“Yes, sir,” Ensign Fry said.
Technically, the other captains had autonomy over their respective ships, though Husher could also direct them as he saw fit. Ultimately, the battle group went where the admiralty told it to go, and adhered to whatever ROEs the admiralty laid out. But in certain situations, Husher performed the function of admiral without holding the actual rank. Just another role to round out my endless list of duties.
“Captain,” Ensign Fry said, “we’ve just received a priority transmission from a com drone that recently entered the system. It’s audio and video, addressed to you. Should I play it here or would you prefer to take it in your office?”
“Play it here, and give everyone access.”
Admiral Iver appeared on the main display, and as per Husher’s order, everyone’s Oculenses would have access to his likeness as he spoke. “Captain Husher, hopefully this message reaches you before you leave the Feverfew system, since time has suddenly become precious. We’ve just received a distress call from the governor of Tyros in the Wintercress System, which at the time of Governor Jomo’s transmission was under attack by a vessel of unknown origin.
“On the heels of this message, I’ve ordered the com drone carrying it to transmit to you all the sensor data collected by the Wintercress System’s sensor web. Your new orders are as follows: the Vesta is to make all reasonable haste toward Wintercress and answer this new threat. Before you do, please hand off the diplomats I’ve already designated, Shobi and Bryson, to your battle group ships. Those ships are to proceed to the Gok homeworld and continue their diplomatic mission. I have full confidence that you will have the situation in Wintercress well in hand. While the attacking vessel’s origins are unknown, it is only one ship—a destroyer, from the looks of it. It did manage to neutralize two IGF ships on patrol in the system, the Stentor and the Orion, but I highly doubt it will be any match for the Vesta. Iver out.”
The main wall display returned to whatever each CIC officer had been viewing prior to the recording—for Husher, data on the main engines, on which he’d had Engineering perform a full inspection before getting underway to the Gok home system.
“The promised data package just arrived, Captain,” Ensign Fry said. “Should I—?”
“Put it on the display.” There was no need to conceal from the crew anything about what they would be facing in Wintercress.
The destroyer that appeared had a hull the color of a storm cloud, rendering visual sensors somewhat less effective in picking it out from the inky blackness of space. Not so bad for visuals as the jet-black Ixan vessels we saw during the Second Galactic War.
In every other way, however, the enemy ship cut a menacing figure. Despite Iver’s abundance of confidence, the ship was nearly half the size of the Vesta, according to the readouts that accompanied the image. Its form was that of a flat, elongated diamond, and it bristled with what Husher felt sure was weaponry, though each gun’s dimensions differed dramatically from anything fielded by the IGF.
Could this be it? Husher asked himself. What I’ve been bracing for all these years?
He wanted it to be, he realized. For multiple reasons—such as the interminable waiting, which was slowly driving him insane. Or the fact that, if this ship didn’t represent the vanguard of the AIs’ attack fleet, then it belonged to a different threat altogether, while the danger posed by the AIs still loomed.
A third factor: Husher didn’t know how much longer he could keep at bay the twin advances of pacifism and bureaucracy, which threatened to choke out their military effectiveness altogether. The former was a noble impulse, Husher recognized that, but a noble death at the hands of a merciless attacker was still death.
He heaved a sigh that sounded a lot like relief, drawing some curious looks from a couple of his CIC officers.
This was what he was made to do. It was what he’d trained to do, and also what he’d been preparing for, for the better part of his life. Maybe all his life.
Chapter 12
Debris Cloud
“Transitioning through the Lilac-Wintercress darkgate now, Captain,” Winterton said.
“Acknowledged, Ensign.” Husher said. He sat back and waited for more data to come in, wondering how things were in Cybele, right now. Two days into their journey to Wintercress, he’d gone to Penelope Snyder’s office to discuss his own Awareness Training, and she’d told him about Nonattendance Day for nonhuman species. It was a day for aliens to stay home, to highlight the vital role they play in society. Husher would have been fine with the idea, except that it happened to coincide with today, the day the Vesta was transitioning into a system that had recently been attacked. His alien crewmembers were far too vital to give them the day off while a possible engagement was brewing.
“Tyros’ planetary net appears to be down, sir,” his Coms officer said. “I’m not detecting the usual signal volume—just chatter from a few com drones passing through the system.”
“The people of Cybele will be disappointed,” Fesky muttered from the XO’s chair beside Husher. “Especially if this means they can’t download the latest updates for their video games.”
Husher suppressed the urge to chuckle, shooting Fesky a reproving look instead. He wanted to clamp down on the joking before it began to compromise the professionalism he expected from his CIC crew. “Any sign of the enemy destroyer, Winterton?”
“I’m detecting a dispersed debris cloud between Tyros and its solar shield—presumably, the debris is what’s left of the Stentor and the Orion. But no sign of the enemy, Captain.”
Husher nodded. The solar shield was an enormous loop of conductive wire that was positioned between most major colonies and their suns, meant to deflect large flares. The IU had started installing them after a solar flare had fried the electronic grid of Sestos, ruining its economy and causing untold suffering until relief ships and workers could be dispatched there. There were plans to eventually install solar shields for every colony in the Union.
Husher turned to his Coms officer. “Ensign, continue trying to establish contact with Tyros. Preferably, I’d like to speak to the governor. Kaboh, continue taking us down the system’s gravity well at a measured pace, and Winterton, begin active scans of the entire system.”
“Aye, sir,” all three officers said in rough unison.
As the tense silence lengthened, Husher began to worry what it might mean for the planetary net to be down. Had the enemy vessel sabotaged it and then vacated the system? And had it done anything to harm the civilian population of Tyros before it did?
“Captain, I’m getting something,” Fry said at last, two hours into their journey toward the colony. She sounded relieved. “It’s a transmission from Governor Jomo.”
“If there’s video, put it on the display.”
The governor, a Tumbran, appeared, fleshy chin-sack wobbling as though she’d just taken a seat. “Captain Husher,” the alien said in the impassive tones characteristic of her species. “Thank you for answering our distress call. I am, however, relieved to inform you that the danger seems to have passed. Without warning, after destroying the Stentor and the Orion, the vessel that attacked us disappeared from our sensors in a most surprising way. It has not returned since.”
The Tumbran shifted, glanced to the left, then refocused on the transmission. “Perhaps we should assume that the unknown vessel concluded it could not contend with Tyros’ orbital defense platforms, which are fully operational. At any rate, in the spirit of caution, I expect you will want to remain in-system to ensure the hostile vessel does not return. In the meantime, I would like to invite the people of Cybele to conduct trade with us, and I would like to invite you, Captain Husher, to have dinner. Perhaps we can review the footage of the disappearing warship together, and attempt to make some sense of it. I look forward to a real-time conversation with you.”
With that, the transmission ended.
Beside him, Fesky twitched. “Did something seem off to you about that message
, Captain?”
Husher contemplated the question. “Winterton, I want you to perform a close inspection of the defensive platforms we can see from this side of the planet. Lean on radar, but do what you can with visual sensors at this distance, too. Let me know if you detect any reason to believe they’ve been disabled.”
Twenty minutes later, the sensor operator had his report. “The platforms check out, Captain. There’s no sign of damage or malfunction that I can detect.”
“Well, we’ve done our due diligence. Either way, Jomo was right that we’ll be staying for a while. And there’s no good reason not to allow Cybele to conduct some trade, though anyone who comes aboard should know that they do so at their own risk, and that a military engagement is possible at any time. Even so, in that event, there should be plenty of time to evacuate whoever wants to be elsewhere.” Husher glanced at Fesky. “There’s also no reason for me to turn down dinner with the governor, so I’m going to go ahead with it.”
“Still…I strongly recommend a marine escort, Captain.”
Husher considered that for a moment. “It could be interpreted as an insult to our hosts. But all right, Fesky. I’ll take your recommendation.”
Chapter 13
As Though in a Warzone
A shuttle was prepped by the time they reached orbit over Tyros, and as per Fesky’s recommendation—which had bordered on insistence—Husher ordered it packed with as many marines as it could hold, which amounted to two full platoons, one to guard the shuttle and one to accompany him to dinner with the governor.
“I’m beginning to feel like a head of state,” he remarked to the marine sitting in the crash seat beside him, a corporal named Yung.
“Well, sir, you do command a starship with a city aboard it.”
Husher inclined his head slightly. “True enough. Strange times.”
Tyros, formerly of the Tumbran Federation, now belonged to the Interstellar Union. To Husher’s knowledge, that hadn’t made much difference to the colony’s composition. It still numbered around a hundred thousand beings, and it still welcomed all comers from other species. There were sizable Winger and even human populations, despite the strained relationship humanity had had with the rest of the galaxy ever since inheriting dark tech. Even during the peak of what Husher readily admitted was human tyranny, humans had felt essentially welcome here. He liked Tyros.
Before the formation of the Interstellar Union, the Tumbra had run what were called Coffee Stations—essentially, space stations where humans weren’t welcome. Husher didn’t like the idea of that, so much, but then, the United Human Fleet had had a strict rule that aliens weren’t allowed on their warships, so maybe they were about even on that score.
There weren’t any Coffee Stations, anymore. The Tumbra had voluntarily closed them as soon as the IU was formed, in the spirit of unity.
The ride down through the atmosphere was bumpy, though not nearly as bad as some reentries Husher could remember, in and out of shuttles. Attitude stabilizers had gotten a lot better in the last twenty years. Then there was the time he’d executed an emergency orbital insertion inside a faulty reentry suit…
“Sir, we have the go-ahead to touch down on top of Piper Hall,” the shuttle pilot radioed to Husher’s com.
“Acknowledged. Take us down.”
“It’s a beautiful winter day down there. I recommend keeping your jumpsuit zipped up nice and snug, Captain.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
Ten minutes later, he followed two squads of marines into the airlock. Two more squads had already deployed on top of Piper Hall and were busy securing the rooftop.
The shuttle airlock’s outer hatch hissed open, and Husher stepped out into a cutting wind that pelted his face with ice. Through the blizzard, he could see silhouettes of marines running around the roof, generally behaving as though they were in a warzone.
He wondered how the governor would react to him bringing eighty marines along to dinner, edgy after years with nothing to shoot but practice targets. How do I let Fesky talk me into these things? To think Admiral Iver was about to send me on a diplomatic mission…
A hulking form in winter combat gear appeared out of the storm. “All clear, Captain, other than this blasted ice,” the form said in a slow drawl.
“Thank you, Major Gamble.”
Major Peter Gamble was commanding officer of the marine battalion assigned to the Vesta. The man had a flair for leadership that Husher sometimes envied, as well as a strong grasp of tactics, as evidenced by the combat simulation scores that Husher reviewed regularly, for all his marines.
“Shall we head down into the hall?” Gamble asked.
“By all means.”
A rooftop elevator opened at their approach, either manually operated or programmed to recognize Husher’s likeness. It only fit a squad at a time, and so Husher had to wait on the ground floor with the first squad for the other three to join them.
A Tumbran appeared nearby, its spherical, hooded eyes peering up at the marines from atop its oblong head. “My,” it said as the third squad piled out of the elevator. “There certainly are a lot of you.”
“You don’t have to feed us all,” Gamble said. “Just the captain. My marines have already eaten.”
“I’m certain our chefs can find a way to accommodate anyone who wishes to dine,” the Tumbran said, turning to waddle down the hall. “Follow me, please.”
As soon as the fourth squad of marines made it down, they all trailed the Tumbran through a series of corridors filled with commemorations and tributes to the life of a Tumbran who’d been called Piper, after whom the hall was named. It had been his sacrifice, along with that of Captain Keyes and his CIC crew, that had wiped out the majority of the Ixan fleet, a move that proved instrumental to winning the war.
As he passed a portrait of the stoic Tumbran, Husher could almost hear Piper’s voice in his head, delivering one of his trademark digs—so dry that it sometimes took minutes for the recipient to realize they’d been insulted.
I miss that little bastard.
Keeping pace with the Tumbran, going was slow, which made sense given the alien was around half the height of the average human. But at last, they reached the banquet hall, where long dining tables faced each other across meters of empty marble floor.
A lone Tumbran stood at the opposite end of the hall, hands folded in front of her stomach, which poked out a bit from underneath her tunic. She stood in front of a broad, floor-to-ceiling banner, blood-red in color. Several identical banners hung all around the hall. The garish wall hangings didn’t seem in keeping with Tumbran sensibilities, but maybe they’d wanted to do something a bit different with the hall dedicated to one of their most cherished heroes.
“Governor Jomo!” Husher called across the hall. “It’s good to see you. Apologies for the heavy marine presence, but my XO can be a bit—”
“Captain Husher, be on your guard,” Jomo cried.
Drawing to a stop, Husher tilted his head back, studying the Tumbran more closely.
Without warning, the blood-red banners fell to the floor, revealing enormous alcoves behind them. Those were more in line with Tumbran tastes, and so were the statues and artwork they featured.
But Husher didn’t have much time to study the decorations. He was too distracted by the hulking, three-meter-tall figures that lurched from the recesses.
Eyes narrowed, body rigid with shock, Husher stared at the alien behind Jomo, his mind churning as it tried to make sense of what he was seeing.
Other than its incredible size and musculature, the giant closely resembled an Ixan, with its dark-green scales, its clawed hands, and its creepy, sinuous smile.
Husher gasped, then, as he realized just who he was looking at. Teth.
“Hello, Husher,” Teth said, reaching down to grasp Jomo’s head with one massive hand, its fingers extending down the Tumbran’s entire face.
With a casual flick of his wrist, Teth snapped Jomo’s neck,
and she went limp, falling to the floor.
“Attack,” Teth hissed, and the other Ixa darted across the marble toward Husher and his marines, moving with astonishing speed.
Chapter 14
Defense Platform 5
Mug in hand, Fesky settled into the command seat for what she expected would be a long, uneventful watch.
At least I don’t have to deal with Kaboh, she reflected as she sipped from her still-piping coffee, which she took with a dash of cream and nothing else. The smarmy Kaithian Nav officer ruffled Fesky’s feathers, that was for sure, but he was being allowed to rest in case the captain’s visit to Tyros ran long enough to warrant a second watch to take over. In that event, Kaboh would have the command.
Unlike Captain Keyes before him, who’d often stated that he had no desire to allow his CIC to become a cafeteria, Husher allowed his CIC crew beverages, as long as they were kept in tight, plastic mugs that amounted to adult sippy cups. His one other stipulation—besides no alcohol, of course—was that each officer was responsible for making sure the cup’s lid was sealed between sips. The first time they spilled hot liquid on themselves, other officers, or on sensitive equipment, he said, was the last time they would find themselves in his CIC. So far, Fesky hadn’t had the opportunity to witness whether that was true.
In her peripheral vision, Ensign Winterton’s whole frame went rigid. “Ma’am, sensors have just picked up a warship matching the profile from the data package sent to us by Admiral Iver. It’s coming around Tyros’ moon.”
Fesky’s gaze locked onto the ensign, marveling at how level his voice was, given this dumbfounding revelation. “That’s impossible,” she said, punctuating her words with a clack of her beak. “The system’s sensor web is still active. It should have picked up an unidentified ship on the dark side of the moon long ago.”
With a curt nod, the sensor operator returned her look with one of calm. “Regardless, Commander. The ship’s there.”
Ixan Legacy Box Set Page 7