Archangel One

by Evan Currie

  “Initiate targeting scans,” she ordered. “Maximum power to all scanners. Blind them.”

  “On your orders, Fleet Commander. Scanners pulsing. Full power.”

  The FTL Pulse went out, blinding her own fleet briefly with the sheer power of the released energy. Most of their systems had been rigged and protected, however, and rebooted swiftly as the wave went out. The signal rebounded quickly, lighting up their board with signals from the Oather vessels.

  The lock attained using real time methods merely confirmed what their predictive systems had been telling her, but that was not the point of the action. Helena settled in to wait for the slow return of light-speed limited signals to show her the results of her commands.

  It never failed to fascinate her, what was truly important in combat among the stars: patience above all things, information a close second place.

  Power comes in far lower in the ranks than most of my peers seem willing to believe.

  Helena watched as the numbers shifted, the ships following a plot through space on her screens. Seconds slowly counted down as the lines converged in space and time while she waited to see what the enemy was going to do.

  I choose where you go, you do what I choose, Helena thought as she stared at the track that indicated the Oather squadron.

  The system beeped as the enemy squadron shifted paths, just enough to avoid contact with her main force.

  Helena smiled.

  Kravk

  Javrow scowled, irritated by the constant adjustments in course the enemy was pushing him to make.

  “Shift course again, keep us clear of their engagement range. Full scan, I want detailed records of every ship the Empire has deployed into our space.”

  “Yes Captain.”

  The Empire had to be more concerned about the Terrans than Javrow had originally thought. They were acting like they were desperate to bring his force to action, which spoke to fear in the ranks.

  Good.

  After everything the Empire had done, all the uncountable lives they’d taken from the Priminae, they deserved a little fear in their lives.

  In the meantime, however, all he could do was acquire more information that could, eventually, be used against them.

  “Increase velocity,” he said finally. “We’ve gotten enough scans.”

  “Yes Captain.”

  The squadron began to accelerate as it completed the loop around the system primary and began heading up and away from the star. The Kravk almost hummed under his feet as he watched the particulate matter in the system redshift in the scanner display, and streak past the vessel.

  “Enemy fleet is shifting course again, Captain.”

  Javrow grimaced. “Move to evade.”

  “They’re not on an intercept course this time, sir.”

  “What?” Javrow twisted, striding over. “What are they doing?”

  “Enemy fleet is moving along this course,” his subordinate said, tracing an imaginary line through the inner system against the display.

  Javrow glared at the screens. “What are they doing? Why change tactics now?”

  He was still trying to work out the puzzle before him when alarms began blaring all around him. Javrow turned, looking around to the source.

  “New gravity sources detected!”

  “Why didn’t we see them before?” he demanded, eyes falling on the new signals on the plot.

  “They were hiding in the shadow of the gas giant, Captain.”

  Javrow nodded tersely, eyes flitting to the planet in question. He should have considered that possibility, but it hadn’t even occurred to him.

  “They moved too soon, Captain,” his second said. “There is an escape path.”

  Javrow curled his lips up. “Full scanners, active pulse—along that escape path.”

  “Excuse me, Captain?”

  “I gave my orders. Follow them.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Imperial Eighth Fleet Command Vessel

  “He’s figured it out,” Helena said, mildly surprised. The directed pulse went out, splashing off her picket ships in the outer system where they were already moving to cap the last possible set of escape vectors.

  The Oather ships would drag it out as best they could, she had little doubt, but the end had now been written.

  “Too late by far, Fleet Commander,” Steppen said from beside her.

  “Yes. Finish it up, Sub-Commander,” she said, gesturing to the screens. “Command is yours. No survivors, if you please.”

  Steppen nodded once.

  “On your orders.”

  Chapter 8

  Unity Station

  The Marines dropped their gear as they formed up in the open bay of Unity Station, all eyes flicking toward the row of ships that were sitting just a short distance away.

  The ships were sleek and looked like they were built for speed with some intent to enter atmosphere at least, but they were also big. The nearby Vorpal Space Superiority Fighters, the Vorpals, were children’s toys by comparison. The new class of ships barely seemed to fit inside the bay, and while a few of the Marines had flight training, not even they could imagine wanting anything to do with landing those things within the confines of the station’s flight deck.

  “How many people do you think fit on one of those things?” a corporal hissed, eyes staying forward as they waited for the officers to show up.

  “Don’t know, looks a bit bigger than a cutter,” another responded in a similar tone. “Hundred crew, maybe?”

  They all started when an unknown voice cut into the whispered discussion, coming from behind.

  “Technically, one pilot can manage and fight the ship on his own.”

  The Marines didn’t turn to see who was speaking, despite being startled, instead remaining in position as the speaker marched past the ranks into their line of sight. They saw it was a fleet commander, wearing the dark-blue scrub overalls that were common in fleet operations when one didn’t want to muck up a relatively expensive uniform.

  “You must be my Marines,” the commander said, turning to look them over. He tilted his head slightly, looking amused. “This should be fun.”

  “Your Marines, sir?” Buckler asked, stepping forward.

  “That’s right. The name is Michaels, Commander, United Earth Fleets. On board these ships, however, you can call me Steph,” he said, making the sergeant blink.

  “Sir,” was all the Marine said by way of response.

  The commander chuckled. “Don’t like that, do you, Marine?”

  “Discipline is . . .”

  “Vital, but we’re going to have to find another way to create it,” Steph told them all. “Have you been briefed, Sergeant?”

  “Not formally, sir.”

  “I see,” Steph said. “Well, split your platoon into six squads and get them bunked, then report to my office on the number one over there, and I’ll read you in. This isn’t a standard assignment, Marine, so trust me when I tell you that you’re going to need to improvise, adapt, and overcome if you want to cut it sailing with me.”

  “Oorah, sir!”

  Steph watched as the Marines got themselves squared away, checking off another box on the list of things to do before the new Archangels were ready for their first excursion into the deep black. He and Alex had tracked down enough pilots, though they were light on real deep-space experience to a degree that worried him more than a bit. Of course, given the different nature of the mission at hand, that might ultimately prove to be an advantage, but he supposed that was a tale yet to be told.

  Tyke had come on board, as had his young partner. Both were NICS qualified, but the new NICS interface required heavy retraining. It made the ship more of an extension of the pilot’s will, but for people like himself and the more experienced flyers, Steph knew that the lack of a stick and throttle was a significant distraction.

  He still caught himself curling his fist around an invisible control during instinctive maneuvers, even after
over a hundred hours in the system.

  The younger recruits they’d scared up were adapting more quickly, which was to be expected, but they would need more time to get dialed in for combat operations for other reasons.

  “Sir.”

  Steph rolled his eyes as he dropped into the small office chair bolted to the floor in his tiny work space.

  “Take a seat, Sergeant,” he said, gesturing.

  Buckler hesitated until Steph looked pointedly at the seat again and then dropped stiffly into the chair across from the narrow desk.

  “The admiral selected you, so I’m sure you’re the best,” Steph said, tapping a file resting on his display. “I’ll even get around to reading your jacket sometime, probably a week after we’re underway at the rate things are going. But did she tell you what you’re getting yourself into?”

  “Didn’t have to, sir. We wanted this duty.”

  “Oh please tell me you didn’t volunteer, Marine?”

  Buckler didn’t respond.

  “Rookie mistake.” Steph laughed at him. “You really should know better, Sergeant.”

  “It’s a deep-space mission, sir,” Buckler said by way of answer. “Going up against the people who sent those . . . things against us. Of course we volunteered.”

  Steph couldn’t really argue with that logic, but he found it funny just the same. Eric had constantly told him to never volunteer for anything. Of course, Eric would then turn around and volunteer for every high-risk mission that came up.

  “It’s probably a Marine thing,” he muttered, shaking his head.

  “Sir?”

  Steph noted the very tightly controlled level of censure in the sergeant’s voice and negligently waved a hand at the man. “Keep the gung ho stowed, Marine. I served with Weston through damn near the entire Block War, so I know a thing or two about the Marines even though I never officially signed up.”

  “The commodore, sir? You were with the Archangels?”

  “I am with the Archangels, Sergeant,” Steph said, plucking another file from his pile of desk work and flipping it casually at the Marine. “And now so are you.”

  Buckler caught the file, thumbing the flimsy display on and skimming the classified brief before looking back. “Seriously?”

  “The admiral isn’t really the joking sort,” Steph confided as he flipped through his own flimsy, examining the files of the Marines now being added to his command. “Impressive jacket, Sergeant. SOCOM detail after the war, a few hairy missions during the invasion. No space duty, though.”

  “That’s why we volunteered. The enemy isn’t down there anymore.” Buckler gestured to his feet, eyes still reading the display he was holding.

  “More that way.” Steph pointed off slightly to one side.

  “What?”

  “Earth,” Steph said, still pointing without looking up. “It’s more that way. Unity Station isn’t oriented up and down perpendicular to Earth’s gravity. We’re slanted a bit, so the Earth is that way. Hell, Buckler, you were at Iwo?”

  “I was a scared-shitless private at the time, but yeah. Spent most of that month hiding in tunnels older than my granddad, praying that they wouldn’t collapse on my dumb ass.”

  Steph nodded, thumbing his print onto the display, accepting the transfer without bothering to look any further. He wasn’t a Marine, but he’d fought over Iwo himself in the last days. Anyone who walked off that worthless rock after going the duration was good enough in his book.

  “Welcome to the squadron,” he said, looking away from the Marine to scan the rest of the platoon’s files. “Same goes for the rest of your squad; if they’re good enough for you, they’re good enough for me. We’re still winding up, but we expect to be underway and heading for deep black in the next week or so. Should be plenty of time for you to familiarize yourself with procedures, at least enough not to get us all killed before the enemy finds us.”

  His grin belied the nature of his comments, and he only rated a roll of the eyes from the master sergeant.

  “Mission specification?”

  Steph grinned. “Barbary Coast.”

  The sergeant frowned. “We’re going after pirates? I didn’t realize that was a problem.”

  “It isn’t, yet.” Steph smirked. “We get to be pirates.”

  Buckler looked up at Steph evenly, his face blank. “Marines are death on pirates, sir.”

  “No shooting yourselves,” Steph said. “That’s a direct order. We need better intelligence than the Rogues can get from observation, and that means we need an in with the locals. Early intel from the Rogues indicates that there are a lot of random turf wars and the like around the outskirts of Imperial space. Where you get that kind of conflict, you find mercenaries and pirates looking to make a quick buck.”

  “Mercenaries now? That’s worse than pirates.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, Sergeant, we’re only going to be pretending.” Steph smirked smugly at the man.

  “It doesn’t,” Buckler said and let out a breath. “But orders are orders, I suppose.”

  Steph clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit!”

  “I’m going to regret this, I just know it.”

  “If you haven’t figured that out by now, I’m not surprised you joined the Marines.”

  Buckler shot the commander a dirty look, but by then Steph was already turning away and didn’t care about the daggers the Marine was aiming his way. It felt good, really, to be on the receiving side considering how often he’d done the same to Eric in the past.

  Odysseus, Earth Orbit

  Miram let out a silent breath as she watched the current chief helmsman walk his new subordinates through the paces while the ship controls were run in simulation mode. It could be going worse, she supposed, but only because there was so very much . . . well, space in space. One had to work to actually run into anything when you were operating in the black, and none of the new officers were quite that determined to get everyone killed.

  “Relax, Commander, you’re going to bust a vein.”

  She glanced over her shoulder to the approaching commodore, pitching her voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry. “I suppose we’ve been spoiled, but this is painful.”

  Eric tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment, a wisp of amusement crossing his face. “I won’t be taking us into close-range fighting anytime soon, or at all if I can possibly avoid it, I’ll admit.”

  Miram raised an eyebrow. “And suddenly I’ve never been more pleased to have inexperienced people at the helm. I don’t suppose you’d care to make any promises to that effect?”

  Eric laughed, drawing some attention for a moment before everyone went back to work.

  “No, I don’t suppose I would,” he admitted, “but I will certainly not be as eager to get in close, not without Steph at the controls.”

  “It will be a change, fighting the ship the way you’re supposed to fight a cruiser,” Miram said slyly.

  Eric rolled his eyes at that, but didn’t comment.

  Odysseus walked invisibly through the decks of the ship that was his . . . domain, he supposed? Honestly, the young entity didn’t know what to call any of it. His experience was so limited in comparison to those he had met who were like him that he barely understood enough to know just how little he knew.

  Did that make sense?

  The convoluted morass of thoughts left the entity mired in his state of mind as he examined the actions among the crew, his crew, as they prepared for their next mission. Odysseus felt the missing presence of Steph deeply in a way that surprised him. It seemed strange, to miss someone. He was so used to being able to have a thought and instantly find the subject of his thoughts.

  To not be able to find someone was disturbing.

  Odysseus had known on some level that crew could come and go, people could die—people had died, in fact, but he had not grown close to many in the time since his awakening. Steph was one of those he had interacted with as himself
, not merely through their experiences.

  Something was very different about that, the entity had come to realize.

  It was one thing to experience the thoughts of the crew, but it was vastly different to interact with them from his own perspective.

  Steph had taught him this. The commander had explained to him that military people were often reassigned to new positions, and that a parting of ways was normal in the service. Odysseus didn’t think he liked this part of what was normal, but he didn’t seem to have much choice in the experience.

  That which is normal seems unlikely to always be good.

  Eric looked over the work as it progressed, satisfied with how things were moving along despite the expected problems the crew were encountering. The Odysseus was as ready for their next run into the black as she could be, he decided, and there was no reason to put the mission off.

  We’ll have to finish honing the blade on the fly, he decided, and it wasn’t the first time he’d made such a choice.

  The new crew was coming along nicely, perhaps not as quickly as some of his original Odyssey shipmates, but what they lacked in individual experience, they made up for in a distinct lack of ego that had plagued the original vessel. When you took the best of the best and threw them together, you often got personality clashes.

  Eric smiled, thinking of Dr. Palin specifically.

  As brilliant as the good doctor had been, conducive to the smooth running of a starship he simply had not been. Palin could drive a sober man to drink, and a priest to murder . . . and that was when he was behaving himself.

  Of course, he’d found his place eventually, and his work had saved them all, so Eric was pleased to have had him along for part of his journey.

  It’s time, Eric thought with certainty. Back in black.

  Station Unity One

  “Commander.”

  Steph stiffened automatically, coming to attention and pivoting as he did.

  “Admiral,” he replied, nodding respectfully as Gracen stepped over the knee knocker and into the ship’s flight control deck.