Cortez thought the next twenty minutes were absolute torture; he wanted to see action so bad he could taste it. The Ambassador’s Fleet and the Naati fought in close combat, almost all ships within a hundred kilometer wide sphere. As the minutes passed three of the four Gladius cruisers disappeared, taking seven of the Naati Wolf class with them. The Montcalm was heavily damaged and drifting; a projection of her course showed she would crash into Borrega in several hours. The Coral Sea had begun to move outward from the battle, only harassed by a few fighters. The Crius, damaged but still under power, defended in vain against the Bellicose, the Orca and the majority of the Naati fighters.
Cortez glanced at the clock again.
“Purge, lock, and fire!”
Purge fields appeared above the sitrep table and enveloped the clashing fleets. A few moments later, the Bellicose began to throb red. Over seventy missiles streaked from the Reyter’s strike group, the missile trails displayed over the sitrep table merging as they flew toward the Bellicose.
“Sixty-one seconds to target,” Cisoto said.
The purge eliminated any ECM the Union ships were using to defend themselves, but Cortez felt it was worth the risk. There was also the possibility of splash from exploding warheads would damage any Union ship within range of the Bellicose.
Such is the risk of battle.
The Naati ships and fighters, as well as the battlecarrier’s point defense, managed to shoot down several of the incoming missiles, but it wasn’t enough. Over forty warheads struck the Bellicose, and the massive ship disappeared in multiple blooms of antimatter energy. A wave of force expanded outward at nearly luminal speed, striking every ship in the area.
“Reinforce forward shields against debris,” Cisoto said.
There’s another one for the history books.
Cortez noticed the force of the blast knocked the drifting Montcalm; the course projection showed she would enter Borrega’s atmosphere in one hundred and twenty two minutes and strike somewhere on the northern continent.
The Reyter’s strike group was still more than twenty minutes away.
“Free fire,” Cortez said over the strike force comms. “Forward elements are to concentrate their fire on the Orca. The rest of you take targets of opportunity.”
He muted the comms. “Acquire target lock on the Montcalm and fire a half-volley of missiles.”
Cisoto looked at him, her eyebrows raised. “Sir?”
“You heard me, Commander. Follow the order.”
“Sir, we can save some of them.”
“There isn’t enough time.” Who the hell did she think she was?
Using a gesture, she zoomed into the Montcalm. “Look, they’ve launched lifeboats. A missile strike may kill them all.”
Cortez raised his voice and added some reverberation “There isn’t enough time! Do it!”
Cisoto flinched, and then stepped back from the sitrep table, her hands behind her back.
“You silly little insect,” Cortez purred. “They’re only human.” Cortez had made the calculation; he could sacrifice these few survivors to avoid an even bigger loss of life. He tapped at the sitrep table and acquired target lock on the Montcalm. “Missile control? Fire a half volley. Now.”
“Yes, sir.”
Four lines appeared above the sitrep table and streaked toward the wreck of the Montcalm.
McFinn
McFinn’s head hurt. When he opened his eyes, all he saw was a blur. He heard voices, muffled and distorted as if he was underwater.
He reached up to rub his eyes, and smeared his face with something. He realized something slick covered his hands. He wiped his hands and rubbed his eyes again.
He was on his back, lying between rows of seats. He tried to sit up, but moaned with pain.
“Looks like our guest is waking up,” a voice said.
He saw a man’s face above him, then another. They wore dusty and torn black combat suits.
A third face appeared and smiled. “Greetings, Your Grace.”
“Who are you?”
“Lars Pederson, Director-General of the Intelligence Directorate.”
“What are you doing here? Where am I?”
“On board an intelligence vessel. We’re on our way to the Crius.”
He remembered what happened before he passed out. “Where’s the Ambassador?”
The men laughed. “She’s in the Shah’s palace,” Pederson said. “Or, what’s left of it.”
Laughter filled McFinn’s ears.
“What the hell am I doing here? What happened?”
Pederson tossed him a cloth and a few medtabs. “The Naati committed a heinous atrocity. Antimatter bomb.” They all laughed again.
McFinn sat up and looked at the scratches and dirt that covered his body. He wiped off his left arm and injected the medtab. The pain lessened. “How the hell did I get out?”
“I saved you, you little shit.”
“How did you know it was going to happen?”
The men erupted in gales of laughter, and Pederson winked at him.
The vessel had a narrow cabin; five men occupied other seats. McFinn rose and sat in one of the seats and put his head in his hands. Nausea gripped his stomach. He wore nothing but his underwear; his body covered in dirt and blood.
How could they know? If they did, why didn’t they save the Ambassador?
A moment later, he realized the truth.
“I think he’s almost got it,” Pederson said with a smile.
“You did it!” McFinn said.
“Give the man a prize!” one of the others said.
“Why?”
“I did it at the behest of your dear father,” Pederson said.
Your father sends his love. “What?”
“That’s right, but he wanted me to make sure you lived.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Believe it. Your old man is quite the schemer. I have a feeling he’s gonna show up here, sooner or later. Call it a hunch.”
My father! Memories of the man flooded his mind “Why would he be coming here?”
“This whole shitshow is his idea, boy. I think he has something special planned for you. Your father owes me. Big time.”
“Why?”
Pederson stepped to McFinn’s seat and grabbed him by the hair on the back of his head. He brought his face close and sneered. “You know how many of my men died to get you out of there, you sniveling little fuck? How many more are going to die to fulfill Robert McFinn’s delusions of grandeur?” He slapped McFinn on the face and sat back down. “But I’ll go along, if it means Humans can survive in this shithole of a galaxy a little longer. In the long run the Borrega Test will save billions of lives.”
A voice sounded over the intercom. “You better strap yourselves in. The Naati have attacked, and the Task Force has arrived. Hold on.”
McFinn strapped himself in. He felt the ship make a sharp maneuver. A strong force threw him against the seat harness. The cabin lights flickered and went dark.
“What the hell is going on?” Pederson said.
“Looks like the Task Force took out the Naati battlecarrier,” the pilot answered over the intercom. “The Crius is in rough shape. Docking in five. Hold on.”
Gavanus
“I’ve got the Strangler,” Commander Koor said. “Arch-Commander Dedron is waiting to speak with you.”
Gavanus and Fangrik stood on the raised platform in the middle of the command deck of the Spoor Follower; Koor sat in the command chair. The image of Arch-Commander Dedron, the commander of the Naati battlecarrier Strangler, appeared in the forward section of the deck. “Commissar Fangrik, our sensors detected the explosion on the surface. We are all relieved you are alive.”
“What happened?” Fangrik said.
“We believe it is Human treachery, Commissar. We did not fire, and we detected no launch from the Human fleet. The explosion must be the result of Human subterfuge.”
“Ours is the only
Naati fleet in the system?”
“Yes. There are no other Naati vessels in the area. I commanded our vessels to engage the Human fleet, but another fleet has appeared at Borrega’s hyperspace limit and is closing. I advise you do not rejoin the fleet until we have dispatched the Humans.”
“We are coming!” Fangrik said. “We will kill them all!”
“Yes, Commissar.” Dedron’s image disappeared.
“It could be the Reactionaries,” Gavanus said. “They have had small groups on Borrega for some time, and have had ample opportunity to plan something like this.”
“No,” Fangrik said, a snarl forming on his lips. “It is the hoo-mans. This diplomacy was nothing but a smokescreen to hide their true intentions.” He looked at Gavanus. “They see us as weak and divided. It is the rational course of action; they have nothing to gain from peace.”
“Then it is war.”
“It is war. Our only recourse now is …”
“Missiles!” Koor snarled. “Inbound on the Strangler!”
Gavanus felt himself thrown off the command platform; he sprawled on top of the crew in the command trenches. Lights and alarms filled the command deck.
“What happened?” Fangrik roared.
“The Strangler has been destroyed” Koor answered a few moments later. “The Human fleet that just arrived is very large, Commissar.”
For all the time Gavanus had known him, Commissar Fangrik had shown remarkable control over his emotions. Indeed, any rage he had shown was a calculated display, an act, to achieve his desired results, such as Gavanus had seen at the Command Council. But now, Fangrik’s back spines grew erect, a snarl formed on his lips, his ears stood upright, and from his pores the scent of rage flooded the command deck. Gavanus’ own brain filled with anger at that scent. When Fangrik roared, Gavanus could not resist, and joined him in the battle cry.
Yazdani
Yazdani saw the explosion in the clear blue sky, and climbed onto the roof of the largest building in the compound to get a better look. In the minutes that followed, as the light of the explosion faded, multiple streaks of fire appeared in the sky. All of the soldiers in the compound looked up, some crying out in surprise.
“The Task Force has arrived?” Shirazi asked as he topped the ladder.
“Yes.”
Yazdani’s pockcomp lit up and he tapped a few keys to decrypt the transmission. Text appeared on the screen.
Transmit intelligence and coordinates.
He pressed a key and transmitted the photographs he had taken of the printed pages Shirazi had shown him. The pages described the location of both Resistance and Borregan Security Forces. The coordinates were a safe place for an equipment drop; Shirazi had selected a location not far from Razdun. The final piece of intelligence information was about the Naati dig sites and their experimentation on Humans.
“Is that your contact?” Shirazi asked.
“Yes.”
The device chimed.
Standby for orders.
Yazdani looked at Shirazi, but said nothing. A few minutes later, the pockcomp chimed.
Razdun targeted for operations. Resistance must stand down. Return to Naati dig site, secure, and wait for relief.
What? He tapped out a question; the response appeared almost immediately.
If the Resistance lay down their arms, they will be given consideration.
Consideration? He tapped out another question. The response chilled him.
The Union is the new power on Borrega. Confirm orders.
Yazdani confirmed the orders. He almost couldn’t look at the General. “You’ve been betrayed.”
Shirazi said nothing; his face was a cold mask.
“You are to stand down. Imperial forces will occupy Razdun. The Union is taking over rule of Borrega.”
“And your promise of self-rule?” The tone of Shirazi’s voice struck him like a slap.
Yazdani almost couldn’t say it. “You will be given … consideration.”
Shirazi looked up at trails of fire in the sky.
“There is one more thing. I must secure the Naati dig site with your help.”
“That is the price of consideration? More blood?”
Yazdani said nothing. The anger ate at his gut; the Union’s betrayal made him look like a fool and a liar.
“You people have short memories,” Shirazi said, still looking at the sky. “Do you know what we suffered under United Earth? Mockery and persecution. Even before that, during the Unification Wars, we were rounded up by the victorious powers and put into camps, some of us slaughtered, our rights stripped from us, blamed for the horrors of the Great Crisis of the 21st century.” He turned and looked at Yazdani. “It was secular society that was to blame, with your corrupt economic theories and putrid morals.” He shook his head. “People like you called us simple, foolish, and barbaric for believing in God. For believing in basic Human dignity under the eyes of our Creator. So we fled to other worlds, but you kept coming to oppress us with your rules and your base morality. And here you are, to test us again.” He smiled. “You people are far too predictable.”
“What will you do?”
“Give me your communications device.”
Yazdani looked into Shirazi’s eyes and gave him the pockcomp.
“I must confess a sin,” Shirazi said, “but God will forgive me. The information I provided was false. We Borregans are far stronger, far more prepared, and far more united than you know.”
McFinn
“Am I your prisoner?” McFinn stood at the ship’s hatch in a pair of borrowed fatigues. The intelligence vessel had just landed on the Crius’ flight deck.
“Of course not, Captain,” Pederson replied. “I was only required to pick you up.”
“Good. I’m not saying thank you.” McFinn touched the hatch’s controls and it opened.
“I’d really like to hear the story of what happened on the Angau Coch.” Pederson smiled.
McFinn looked at him. “What did you say?”
“Near the colony of Marista. You were on the Coch when Naati raiders attacked it. I heard there was a boarding action.”
Someone told them. Cavanagh didn’t kill herself; she was murdered.
McFinn charged Pederson and knocked him over. Despite the pain in his limbs, he pinned Pederson down and got two good shots on his face before the other men hauled him off. Two men held him against the bulkhead, and a third shoved a pistol in his face.
Pederson lay on the deck laughing for a moment. He sat up and touched his jaw and forehead. “Nice right.” He rose to his feet and stood in front of McFinn, his face close. “Someone had to pay for Freedman’s death, and the matter is not completely settled. Consider this a warning, boy. I can strike you anytime, anywhere. Get him out of here.”
Pederson’s men shoved McFinn out of the ship’s hatch; he stumbled and sprawled onto the Crius’ flight deck. He picked himself up and didn’t look back.
McFinn went to his quarters, discovered there was no water due to battle damage, wiped himself off with the fatigues he wore, and donned another pair. He reported to Admiral Tors on the command deck.
Tors was surprised to see him. “How did you get out?”
“We’ll talk about that later,” McFinn replied. “What’s the damage to the Ambassador’s Fleet?”
“We were bloodied,” Tors said, looking at damage reports above the sitrep table. “Much of the damage we sustained from the explosion of the Naati battlecarrier, but the spineys destroyed or disabled most of our fighters, the Cestus, and the Katar. They were ferocious.”
“They got the Montcalm.”
“The Battle Fleet fired on the Montcalm,” Tors said.
“What?”
“She was damaged and drifting, and was on course to crash into Borrega. There was time to save some of her crew, but someone in the Battle Fleet didn’t think so.”
“What
about the Naati?”
“Almost all of their ships were destroyed by the Task Force. A few Wolf class cruisers accelerated out to the hyperspace limit and retreated.”
“They’ll be back. We must send a message to the Task Force.”
“I already have.” Tors swiped away the damage reports and summoned an orbital image. “Here’s an image of the city of Basq.” He zoomed in. “The Shah’s palace is completely destroyed. I didn’t think you made it out.” He paused. “The Ambassador?”
“She’s gone.”
Tors shook his head. “Who was it? The Naati or the Borregans?”
McFinn looked at him, unsure of what to say. To whom can I tell the truth?
“Detecting a hypershunt,” the sensor officer said. “At the hyperspace limit, bearing two six eight mark one five.”
“Scan it,” Tors said.
“Receiving a transmission. She’s a Union assault transport, the HSS Vauban. She’s hailing the entire fleet.”
“Put it up.”
A familiar face appeared above the sitrep table.
Dad. You son-of-a-bitch. He wore a dark silver suit and tie.
“To the Borrega Test Task Force and all other Union assets in the system. Imperial forces are freeing Borrega and bringing its peoples back within the Human family. Eventually the world will enjoy self-rule, but until Borrega can be fully secured and pacified, Her Majesty has appointed me, Robert McFinn, Proconsul of Borrega. I am hereby taking command of all Imperial assets within the system. Please submit copies of all necessary situation reports to the Vauban and continue with operations as planned. Once the city of Basq is secured the Vauban will land and serve as the command presence on the surface of Borrega.” Robert McFinn’s image disappeared.
“Comms?” McFinn said. “Hail the Vauban. Tell the Proconsul his son wants to speak with him.”
The Borrega Test Page 33