Ysarx clapped his hands once. “This metal you see—it is a true marvel. The humans created it, but we have perfected it!”
“What is it?”
“The composite we had been looking for. It is virtually alive. The molecules rebond upon separation.”
Ryax walked toward the ship, which although large didn’t dominate the bay. It had a low, thin meanness about the design which, combined with the ghostly-black coloration, gave it a menacing sleekness.
Ysarx followed. “This is the third such vessel of this class.”
Ryax turned. “And what of the first two.”
His friend’s professional pride wilted somewhat under scrutiny. “They were built—spec’d out by—the clans.”
“Which ones?”
Ysarx held out his palms in mock surrender. “Clans which are loyal to the Premier, my comrade.”
“So you say.”
“These vessels, they are destined for the fleet fighting the humans directly. How much more loyal could that make them and their gallant crews?”
Ryax stared. “You mean the Sol System? That’s Terxan’s clan—Talxen his son is the Prime there.”
Ysarx nodded. “The first was delivered to the trials crew a season ago, and is in service as I understand it. The second is in trials now with the clan crew. The third sits before you.”
Ryax saw the craft in a new light. “These ships have advanced tech?”
“The most advanced.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “One device in particular that we recovered and re-engineered from a destroyed warship that a patrol discovered in deep space.”
“Interesting.”
“Come, let me show you aboard it. You will be amazed at what we’ve accomplished here!”
In the Great City below on the surface, The Premier sat in his place to hear the opening ceremony of the Rite, where the clans and families of the Prax as well as the Conquered Worlds renewed their vows to the common defense of the empire.
Sar’yana’s latest vision had him disturbed beyond measure. She had seen something—something incomprehensible. The image of himself in the eyes of another, prostrate on the ground. She had seen it so vividly, the scene, and so concerned for his safety that she prevailed upon him to double his bodyguard.
This human she kept referring to. The man who had been envisioned alongside their son. The Premier wondered at his identity. As a Prax he was conditioned to despise that ragged race, one and all, but his figuring so prominently in the visions of a Prax See’r intrigued him.
The noises of the beginning of the Rite reached his ears, and he set aside the musings to concentrate on the proceedings.
A young leader of the Conquered Worlds, Praxxan by birth and a rising force in his clan, gave the prerequisite greetings to the assembled entourages. The Hall was filled to capacity as he rambled through the history, recited since a young age, of the conquests of the empire and the Conquest as a mission. The Premier nodded in appreciation of the young one’s timbre of voice and obvious confidence. For his part, the Prax took note of the nods and colored somewhat under the scrutiny of his Premier. But he finished well.
Then several moments passed as the leader stepped down from the dais and bowed before the Premier’s seating area. All eyes looked from the exchange to the next speaker, Terxan.
Terxan gazed impassively down at the Premier for several beats, then cast his proud head in a broad circle to take in the assembly as he greeted them. “Honored guests, celebrated families of the Prax, many have traveled far to attend this Rite of re-dedication. The Empire owes you a debt!”
The applause that thundered shook the hall.
“Virtuous comrades, this Rite shall take days to fully attain to. Most of the clans have attended Rites since the founding of the empire. Many have attained to the role of Premier.” Terxan glanced down at the Premier momentarily, nodding deferentially. “Many clan leaders have had the high honor of seeing their own sons ascend to the throne during their lifetimes. Should it not be so among the Prax?” Terxan thundered out those last words, creating yet another furious response from the crowd.
After a moment’s pause, Terxan looked down at the Premier again, and this time the leader felt the gaze of the hunter upon him. “But alas, our own Premier’s son is unavailable to attend this Rite.” He looked up and around. “Where is the great Axxa?”
The Premier felt his cheeks warming.
Terxan threw up his hands. “We would inquire of this assembly; what of Axxa?”
The huge crowd had fallen silent. Murmurs now began in the background.
“My own son, Talxen, was given charge over the warrior Axxa, but.” And Terxan clipped the ‘but’ short. “But, he has disappeared from his post on Earth—in the midst of the gallant struggle to rid the system of the human infestation. Again, I must inquire…does anyone know of this great warrior’s whereabouts?”
The Premier found himself on his feet. About to speak, but his Advisor was there next to his ear. “He is baiting you, Lord. Let it pass.”
Terxan cast a baleful glance at the two, standing alone in their booth. “It is my sincere wish that the Premier’s noble son be found, and that he might return home to a hero’s welcome. Long live our Premier!”
The applause was deafening, and should have reassured the Premier, who had remained standing as Terxan stepped down to relinquish the podium. Only when the next speaker stood to ascend, looking uncertainly at his Premier standing as if to speak, did the Premier slowly sit with a nod for the proceedings to continue.
The rest of the opening ceremony passed in a blur to him. He found himself appreciating the fact that the Premier didn’t address the gathering until later in the Rite—he needed to understand what Terxan was up to.
As he left the Hall, long after sundown after many, many greetings and conversations, an aide handed him a comm unit. “Private, Lord.”
He took the device and connected it to his ear. The voice of Ryax filled it. “Lord, I must make my first report to you. Please, if you may, meet me at her favorite location at the sunrise.”
He deleted the message and handed the device back to the page. As the vehicle rose into the air to return him to their home, he looked out at the city and longed for the clarity of battle rather than the intrigue of leadership.
Chapter 12
USS Serapis
Carruthers was studying the surface readouts with all the excitement of a first-year student. Every few minutes a short chirp of interest would usher from her station, eventually causing Antonov to walk over, hands behind his back. “What is so engaging, Lieutenant?”
She looked up briefly, then over at Chapan who had the pilot’s position at the moment. “Well sir, it’s just that, um, this is all amazing. I spent my career learning sonar, radar and UF/HF communications. Now here I am, instructing a supercomputer to analyze a frozen planet from orbit.” She grinned. “It’s pretty awesome. Sir.”
Antonov smiled very briefly. “Understood, Lieutenant.”
Carruthers looked from him back to Chapan, who’d suddenly developed an interest in his controls. “Yes…no report at this time, sir. I’ll keep my enthusiasm to myself in the meantime.”
Antonov returned to the command seat, noticing Axxa in the process. The alien was in his normal spot at one of the unused workstations, watching the rest of them. “Do you find it frustrating,” he asked on an impulse, “that you weren’t chosen for the shore party by the Captain?”
The red face stared back. “As you weren’t, either, Captain.”
Antonov sat in the chair. “On this ship, I’m not a Captain. I’m the Executive Officer. You may address me as such.”
“To answer your question… No, I am not dissatisfied with the Captain’s decision.”
The words coming from the Prax’s mouth sounded odd to Antonov, but the translation device embedded at the base of his skull smoothly converted the Prax language into Russian for him. Antonov was continually surprised at how adept the soft
ware in the device was at providing exact language elements—emotion, grammar, almost dialectal in nature.
Although he had spent most of his life in the Navy as a submariner, Antonov had been a closet linguist, enjoying the study of language through his interactions with naval counterparts from other countries. After the Chinese incident, he’d been moved carefully into a staff role and out of the boats, much to the chagrin of his crewmates and supporters within the Navy. But he had understood, and used the time to involve himself in the Intelligence Directorate. His proficiency in English won him several investigative assignments in the US, most recently his part in the ill-fated Bonhomme Richard incident. Basically, he’d swapped out his sub credentials for those of a spy.
Now, the irony of his position as ad hoc XO to the very American he’d flown to the US to study weighed on him. He was aware of the need for a competent senior second officer, and logically he’d been the best choice. I’d have done it myself. Although, to all rights, it certainly looked as though his assignment from Russia was on a semi-permanent hold, his training and patriotism kept him in check from engaging too much with the Americans, should the day come when he had the opportunity to return to his country with the astounding news of the future. Personal relationships must be subordinate to the mission.
He understood the Americans. But this alien, he was a mystery to Antonov. But maybe not so much as he would like to think. In a recent conversation the Prax had admitted his race’s penchant for conquest, their constant need to expand their territory. So Russian of them. Their society was one of hardship, extremes, unblinking dedication to their future. In a way, Antonov rather liked them.
He half-turned to Axxa. “That is wise of you. It is most likely true that a Prax among the party might incite distrust among the local population.”
“As I said, Executive Officer, I have no quarrel with the decision.”
Antonov turned back, pretending not to notice Chapan’s quick spin back to his work. “Please call me Mr. Antonov, Axxa.”
After a moment, Axxa spoke form behind him. “I, too, am a Commander in rank.”
Antonov didn’t turn this time. “Oh? Would you prefer to be addressed as such?”
Another pause. Then, “No.”
“As you wish, Axxa.”
“Mr. Antonov, I think I’ve found something,” called Carruthers.
In the shuttle bay, the shore party went over their gear again. Chief Reyes was the lead rating for the assignment, and despite the presence of the Captain he held forth as though he outranked everyone. Now he was pointing to Frank DeBartelo’s belt. “Cinch that thing up, Frank. You’ll lose your drawers in the first drop.”
In addition to the burly Machinist’s Mate and Reyes, Halloran had selected PO Gerry Wilson, Seaman Rick Patredes, Chief John Parker and Elias Whitney, the Corpsman. Like DeBartelo, Wilson and Patredes were larger men who had weapons training. Those three carried the heavy plasma rifles. Parker was the metal whiz who’d be needed to work out specifics once Halloran negotiated…whatever he ended up negotiating. Assuming they didn’t freeze outside the facility before gaining access. Reyes’ job—and Whitney's—was to keep them all alive. Rounding out the group was Captain Kendra as the shuttle pilot.
The weapons were still a novelty. Unfortunately, Travers had warned them that firing the plasma weapons onboard was dangerous to everyone’s health, so testing them was off the table until they arrived on the planet. Halloran and Reyes carried small projectile pistols similar to the ones they’d first tried back on Earth. Halloran felt comfortable that, in a pinch, he could get off a few rounds of the uber-thin projectiles expelled via electromagnetic force—mini railguns. Other than that, Reyes had procured a wicked-looking knife from a crew cabin, and Parker had a set of pry tools in a bag over his shoulder. Rudimentary housebreaker equipment. When Halloran had poked his head into the bag, Parker had shrugged, adding, “We may end up locked out of the house. Plus a crowbar is as good a weapon as any in a tight fit.”
The Prax shuttle was going to be a tight fit. From the looks of it, the ten-meter long craft was meant to ferry just a small group of Prax at a time. The eight humans were nowhere near as sizeable as the aliens, but they weren’t the smallest crew and were chosen for their physical ability, in case hauling a slab of steel became a reality somewhere along the line. By pressing a wardroom bench into service as a second row of seating, and rigging a spare cable across the rear of the cabin in an attempt to provide seatbelts, the ship was barely ready to go. One saving grace was that Travers and Kendra had tweaked the output of the shuttle’s single engine, claiming that the small ship would be able to lift the requisite steel out of the planet’s atmosphere when needed.
Halloran stood back and let Reyes do his thing. The Chief of the Boat was impeccable, unflappable in action. Outside of the minor breakdown he’d suffered on Earth initially after watching his beloved crew mowed down by that demon Talxen, Reyes had truly been the glue that held the Serapis together. Halloran had long ago learned that the Chief of the Boat must be allowed to own his crew, without impediment from the officers. It was somewhat backward to the outside untrained observer, but the best-run ships were the ones with proper understandings between the senior non-coms and the officer team.
At the end of the day, however, the fact remained that he was leading them into a difficult scenario. The situation on the planet was hardly a known quantity. The weather looked downright deadly. The odds that the local miners would take kindly to someone sneaking in the back door and having an invisible spaceship that needed their particular brand of steel were certainly low. Not to mention the distinct lack of bargaining power Halloran possessed.
Basically, he was winging it.
But hey, they all had just enjoyed a steaming cup of passable hot cocoa from the newly-functioning processors. And they had hot water showers.
“Captain, getting a call from the bridge.” Seaman Don King stood to one side, waiting to relay instructions. Now he pointed to the comm unit near him, set into the bulkhead.
Halloran motioned to Reyes to follow him and walked over. On the line was Antonov. “Captain, Lieutenant Carruthers has found three access points that look promising.”
“Go on.”
The line clicked as Antonov passed the channel over to Gail. “Captain,” she began. “The whole mountain range in the equatorial belt of the planet is studded with subterranean facilities. A lot of the reading come back as mining operations, which makes sense. However, there seem to be large areas below these active levels which are less-used, with little energy signatures. Several exits to the outer surface exist on these levels.”
“Seems too easy.”
“Yes sir, it is. The reason I located them was the existence of energy weapons located in those points of egress. They’re well-defended.”
Halloran looked at Reyes. “But the three?”
“There are three sites with what I would define as ‘intermittent’ energy signatures. One, in fact, seems undefended.”
“Why do you think the readings are intermittent?”
A pause on the line. “I think they might be patrols with energy weapons passing by the entry points.”
“So,” Halloran leaned in to the wall unit. “Tell me about the unguarded point.”
“It’s located in a rough spot, sir. A deep canyon with no access for a shuttle to put down. You should see the cartographic—.”
Halloran smiled patiently at the comm unit. “Later, Lieutenant. So, the other two look better for a landing?”
“Yes, sir, the one has a broad, level plateau outside that shouldn’t be a problem for setting the shuttle down safely.”
“Getting shot down by a surface-to-air missile would be unfortunate, Captain,” added Antonov, who was still on the open channel.
“Sir, the site I’ve selected seems to have reasonable access to the upper levels where we can see the most density of human population. Life forms the computer denotes as human, at least.”
“All right, Lieutenant, you’ve sold me. How do we get the coordinates into the shuttle computer?”
King spoke up from nearby. “Sir, I can get Lieutenant Travers over from Engineering.”
Halloran nodded to the young man. “You do that.”
Carruthers said, “From our orbital path, you can drop and glide right into the mountain range with minimal flight alterations, sir. But I would suggest you go soon.”
“How soon?”
“Optimum positioning in ten minutes, sir.”
“Get Travers the coordinates to feed to the shuttle.” He looked over at Kendra, who had come up to their group but looked unusually subdued. “You’re up, Captain. Get us on the surface in one piece.”
“Yes, Captain.”
After a second look at her, Halloran walked back to the party.
“I think we’re ready, sir,” announced Reyes.
“Let’s hop aboard then.” He looked at Chief Parker. “Last chance, Chief. Any way we can get by without the Tavarran steel sections?”
The red-faced Irishman shook his head. “I went and checked the holed areas again, thinking the same thing, sir. The steel is frayed beyond repair and getting worse every time we engage the engines. The jump was really bad—.”
Halloran held up a hand. “Message received, Chief. We go in. Serapis needs to be a fighting concern.”
Reyes waited and watched the group board, first Kendra and then the rest in turn. “You’re in next, sir,” he motioned when only the two were left in the bay.
“Chief, if I get knocked down and out of this…”
The Cuban smiled sweetly. “Then I’ll carry your sorry ass back myself, sir.”
Halloran chuckled. “You fill me with a determination to get back in one piece.”
“After you, sir. Clock’s ticking.”
Chapter 13
“Serapis, Shuttle 1-5, ready for departure.”
Halloran leaned over. “1-5?”
Resolve of Steel (Halloran's War Book 2) Page 9