Hunt for the Saiph (The Saiph Series Book 3)

by PP Corcoran

  "I don't see how Balat fits into it. The Alonan Empire is 60000 light years away, what possible gain would they reap for destroying an Alonan colony?"

  The admiral shrugged his shoulders. "To draw off resources. Make us station ships around Waypoint 4 for fear the Empire decide to blame us for Balat and retaliate. Whoever is in charge of these Saiph is obviously attempting to start a three-way war between the Commonwealth, the Empire, and the Turak. When it’s all over, the Saiph can just roll in and take over."

  "You really think it’s that bad?" Asked Rebecca, knowing she was not going to like the answer.

  "Madam President, the Saiph took out Dagger Station with one missile. One! The Turak at Selene didn't even scratch their paintwork!"

  "But the Garundans destroyed one of their cruisers."

  "Yes they did, Madam President. With the combined fire of a dozen or more grazer platforms. We have to face facts. We have nothing in the fleet that could stand toe-to-toe with them and come out on top."

  Rebecca felt the clouds of despair enshrouding her. "Worse case, Admiral. If the Saiph arrived in the Sol system today, what are our chances?"

  Jing did not answer immediately as he ran the numbers in his head. With a barely noticeable clearing of his throat, he faced Rebecca. "Our system defenses are the strongest in the Commonwealth and I am confident if a force equivalent to what the Garundans faced were to attempt to engage Gateway Station, then we could defeat them."

  Rebecca’s mind’s eye saw the first rays of sunshine break through the clouds, until Jing spoke again.

  "But that would not be enough, Madam President. Earth can't just hide behind its defenses while the rest of the Commonwealth and our colonies burn. We need to meet them on the field of battle and defeat them. Prove to our people, the Commonwealth, the Empire, and the Turak that the Saiph are not almighty. We need to take the fight to them."

  "We need to find them first, Admiral." Patricia’s comment was followed by a stony silence, she saw Jing ignoring her and keeping his eyes locked on Rebecca. The president gave the admiral a slow nod before Jing turned to face Patricia.

  "Doctor. What I am about to tell you is highly classified. Some months ago, the navy began a covert operation which we called Project Bright Star..."

  #

  TDF TYCHO BRAHE - INTERSTELLAR SPACE - 900 LIGHT YEARS FROM EARTH

  Lieutenant Terrance Wilson sat patiently as the inbuilt encryption program on his terminal decoded the latest coded message from Central Command. The ready tone sounded and Terrance brought up the message:

  'From: Chairman, Combined Joint Chiefs of Staff

  To: Lieutenant Wilson, TDF Tycho Brahe

  Message begins:

  Project Bright Star is now the priority. Cease all other activities until mission objective is achieved.

  Message ends.'

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The Dragon’s Den

  TDF CUTLASS - SELENE SYSTEM - 272 LIGHT YEARS FROM EARTH

  TDF Cutlass emerged from fold space at the outer fringes of the Selene system and broadcast its hail. Nicholas Schamu understood the risk in sending a Commonwealth cruiser into the system but he agreed with Aaron Beckett, in all likelihood the information held on the PAD, resting in the inside pocket of his impeccable tailored suite, contained the last and best chance of avoiding war.

  “Turak ships exiting fold space at 186 mark 4 distance 15000 kilometers, Captain. Its four heavy cruisers, sir, and their weapons are,” the tactical officer scanned his screens, “ coming online.”

  “Keep a cool head, Lieutenant. Double check our sensors. I don’t want us transmitting a single erg which may be mistaken for a fire and control system,” spinning in her command chair an anxious Denise Parks faced Nicholas, “all yours Ambassador, if this doesn’t work they’ve got us cold.”

  Nicholas gave a small cough before depressing the stud on his chair which activated the voice link. “Turak vessels, this is Ambassador Nicholas Schamu. I carry important information concerning the identity of those who are responsible for the attack on your ships in the Selina system, which I wish to share with you. I am transmitting the data now.” The data flew across the empty void and Nicholas prayed the Turak would take time to review the data before blowing the Cutlass out of space.

  Interminable seconds passed and became minutes while Nicholas and the crew of the Cutlass held their collective breaths. After an eternity a single word response arrived.

  “Standby.”

  #

  The bridge crew fiddled and fussed over their terminals. Captain Parks browsed the ship’s daily reports, although, Nicholas noted, the same static page displayed on the captain’s screen for the last fifteen minutes. Even Nicholas, a life-long diplomat and used to hours of patient waiting neared the end of his tether. An over five hour standby tether.

  The comms officer broke the monotony. “Incoming signal, Captain. It’s a set of coordinates and instructions to fold immediately.”

  “Show me the coordinates,” Parks squinted at the main holo display, “mmm... must be almost 150 light years from our current location which takes us well inside Turak controlled space. Navigation, any idea what’s at the coordinate’s location?”

  The navigator ran through the star charts and found the correct system. “The coordinates are a match for system 90159. It’s a star much like our own sun but older. That’s all, Captain, no further references found in either the Saiph or Commonwealth databases.”

  Captain Nicholl wrinkled her nose as she often did when faced with a difficult decision and, after glancing once more at the holo cube, she turned to face Nicholas, “Well, Ambassador, it’s your call.”

  Nicholas ignored the ominous wrinkle, not one to squander his invitation to begin dialog with the Turak he said, “Captain, we should comply with the Turak request.”

  “Folding 150 light years further into space,” her wrinkle deepened, “held by a race who threaten to destroy us if we infringe their territory,” she shifted in her seat, “Ambassador, I’m far from happy, but that’s why we’re here.” She spun her seat forward. “Navigator, plot the coordinates and fold when ready. Let’s do this.” The Cutlass surged forward into fold space and disappeared from the Selene system.

  “All stop!” called the captain as the ship blinked back into existence 150 light years away, in the heart of system 90159.

  “All stop, aye.”

  “Tactical. Let’s scan the area and see where they’ve brought us.”

  Sensors gathered data at lightning speed, passed the information to the ship’s computers for parsing and projection to the main holo cube.

  In all its glory, the surrounding space revealed a sheer cacophony of energy and mass returns which brought silence, broken only with gasps of surprise from the bridge crew. The tactical officer broke the temporary quiet.

  “My god! This has to be one of their main worlds. Check out the shipping! I don’t remember seeing the space around Earth being so busy. I’m reading a mix of civilian and military ships. Computer has identified three of the monsters the Persai observed in the Selene system, after the black ships attack, holding station amongst a number of smaller ships. Ha! And by smaller I mean Bismarck class battleship size. This suggests a major fleet base, excluding the space stations orbiting the nearest planet, two of them make Fortress Command resemble a kid’s toy.”

  Captain Parks hovered on the edge of her seat as she sucked in the information displayed in the holo cube. “Tactical, concentrate your efforts on the warships. Let’s get as many passive scans as we can, if the ambassador’s mission fails we may be fighting these guys pronto.”

  “Please, Captain, let us not be so pessimistic at this early juncture.” Nicolas said.

  “Captain,” The comms officer halted what would have been Parks’ snappy return. “Message from the orbital station, we’re being ordered to approach the station and dock.”

  “Very well. Navigator, take us in nice and steady. I suggest you get your F
irst Contact Team ready, Ambassador, your wish for face-to-face talks with the Turak is granted.”

  Nicholas acknowledged his captain’s words with a nod and a smile then slipped from his seat and strode from the bridge to gather his team while the Cutlass continued its journey toward the orbital station.

  Cutlass slipped silently passed imposing ranks of Turak warships. On their final approach the true scale of the construct became apparent. The station resembled a giant spinning top, approaching 1500 meters at its widest point and slightly under one kilometer from top to bottom, rotating above a planet the Cutlass’ sensors deciphered as heavily industrialized.

  Nicholas did not doubt his tactical officer’s veracity when he identified this planet as a major Turak world and not a startup colony. The infrastructure alone must have taken decades to establish, maybe more.

  The navigator identified the correct docking port and as they closed in, the captain called up the view from the outside vid cameras allowing an impromptu examination of the hull of the impressive station.

  Struck with an oddity Denise switched from camera to camera and confirmed her suspicions. Each of the view ports were closed and sealed denying the humans a tantalizing glimpse of the space station interior. These people sure appreciate their privacy! Well, won’t be much help when the ambassador enters the station and sees all... assuming they allow him to enter the station.

  “Mooring clamps secure, Captain. The Turak are extending a personnel tube it will mate with Airlock 14 on Deck Three.” Said the navigator.

  “Very well. Comms, my compliments to Major Flynt, detail a couple of marines to escort the ambassador. Mention this to the major, if the ambassador argues, the marines are to remind him of my orders in regard to his safety from Admiral Papadomas.”

  #

  Two conspicuous marines dwarfed Nicholas Schamu and the other two members of the First Contact Team as they stood in the airlock. Stripped of their ubiquitous Wraith suits, the marines stood at the ready with PEP pistols holstered at their waists.

  No doubt Major Flynt has a whole marine company on standby in full armor and ready to move at a moment’s notice, Nicholas sighed and waited for the airlock to complete its cycle.

  He heard the invisible locks clunk and on release, the whole door swung open to one side, allowing him his first view of the Turak - a solitary squat figure dressed all in scarlet.

  An enclosed full face helmet rendered the Turak’s head barely decipherable, although, two pinpricks of glowing red hinted at a pair of unblinking eyes. A matching form fitting body armor enclosed the torso and two arms hung by the Turak’s side. Nicholas’ eyes followed the length of the armor covered arms which ended, unsurprisingly, with armored gloves. Nicholas’ eye’s widened as he drank in the shape of those gloves. Two thick sausage like fingers topped with a smaller thumb. No Saiph meddling here!

  The Turak carried no weapons, at least none Nicholas discerned. A good sign? Perhaps the body armor is the formal uniform of the Turak?

  A speaker mounted in the Turak armor crackled to life. “Human, follow me. Do not deviate, if you do not comply, you die.” He turned on his heel and set off.

  Nicholas hesitated for but a millisecond before he adhered to the stark orders and followed the scarlet clad figure down a corridor. His companions followed in his wake.

  Nicholas’ longer stride meant he caught the Turak posthaste, though, he made no attempt to introduce himself. Nicholas read nonverbal communication as well as the next man. No insightfulness was required to understand this particular Turak’s lack of interest in speaking to humans. His job, if he was a he, was to deliver them... somewhere.

  They passed many closed hatches along the corridor until after a short distance the group reached a set of double doors. On their approach the doors swooshed open and revealed a bijou carriage equipped with up to a dozen seats.

  The Turak entered the carriage, took a seat at one end and poised his fingers over the nearby compact panel. He waited for the humans to comply with his silent request. The humans read their cue and each grabbed a seat while the Turak entered a series of key strokes in the control panel. The doors closed. Moments later, Nicholas saw doors flash by the carriage windows. They were moving, but at such velocity he lost count of the flashing doors and became almost dizzy.

  A short time passed before the carriage slowed and came to a halt. The Turak stood as the carriage doors opened and he strode off as fast, as his short steps allowed, down another deserted corridor. They walked in silence for another few minute until their unwilling guide reached a doorway covered in ornate gold motifs. The symbols reminded Nicholas of ancient Nordic runes.

  The doors slid open and the scarlet clad Turak stepped to one side. “Enter. Approach the clan lord, human. Be respectful or face the wrath of Clan Orlak.”

  Nicholas, now used to such threats, did not bat an eyelid. He and his party entered.

  Wow! There was no comparison to the sterile corridors they had just walked to get here. A marine let out a low whistle at the sight of the opulent state room. Decorated in exquisite rugs and throws, gold, platinum and rare gems glinted and sparkled, lit only by secreted wall lights. Equidistant along the walls stood statuesque Turak, dressed in distinctive scarlet body armor and hung across their chests they carried an ugly rifle type weapon with a wicked, half meter long blade attached to the barrel.

  Eyes drawn to the center of the room Nicholas drank in the view of an imposing lone high-backed chair upon which sat another Turak, adorned in the now familiar figure hugging armor, topped with a gold embellished helmet and a matching gold sash fitted snuggly around his waist.

  At last! Perhaps now we can get to talk.

  “Human, share this information and leave the space of Clan Orlak and all Turak.”

  Perhaps not.

  Nicholas surmised this race to be a subset of the Turak, Clan Orlak? Is this the chief? “Clan Lord. I am Ambassador Nicholas Schamu and…”

  The Turak half rose from his seat, “Who you are is not my concern, human!” His deep voice echoed around the room. “Do not waste my time. Give me the information you say exonerates your puny Commonwealth of the murder of my clansmen.” He returned to a seated position and gestured towards Nicholas. “Give the information to me! Then leave before my goodwill is exhausted and I extract it from you and return your lifeless body to your master.”

  In unison the marines’ hands dropped to rest on their PEP pistols in their holsters. The clan lord inexplicably let out bellowing laugh. “Humans with fighting spirit? I will see what sort of warriors you are. Come! Battle with me!”

  Nicholas stepped in. He had no wish to witness combat and much preferred diplomacy to war. He slipped the PAD with the recordings from the Selene system and the vid images of the recovered Saiph ship from his suit pocket. “Clan Lord, the evidence showing The Commonwealth did not attack your clansmen in the Selene system is held on this device.” He pulled the recordings on the PAD and got ready to play. ”We too, were attacked by those ships and many of our own are dead. This device,” he held the PAD out towards the clan lord, “also holds a video recording of the interior of a ship belonging to our attackers which we recovered. We identified the crew of this ship as a race we know as the Saiph…”

  This time the Clan Lord rose to his feet and he pointed at Nicholas. “Lies! The Saiph are dead! Their world is gone. You waste my time. How can dead Saiph do these things?”

  The clan lord’s words startled Nicholas, the Turak had knowledge of the Saiph!

  “You say you suffered at the hands of these black ships? I will do your dead the honor of reviewing this information, but, you must return to your ship and leave our space! I will refrain from extracting my clan’s vengeance until I am satisfied of the origins of the black ships.”

  The state room’s entrance doors swooshed open and their talkative guide stood awaiting them. Nicholas placed the PAD on the floor before turning to leave.

  His head spun with the gems
of information his brief audience gave him. A glimpse into the structure of the Turak clan based system, their natural aggression touted by confrontational language and the compulsion to prove physical prowess. The Turak also knew of the Saiph and their ignominious fate at the hands of the Others.

  The Turak understood more about Commonwealth space and history than a modest spattering of Standard English.

  Nicholas and his superiors had much to ponder.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Settling Accounts

  SLIVINO VALLEY - NORTHERN ITALY – EARTH – SOL SYSTEM

  The New Year had come to the Slivino valley and winter’s harsh weather returned with a vengeance. Temperatures plummeted well below zero and the snow and ice was thick on the ground. Seaton Anderson had been forced to postpone his daily treks through the woods but even the luxurious surroundings of the house became too much for him, so he requested his favorite stallion saddled up and headed out into the cold with the sound of the wind his only companion.

  Conditions were worse than Seaton expected and after only half an hour he decided to cut his outing short and return to the warmth of the house. Turning the horse around, he glimpsed the towering spires of the estate through the trees when without warning, the horse reared up on its hind legs. Seaton lost his grip and fell hard onto the frozen forest floor. Dazed, he lay still for a few seconds before the stars receded from his vision to see the stallion galloping off down the track back toward the estate house. Seaton let out a silent curse as he struggled to his feet. It was an hour’s walk at least back to the welcoming fires of the house. A fleeting image in the corner of his eye made him turn his head in its direction. The sight of a blurry white ghost filled his vision before a strong arm locked around his neck, followed by a quick twisting motion. A sickening crack rang out.