by Eric Nylund
the crew in the ship in unnecessary danger. “This isn’t over yet. Stay sharp,” he told them. “Lieutenant Hikowa what is the charge status of the MAC guns?”
“Capacitors at ninety-five percent, sir, and draining at a rate of three percent per minute.” “Ready MAC guns, one heavy round apiece. Arm all forward Archer missile pods.” “Aye, sir.” TheIroquois broke free of the dark side of Sigma Octanus IV. “Fire chemical thrusters to break orbit, Lieutenant Hall.” “Firing, aye.” There was a brief rumble. The screen centered on the backsides of the two Covenant frigates they had
passed on the way in. The alien ships started to come about; blue flashes flickered along their hulls as their laser turrets
charged. Motes of red collected along their lateral lines. They were readying another salvo of plasma torpedoes. There was something there, however, that was too small to see on the view screen: the nuke. Keyes had
launched that missile in the opposite direction—but its reverse thrust had not completely overcome their tremendous forward velocity.
As theIroquois had screamed over the prow of the destroyer, and as they orbited Sigma Octanus IV, the nuke had drifted closer to the frigates . . . who had fixed their attention solidly on theIroquois .
Commander Keyes tapped his data pad and sent the signal to detonate the bomb. There was a flash of white, a crackle of lightning, and the alien ships vanished as a cloud of destruction enveloped them. Waves of the EMP interacted with the magnetic field of Sigma Octanus IV—rippled with rainbow borealis. The cloud of vapor expanded and cooled, and faded to yellow, orange, red, then black dust that scattered into space.
Both Covenant frigates, however, were still intact. Their shields, however, flickered once . . . then went dead. “Get me firing solutions for the MAC guns, Lieutenant Hikowa. On the double.” “Aye, sir. MAC gun capacitors at ninety-three percent. Firing solution online.” “Fire, Lieutenant Hikowa.” Two thumps resonated through the hull of theIroquois . “Lock remaining Archer missile pods on targets and fire.” “Missiles away, Commander.”
Twin thunderbolts and hundreds of missiles streaked toward the two helpless frigates. The MAC rounds tore though them—one ship was holed from nose to tail; the other ship was hit on her midline, right near the engines. Internal explosions chained up the length of the ship, bulging the second ship’s hull along her length.
Archer missiles impacted seconds later, exploding through chunks of hull and armor, tearing the alien ships apart. The frigate that had taken the MAC round in her engines mushroomed, a fireworks bouquet of shrapnel and sparks. The other ship burned, her internal skeletal structure showing now; she turned toward theIroquois but didn’t fire a weapon . . . just drifted out of control. Dead in space.
“Position of the Covenant carrier, Lieutenant Hall?” Lieutenant Hall paused, then reported, “In polar orbit around Sigma Octanus Four. But she’s moving off at considerable speed. Headed out-system, course zero four five.”
“Alert theAllegiance andGettysburg of her position.”
Commander Keyes sighed and slumped back into his chair. They had stopped the Covenant ships from glassing the planet—saved millions of lives. They had done the impossible: taken on four Covenant ships and won.
Commander Keyes paused in his self-congratulation. Something was wrong. He had never seen the Covenant run. In every battle he had seen or read about, they stayed to slaughter every last survivor . . . or if they were defeated, they always fought to the last ship.
“Check the planet,” he told Lieutenant Hall. “Look for anything—dropped weapons, strange transmissions. There’s got to be something there.”
“Aye, sir.”
Keyes prayed she wouldn’t find anything. At this point he was out of tricks. He couldn’t turn theIroquois around and return to Sigma Octanus IV even if he had wanted to. TheIroquois ’ engines were down for a long time. They were speeding on an out-system vector at a considerable velocity. And even if they could stop—there was no way to recharge the MAC guns, and no remaining Archer missiles. They were practically dead in space.
He pulled out his pipe and steadied his shaking hand.
“Sir!” Lieutenant Hall cried. “Dropships, sir. The alien carrier deployed thirty—correction: thirty-four— dropships. I have silhouettes descending to the surface. They’re on course for Côte d’Azur. A major population center.”
“An invasion,” Commander Keyes said. “Get FLEETCOM ASAP. Time to send in the Marines.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
0600 Hours, July 18, 2552 (Military Calendar) / UNSCIroquois , military staging area in orbit around Sigma Octanus IV
Commander Keyes had a sinking feeling that although he had won the battle, it would be the first of many to come in the Sigma Octanus System.
He watched the four dozen other UNSC ships orbit the planet: frigates and destroyers, two carriers, and a massive repair and refitting station—more vessels than Admiral Cole had at his disposal during his four-year-long campaign to save Harvest. Admiral Stanforth had pulled out all the stops.
Although Commander Keyes was grateful for the quick and overwhelming response, he wondered why the Admiral had dedicated so many ships to the area. Sigma Octanus wasn’t strategically positioned. It had no special resources. True, the UNSC had standing orders to protect civilian lives, but the fleet was spread dangerously thin. Commander Keyes knew there were more valuable systems that needed protection.
He pushed these thoughts aside. He was sure Admiral Stanforth had his reasons. Meanwhile the repair and resupply of theIroquois was his top priority—he didn’t want to get caught half ready if the Covenant returned.
Or rather,when they returned.
It was a curious thing: the aliens dropping their ground forces and then retreating. That was not their usual mode of operation. Commander Keyes suspected this was just an opening move in a game he didn’t yet understand.
A shadow crossed the fore camera of theIroquois as the repair stationCradle maneuvered closer.Cradle was essentially a large square plate with engines. Large was an understatement; she was over a square kilometer. Three destroyers could be eclipsed by her shadow. The station running at full steam could refit six destroyers, three from her lower surface and three on her upper surface, within a matter of hours.
Scaffolds deployed from her surfaces to facilitate repairs. Resupply tubes, hoses, and cargo trams fed into theIroquois . It would take the full attention ofCradle thirty hours to repair theIroquois , however.
The aliens had not landed a single serious shot. Nonetheless, theIroquois had almost been destroyed during the execution of what some in the fleet were already calling the “Keyes Loop.”
Commander Keyes glanced at his data pad and the extensive list of repairs. Fifteen percent of the electronic systems had to be replaced—burned out from the EMP when the Shiva missile detonated. TheIroquois ’ engines required a full overhaul. Both coolant systems had valves that had been fused from the tremendous heat. Five of the superconducting magnets had to be replaced as well.
But most troublesome was the damage to the underside of theIroquois . When they had told Commander Keyes what had happened, he went outside in a Longsword interceptor to personally inspect what he had done to his ship.
The underside of theIroquois had been scraped when they passed over the prow of the alien destroyer. He knew there was some damage . . . but was not prepared for what he saw.
UNSC destroyers had nearly two meters of titaniuma battleplate on their surfaces. Commander Keyes had abraded throughall of it. He had breached every bottom deck of theIroquois . The jagged serrated edges of the plate curled away from the wound. Men in EVA thruster packs were busy cutting off the damaged sections so new plates could be welded into place.
The underside was mirror smooth and perfectly flat. But Keyes knew that the appearance of benign flatness was deceptive. Had the angle of theIroquois been tilted a single degree down, the force of the two ships impacting would have shorn his ship
in half.
The red war stripes that had been painted on theIroquois ’ side looked like bloody slashes. The dockmaster had privately told Commander Keyes that his crew could buff the paint off—or even repaint the war stripes, if he wanted.
Commander Keyes had politely refused the offer. He wanted them left exactly the way they were. He wanted to be reminded that while everyone had admired what he had done—it had been an act of desperation, not heroism.
He wanted to be reminded of how close a brush he had had with death.
Commander Keyes returned to theIroquois and marched directly to his quarters.
He sat at his antique oak desk and tapped the intercom. “Lieutenant Dominique, you have the bridge for the next cycle. I am not to be disturbed.”
“Aye, Commander. Understood.”
Commander Keyes loosened his collar and unbuttoned his uniform. He retrieved the seventy-year-old bottle of Scotch that his father had given him from the bottom drawer, and then poured four centimeters into a plastic cup.
He had to attend to an even more unpleasant task: what to do about Lieutenant Jaggers.
Jaggers had exhibited borderline cowardice, insubordination and come within a hairbreadth of attempted mutiny during the engagement. Keyes could have had him court-martialed. Every reg in the books screamed at him to . . . but he didn’t have it in him to send the young man before a board of inquiry. He would instead merely transfer the Lieutenant to a place where he would still do the UNSC some good— perhaps a distant outpost.
Was all the blame his? As Commander, it was his responsibility to maintain control, to prevent a crewman from even thinking that mutiny was a possibility.
He sighed. Maybe he should have told his crew what he was attempting . . . but there had simply been no time. And certainly, no time for discussion as Jaggers would have wanted. No. The other bridge officers had concerns, but they had followed his orders, as their duty required.
As much as Commander Keyes believed in giving people a second chance, this was where he drew the line.
To make matters worse, transferring Jaggers would leave a hole in the bridge crew.
Commander Keyes accessed the service records ofIroquois ’ junior officers. There were several who might qualify for navigation officer. He flipped through their files on his data pad, and then paused.
The theoretical paper on mass-space compression was still open, as well as his hastily calculated course corrections.
He smiled and archived those notes. He might one day give a lecture on this battle at the Academy. It would be useful to have the original source material.
There was also the data from theArchimedes Sensor Outpost. That report had been thoroughly made: clean data graphs and a navigational course plotted for the object through Slipstream space—not an easy task even with an AI. The report even had tags to route it to the astrophysics section of the UNSC. Thoughtful.
He looked up the service record of the officer who had filed the report: Ensign William Lovell.
Keyes leaned closer. The boy’s Career Service Vitae was almost twice as long as his own. He had volunteered and been accepted at Luna Academy. He transferred in his second year, having already received a commission to Ensign for heroism in a training flight that had saved the entire crew. He took duty on the first outbound corvette headed into battle. Three Bronze Stars, a Silver Cluster, and two Purple Hearts, and he had catapulted to a full Lieutenant within three years.
Then something went terribly wrong. Lovell’s decline in the UNSC had been as rapid as his ascent. Four reports of insubordination and he was busted to Second Lieutenant and transferred twice. An incident with a civilian woman—no details in the files, although Commander Keyes wondered if the girl listed in the report, Anna Gerov, was Vice Admiral Gerov’s daughter.
He had been reassigned to theArchimedes Sensor Outpost, and had been there for the last year, an
unheard of length of time in such a remote facility. Commander Keyes reviewed the logs when Lovell had been on duty. They were careful and intelligent. So the boy was still sharp . . . was he hiding?
There was a gentle knock on his door. “Lieutenant Dominique, I said I was not to be disturbed.” “Sorry to intrude, son,” said a muffled voice. The pressure door’s wheel turned and Admiral Stanforth
stepped inside. “But I thought I’d just stop by since I was in the neighborhood.” Admiral Stanforth was much smaller in person than he appeared on-screen. His back was stooped over
with age, and his white hair was thinning at the crown. Still, he exuded a reassuring air of authority that Keyes instantly recognized. “Sir!” Commander Keyes stood at attention, knocking over his chair. “At ease, son.” The Admiral looked around his quarters, and his gaze lingered a moment on the framed
copy of Lagrange’s original manuscript in which he derived his equations of motion. “You can pour me a few fingers of the whiskey, if you can spare it.” “Yes, sir.” Keyes fumbled with another plastic cup and poured the Admiral a drink. Stanforth took a sip, then sighed appreciatively. “Very nice.”
Keyes righted his chair and offered it to the Admiral. He sat down and leaned forward. “I wanted to congratulate you personally on the miracle you performed here, Keyes.”
“Sir, I don’t—” Stanforth held up a finger. “Don’t interrupt me, son. That was a helluva piece of astrogation you pulled off. People noticed. Not to mention the morale boost it’s given to the entire fleet.” He took another sip of
the liquor and exhaled. “Now, that’s the reason we’re all here. We need a victory. It’s been too damn long—us getting whittled to pieces by those alien bastards. So this hasgot to be a win. No matter what it takes.”
“I understand, sir,” Commander Keyes said. He knew morale had been sagging for years throughout the UNSC. No military, no matter how well trained, could stomach defeat after defeat without it affecting their determination in battles.
“How is it going planetside?”
“Right now don’t you worry about that.” Admiral Stanforth eased back in his chair, balancing on two legs. “General Kits has his troops down there. They’ve got the surrounding cities evacuated, and they’ll be assaulting Côte d’Azur within the hour. They’ll paste those aliens faster than you can spit. You just watch.”
“Of course, sir.” Commander Keyes looked away.
“You got something else to say, boy? Spit it out.”
“Well, sir . . . this isn’t the way the Covenant normally operates. Dropping an invasion force and leaving the system? They either slaughter everything or die trying. This is something altogether different.”
Admiral Stanforth waved a dismissive hand. “You leave trying to figure out what those aliens are thinking to the spooks in ONI, son. Just get theIroquois patched up and fit for duty again. And you let me know if you need anything.”
Stanforth knocked back the last of his whiskey and stood. “Got to marshal the fleet. Oh—” He paused. “One more thing.” He dug into his jacket pocket and retrieved a tiny cardboard box. He set it on the Commander’s desk. “Consider it official. The paperwork will catch up with us soon enough.”
Commander Keyes opened the box. Inside were a pair of brass collar insignia: four bars and a single star.
“Congratulations,Captain Keyes.” The Admiral snapped a quick salute, then held out his hand.
Keyes managed to grasp and shake the Admiral’s hand. The insignia was real. He was stunned. He couldn’t say anything.
“You’ve earned it.” The Admiral started to turn. “Give me a shout if you need anything.”
“Yes, sir.” Keyes stared at the brass star and stripes a moment longer then finally tore his gaze away. “Admiral . . . there is one thing. I need a replacement navigation officer.”
Admiral Stanforth’s relaxed posture stiffened. “I heard about that. Ugly business when a bridge officer loses their stomach. Well, you just say the candidate’s name and I’ll make sure you get him . . . as long as you’re no
t pulling him off my ship.” He smiled. “Keep up the good work, Captain.”
“Sir!” Captain Keyes saluted.
The Admiral stepped out and closed the door.
Keyes practically fell into his chair.
He had never dreamed they’d make him a Captain. He turned the brass insignia over in his palm and replayed his conversation with Admiral Stanforth in his mind. He had said, “Captain Keyes.” Yes. This was real.
The Admiral had also brushed aside his concerns about the Covenant too quickly. Something didn’t quite add up.
Keyes clicked on the intercom. “Lieutenant Dominique: track the Admiral’s shuttle when he leaves. Let me know which ship he’s on.”
“Sir? We had an Admiral aboard? I wasn’t informed.”
“No, Lieutenant, I suspect you weren’t. Just track the next outbound shuttle.”
“Aye, sir.”
Keyes looked back on his data pad and reread Ensign Lovell’s CSV. He couldn’t take back what had happened with Jaggers—there could be no second chance for him. But maybe he could somehow balance the books by giving Lovell another chance.
He filled out the necessary paperwork for the transfer request. The forms were long and unnecessarily complex. He transmitted the files to UNSC PERSCOM and sent a copy directly to Admiral Stanforth’s staff.
“Sir?” Lieutenant Dominique’s voice broke over the intercom. “That shuttle docked with theLeviathan .”
“Put it on-screen.”
The screen over his desk snapped on to camera five, the aft-starboard view. Among the dozens of ships in orbit around Sigma Octanus IV, he easily spotted theLeviathan . She was one of the twenty UNSC cruisers left in the fleet.
A cruiser was the most powerful warship ever built by human hands. And Keyes knew they were being slowly pulled out of forward areas and parked in reserve to guard the Inner Colonies.
A piece of shadow moved under the great warship, black moving on black. It revealed itself for only an instant in the sunlight, then slithered back into the darkness. It was a prowler.
Those stealth ships were used exclusively by Naval Intelligence.