The inner airlock door opened, and the marines who’d been in the airlock during takeoff scrambled to strap themselves into their crash seats before the steep climb into orbit. Once they were settled, a silence descended on the shuttle—deeply uncharacteristic of marines, who were known for their brash banter before, during, and after a fight.
We’re all peacetime soldiers, now. Walking contradictions, wholly unprepared for what’s coming for us.
An unsourced transmission request came in over his Oculenses, and he thought he knew who it would be. When he willed acceptance of the connection, and Teth appeared as though towering over him inside the shuttle, his suspicion proved out.
In order for Teth to appear like that, he had to be the beneficiary of either in-depth intel about Oculens technology or enough luck that whatever tech he had access to had developed in precisely the same way. Husher considered the former infinitely more likely.
“How are you alive?” Husher said. Several marines glanced his way, though none of them would have access to Teth’s words.
“Lieutenant Husher,” the Ixan said, his voice breathier than Husher remembered, and more sibilant. “Or rather, Captain, now, isn’t it? We’ve always enjoyed such exquisite conversations, you and I. Yet here, you open with a disappointingly banal question.” Teth’s forked tongue made a brief appearance, flicking past his teeth and lips before vanishing into the dark hole of his mouth. Now that he was getting a closer look, Husher saw that several of the bone protrusions characteristic of Ixan faces had escaped Teth’s flesh and now showed as white knobs and spikes in symmetrical patterns along the sides of his head. “How am I alive,” Teth said, repeating Husher’s words. “Hmm. Perhaps you imagined that your mentor’s sacrifice was meaningful—that his death put a final end to the force poised to extinguish humanity. Is that what you thought?”
“I thought he killed you.”
“He did not. I was far enough from the blast wrought by the collapsing wormhole to survive, as were tens of thousands of other Ixa.”
“Sounds like you had some good luck, then.”
Teth’s thin lips widened into a smirk. “Call it whatever you wish.”
“Baxa turned the Ixa into automatons. Mindless slaves. After we killed him, every Ixan we found had basically become a vegetable. We connected them to life support, but they all died within the year.”
“So it was with the crew of my destroyer, as well as those of the surrounding Ixan ships. I was only able to save those aboard my ship, and that with great difficulty.”
“How?”
Teth’s smirk became a wide smile, revealing a pair of elongated fangs that definitely hadn’t been there when last they’d met. “So many banal questions. Let me answer several of them at once: the Progenitors. They found me in time, allowed me to resuscitate my crew, and they gave me access to the superior weaponry currently battering your new supercarrier. They also augmented my brethren and I in the way you have seen.”
“Who are the Progenitors?”
“Who do you suppose they are, Captain Husher? Why don’t you use your vaunted Oculenses to look up the meaning of the word. Maybe that will give you a clue to work with, as an alternative to pestering me with your endless questions.”
“What’s your aim, here, Teth? What do you want?”
“My aim is tied up with that of my creators. To tell you the truth, Captain, I’ve gained a certain humility to go with my new power. I am merely the opening volley in the war for which you’ve been struggling weakly to ready your pitiful Union. There is a path to peace, however brief that peace ends up being. If you would like any quarter for your people at all, there are two things I require of you. I would like both you and Jake Price to present yourselves on the Ixa’s homeworld, Klaxon.”
“I don’t know a Jake Price.”
“Then I suggest you seek him out and meet him. Quickly! This has only just begun.”
With that, Teth’s grotesque likeness vanished from the shuttle.
Chapter 18
Surface Tension
Before the shuttle touched down on Flight Deck Omicron, Husher dragged himself away from his muddled thoughts long enough to commend both the marines and Chief Haynes for getting them all home safely.
“We lost a lot of good soldiers down there,” Husher said, meeting each marine’s eye in turn. “There’s no sugarcoating that, nor would I want to. But I can promise you one thing. We’re going to take it to those bastards hard for what they did.”
A hearty cheer answered that, and Husher was glad to see his soldiers’ spirits were far from broken. “Major Gamble, I need you to take your people to Cybele, to maintain order and help anyone negatively affected by the Ixan attack. We’re not through this yet, but I want you to do everything you can to put those citizens at ease without lying to them about the reality of the situation.”
“Yes, sir,” Gamble said, all business. He was a jovial hand around the Poker table, or so Husher had heard. While taking everyone’s money, the reports went. But in the middle of an ongoing op, the major’s sense of humor went somewhere deep inside him. “Where are you headed, Captain, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“The CIC. I intend to start taking our losses out of Teth’s hide.”
Gamble nodded. “All right, then. I’ll have two marines escort—”
“Belay that.”
The major’s eyebrows rose. “Sir?”
“I’m not about to start suffering escorts on my own ship.”
After a brief hesitation, Gamble nodded again. “Yes, sir.”
Husher positioned himself at the front of the first group out of the airlock. The task he’d given the marines was important, but it wouldn’t count for much if the Vesta was bested by Teth’s destroyer. He trusted Fesky to do a good job, but he’d much rather sit in the command seat himself at a time like this.
The outer airlock opened, and he dashed across the flight deck, grateful he no longer needed to bother with pressure suits to do so. In the old days, flight decks had been open to space, but with improved airlock technology it was quicker to have combat shuttles and Pythons undergo a brief pressurization and decontamination before entering the flight deck proper.
As he jogged toward the CIC, he found the crew corridors almost empty, which made sense. With an engagement in progress, everyone currently on duty would be intent on their respective tasks, and a change of watch wouldn’t happen until they were certain the action had ended.
A groaning, scraping noise from up ahead reached his ears, and he paused, his hand going automatically to his pistol. By now, he’d captained this vessel for thirteen years, and he knew her sounds by heart. A groaning, scraping noise wasn’t one of them.
He listened for a few seconds more, hearing nothing. Then, something flayed open the metal of the bulkhead five meters in front of him, emerging into the corridor and tracking Husher immediately with its head.
If it could be called a head. It certainly had no face to speak of, and the “head” was smooth and curved, extending forward as well as backward. The thing was made from some dark-gray metal, and its metallic arms and legs resembled shields that had been stretched along the vertical axis.
The intruder came no higher than Husher’s stomach, but it had also just torn through his ship like tissue paper. Deciding to take it seriously, Husher flicked open the clasp holding his P600 in place, whipped it out of the holster, and proceeded to empty its clip into the monster’s torso.
The thing scrambled to cross the distance separating them. Husher began walking backward, and when the gun clicked instead of fired, he loosed the empty clip and slammed in a new one.
By now, he was running backward to keep ahead of his assailant, which caused his sidearm’s muzzle to waver more than he would have liked. Sucking in a ragged gasp, he tightened up his aim and succeeded in planting the entire second clip inside the intruder as well.
The last bullet made the thing stagger at just a few feet’s remove, buying Hus
her enough time to load his final clip into the gun and finish the job.
He put the fourth bullet into the robot’s head, which rendered it inert. For good measure, he brought his boot up hard under what he supposed could be called the thing’s chin.
It still didn’t move, and Husher took the opportunity to curse loudly, causing a bead of sweat to lose its surface tension and slide down his cheek.
“You’re still alive,” he told himself. He knew better than to expect more than that from any given day.
At least, he’d once known better. Maybe I’ve forgotten. Seems I’ll have plenty of opportunity to relearn.
Opening a com channel with Gamble, he said, “Major, I need you to mobilize four more platoons and get them patrolling the ship’s corridors in squads. Assign one squad to guard each of the primary engines, two to Engineering, as well as one squad apiece to patrol our major capacitor banks. Are those orders clear?”
“Clear as day, Captain.” The major didn’t ask for any explanations, which was one of the reasons Husher considered the man invaluable.
That done, he jogged on toward the CIC, leaving the metal attacker in a heap for collection and study later. As he ran, the turbulence of space battle made the Vesta buck around him, and he focused on keeping his footing.
Chapter 19
Superheating
“I have the CIC,” Husher barked as he passed through the main hatch and strode toward the command seat.
“You have the CIC, Captain,” Fesky said, sounding not at all reluctant to relinquish command. She settled herself into the XO’s seat, alongside his.
“Sitrep,” Husher said as he settled into his chair.
“The enemy vessel launched three massive barrages consisting of twenty-four missiles each. Only a handful got through, though I would have expected them to do far more damage than they did. Sensors showed multiple hull breaches, and I isolated the corresponding sections, but damage control teams found rents they characterized as surprisingly small.”
“Those weren’t missiles—not traditional ones, anyway,” Husher said. “They were robots, designed to infiltrate our ship and target her primary systems and components.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I killed one on my way here. No further questions, if you please, Commander. What explanations I have for you will come later.”
That caused Fesky to tremble with what was no doubt embarrassment. Husher could tell the battle had thoroughly flustered her, in a way he’d barely seen from her since before the Gok Wars. He sympathized, but there was no time to hold her talons, either. He needed her best, as well as that of everyone else in the CIC.
“What’s the enemy’s posture been since the third barrage?” he asked.
Fesky clacked her beak, and her shaking lessened as she seemed to get a better grip on her emotions. “They’ve mostly been sitting back, swatting down whatever we send their way. One of our Gorgons got through, and that seemed to take out a cluster of point defense turrets, but they’ve been relying on lasers to compensate.”
Husher nodded. “They’re probably waiting for us to show signs that their robots successfully tore up some vital systems. Maximum efficiency was always Teth’s MO, and I have reason to believe he wants to take us alive if he can.”
“Wait, what?” Fesky squawked. “Teth?”
He could have kicked himself. “Explanations later, Fesky.”
“Yes, sir.”
Keenly aware of the tens of thousands of civilians he had aboard, Husher said, “Tactical, prep a barrage of six Banshees and standby to deploy them one at a time, with ten seconds between each.” Gorgons or Hydras might have been more likely to connect with his adversary, but he meant the Banshees to serve a diversionary function, so for this, the sleek, fast missiles were his best choice. He turned to Kaboh. “I want you to devise a route that takes advantage of a gravity assist from Tyros’ moon, flinging us toward the outer system. Send it to Helm the moment you have it.”
“That will take us even closer to the hostile vessel, Captain,” Kaboh said. “I would remind you of the people in Cybele, who are likely afraid for—”
“I gave you an order and I expect it implemented immediately, Lieutenant. I did not request your feedback.”
“I’m well within my right to give it,” the Nav officer said, in the closest he’d ever heard a Kaithian come to grumbling. Nevertheless, he turned back to his console and began to work.
Kaboh was right, of course. Current doctrine did invite subordinates to raise any criticisms they felt warranted. But that doctrine had been developed during a protracted peacetime, and lengthy debate didn’t square well with surviving an engagement with a powerful enemy.
“I haven’t forgotten the civilians in Cybele,” Husher said. “Nor have I forgotten the ones on Tyros, protected by orbital defense platforms that appear to be nonoperational. It’s why I’m attempting a measured retreat, in order to lure the enemy away from the planet and deal with them farther out, if we can—ideally, at a remove that also keeps our civilian occupants safe. Our Air Group should be able to help with that.”
Husher hated his impulse to justify himself to Kaboh, but he knew the bureaucrats would comb over everything he said today, and ever since his last meeting with Snyder, he remained far from certain that even a new war would secure his position as commander of this ship.
“Captain,” Chief Tremaine said, “Banshees are armed and loaded with their courses, which compensate for our trajectory toward the moon.”
“Fire on my mark.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s our total capacitor charge?”
“Nearly ninety percent.”
Husher nodded. Enough to fire the primary twice. That was good to know. IGF captains had less cause than their historical counterparts to frantically fire their primary lasers at the earliest opportunity an engagement presented. In the past, a fully charged main capacitor could cause a catastrophic release of energy given a big enough impact, but modern capacitors were designed to be much more impact-resistant, suspended as they were in shock-absorbent frames that kept them more or less isolated from any shaking suffered by the ship.
Husher had been keeping a close eye on the tactical display, and when they reached the proximity he’d already deemed optimal, he said, “Fire the first Banshee, Tactical.”
“Aye.”
“Sir…” his sensor operator said slowly, as though he’d noticed something anomalous in his readouts. Then Winterton spoke again, urgency making his voice strained: “Sir, we’re getting superheating along the starboard bow. The hull is already breached!”
As soon as Winterton finished speaking, the explosions began, rocking the CIC even in its location deep inside the supercarrier.
Husher’s heart skipped a beat. “Helm, adjust our attitude downward relative to the ecliptic plane, twenty degrees, and bring engines to full power.”
“Aye, Captain!” said the Helm officer, a Winger named Vy.
“Coms, tell Damage Control to seal off all affected sections.” Husher’s gaze fixed on Tremaine. “Hit them with our primary, Tactical, and standby to do it again.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Enemy destroyer is already taking evasive maneuvers,” Winterton said.
“Acknowledged. Give me a damage report.”
“The hull was breached along sections eleven through twenty-two, in a horizontal gash that stretches from deck eight right up to deck nineteen, in some places.”
“Has the superheating effect subsided?”
“For now, it appears to be in the process of subsiding, Captain. But the temperature’s high enough in some sections that the hull is still sloughing off.”
“What was that?” Fesky asked, turning toward Husher, eyes wide.
“If I’m to guess, I’d say it was a particle beam,” Husher said, his voice tight. From what we’ve seen, Teth is at least a generation ahead of us in terms of weapons tech, possibly two. Then th
ere were the biological modifications that he and the other Ixa had made to themselves, or which someone else had made. I’d be in over my head even if the Interstellar Union didn’t have a firm grip on my leash, as though restraining a rabid dog.
“Sir,” Tremaine said, “our primary laser missed its mark—the enemy ship is moving too fast along a trajectory that’s almost the exact opposite of the Vesta’s. Now that we’re closer, though, I think we can train it on the enemy long enough to inflict some damage.”
“Do it.”
“Firing primary a second time,” Tremaine confirmed. Seconds later, he blinked at whatever he was seeing on the main display, brow furrowed.
Winterton spoke, and his words clarified Tremaine’s look of confused dismay: “Sir…sir, the enemy ship has vanished.”
Blinking, Husher studied the man’s face. “Are we experiencing a sensor malfunction, Ensign?”
“I have no reason to believe we are.”
“Could this be the result of advanced stealth tech?” Husher was grasping at straws—he already knew the improbability of what he’d just suggested.
Nevertheless, Winterton answered. “Unless the combined physics knowledge of the four species that comprise the Interstellar Union is woefully inaccurate…no, I don’t think that’s possible, sir.”
“Vanishing isn’t either,” Husher said flatly.
Winterton had no answer for that.
Chapter 20
On the Local Galactic Cluster
Husher called a meeting of his top officers as well as high-ranking civilian officials from Tyros, to be held as soon as possible.
Unfortunately, “as soon as possible” wasn’t nearly soon enough, for his tastes. The delay had mostly to do with the necessity of waiting for the civilian officials to take shuttles to orbit, rendezvous with the Vesta, and make their way through her labyrinthine corridors.
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