told him Fesky had switched to a two-way channel.

  He tapped the side of his helmet to activate his transponder. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “As the Hornet’s CAG, you must have grown used to giving orders. I get that. But we’re going to need our Air Groups operating in perfect harmony. And for that, I need total compliance from you and your fliers.”

  “You’ll get it, ma’am. I don’t make a habit of questioning orders from my commanding officer.”

  A brief pause from the Winger. When she spoke again, a note of surprise had crept into her voice. “Okay. That’s all, then. Good luck out there, Lieutenant Keyes.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. Same to you.”

  Keyes had been appointed controller for his shuttle bay—the largest aboard the Maddox. Ten minutes later, the time came, and he started clearing the rows of fighters for take off, one-by-one.

  Without the launch catapults aboard the Hornet and the Roostship, the pilots wouldn’t enter battle with nearly the energy they were used to. But Captain Husher’s and Flightmaster Korbyn’s plan depended on the element of surprise compensating for that. And then some.

  The exodus from the shuttle bay went smoother than Keyes could have hoped, and soon it was his row’s turn—the last row. “Mark!”