Omega Force: Rebellion (OF11)

by Joshua Dalzelle

  He removed one of the many panels in the deck and saw that it was an access to a large cable chase. Data trunk lines wove through the section for as far as he could see when he stuck his head into the opening. He dragged the body over and stuffed it down and around the larger bundles until it fell half a meter or so and landed on some insulated pipes that had frost on them. The fact the body was resting on coolant lines made it all the better to stave off decomposition. Lucky replaced the panel and tack welded it discreetly at each of the four handles, adding one more layer of difficulty if someone came looking for the inevitable smell.

  Lucky picked up the various portable computers, each of the passcodes gleaned from Nikain's neural implant, and the com unit. With another look to make sure the room was sanitized, he unlocked the hatch and stepped through.

  "Nikain! Where have you been? They're looking for you down in the forward magazine!"

  "My com unit had to be reset, and I missed the message," Lucky said. "Thank you."

  "You feeling okay? You look a little…pale."

  "I am fine, thank you again. Please tell them I am on my way."

  "I will. If you're feeling up to it later, we're having an eckle tournament in the tech common area this evening."

  "Perhaps. But work first…you know how it is."

  "Sure do. Hope it's something simple and not another rejection."

  The interaction gave him more needed context to begin adjusting his presentation of his subject. Other than experimenting idly while in Mok's engineering lab, this was the first time Lucky had tried to implement his new body's mimic function to actually portray another being. Despite having gotten the coloration slightly wrong—something he adjusted once out of sight—he had to consider his first field trial a success. With a new feeling of confidence, Lucky/Nikain strode down the corridor towards the lifts that would take him to the forward weapons magazine.

  10

  "Assuming it didn't fall off, we should get a location fix on the sled once it drops out of slip-space," Twingo was explaining.

  "Why can't it operate while in slip-space?" Jason asked. "We have trackers that can do that."

  "At the time I was hastily assembling that contraption, I put the tracker on as a last-minute addition. I assumed the sled might get abandoned and thought it would be interesting to see where the ship might fly off to, assuming it ever left that spot. It was a hypothetical I didn't think was worth risking one of the few very expensive continuous slip-space trackers for." Jason tried his best to find holes in his friend's logic so he could blame the mess on him, but Twingo was right. It was an unlikely scenario a tracker would even be needed, so why throw away one of the most expensive pieces of tech the carried?

  "Yeah, I see your point," he said. "Would've been nice but impossible to plan for. We'll take the location the tracker you did think to on there once it's back in real-space and broadcasting." Twingo seemed taken aback at having won an argument so quickly.

  "Uh, yeah…we'll do that."

  "We just received word that Mok's ship is two hours out, Captain!" Doc shouted down from the command deck.

  "Full stop!" Jason called back. "Let them make the final approach…don't need you banging into the damn hangar walls."

  "That was only two times, and I apologized," Doc shouted.

  "He actually hit the walls?" Twingo asked.

  "Twice back home on S'Tora," Jason said. "He'd get so paranoid about dropping the starboard landing gear off the pad and into the water that he'd cheat to the left and clip the wing on the hangar door."

  "And we let him fly as backup pilot why, exactly?"

  "Because despite the fact he hits buildings that are carved into mountains that haven't moved in millions of years, his reflexes and situational awareness are still better than yours by a factor of twenty. Now…will the tracker that's on the sled automatically try and ping us when it drops back into real-space?"

  "Yes," Twingo said. "It can detect slip-space fields so it'll know it's been moved. Once they mesh-in, it will take a star fix and send us its location."

  "That fleet was made up of all the newest capital ships Eshquaria had left," Jason sighed. "They're fast and can stay in slip-space for extended durations. Lucky could be halfway to the Delphine Expanse before we get a location, too late and too far away to do anything about it."

  "It's the best we have unless Mok's people can squeeze an answer out of our double agent," Twingo said.

  Within a few hours, Mok's ship made the final approach, and then parked close enough to them that the extendable gangway could be deployed to the Phoenix's port airlock. The ship was a sleek, sexy, civilian yacht that, while impressively large, didn't have a hangar big enough for a DL7 heavy gunship. The gleaming hull and designs that glittered brilliantly with blue backlighting contrasted sharply with the Phoenix's matte hull and her most recent battle wounds still visible as scorch marks that peppered the port flank.

  "We should buy one of those," Crusher said, standing on the bridge and watching the yacht anchor onto the Phoenix with mooring beams.

  "Why bother?" Jason asked. "Anything you assholes live in for more than a week looks and smells like an enclosure at a zoo."

  "Yeah, but pleasure yachts come with cleaning crews," Crusher said, not taking the bait.

  They went down to the main deck and then back forward, down a shallow flight of stairs, and into the antechamber for the portside airlock. After verifying the identity of the person on the other side of the hatch, Jason powered down the defensive systems and opened the ship up.

  "Similan," Jason nodded to Mok's servant, for lack of a more accurate term. "Welcome aboard."

  "Thank you, Captain," Similan said, bowing politely. "The prisoner?"

  "Chained to a chair in berthing," Jason said. "We had to keep her sedated, too."

  "A wise precaution given her level of training. If it is fine with you, I would retrieve her and take her to my master's ship. An extraction chamber has already been prepared."

  "I like this guy," Crusher said. "You're such a wuss you call it an interrogation. These guys aren't fucking around…they're doing an extraction."

  "Please assist our guest with the prisoner, Crusher," Jason said, rolling his eyes. "I assume Mok is aboard the yacht?"

  "He is expecting you," Similan bowed again and walked off towards the rear of the ship with Crusher in tow.

  "That's odd," Doc said. "He was almost…nice."

  "I've been testing some theories," Jason said. "Similan seems to react to how he's greeted. If you are polite first, he'll reciprocate. If you're rude, same thing. But, this time, I also think there's an underlying layer of embarrassment. Mok and his organization basically vetted Fendra before putting her on our ship where she could have killed everyone but Lucky. Mok doesn't like looking like a fool…she's in for a bad time I think."

  "You summoned me, Premier?"

  "Admiral Colleran, please come in and sit," Seeladas Dalton didn't rise from her desk, nor even look up when Kellea Colleran walked into the office. "I've not had a chance to read your report."

  "I finished my tour of the human's new planet as well as the new generation of starships they've been building at their two new shipyards," Kellea said, knowing the offhand comment was actually a request for a brief so that Seeladas wouldn't have to bother herself with the actual report.

  "The new planet is called Olympus and it's to be a military stronghold now that Terranovus is being colonized at an accelerated rate by civilians. They purchased the entire star system from the Eiderans, who apparently were trying to negotiate a lease deal for resources when Earth offered them a lucrative trading partnership and hard currency for the ownership rights."

  "The purchase and colonization of the new planet is completely legal?" Seeladas asked.

  "Completely legal," Kellea assured her. "My guide did have to admit that the deal had been in the works for some time as the terraforming processors were already at work by the time the deal was finalized. The a
tmosphere was close, but they needed a few tweaks to make it ideal for their needs. They had five processors running for three years to get the job done quickly…the changes they're making will have minimal impact on the native plant and animal life."

  "Five atmospheric processors?" Seeladas finally looked up. "How is Earth paying for all of this?"

  "They've been working through the trade contracts that we've approved and negotiated on their behalf," Kellea said. "They're just really, really good at manufacturing things others want."

  "So it would seem." Seeladas was clearly suspicious. "What of these new ships?"

  "That's an entirely different matter," Kellea said. "While Earth accepted the restrictions we imposed on what sort of military hardware they could purchase, we never sanctioned anything they developed and built themselves. We didn't see the need at the time." She paused here, clearly uncomfortable.

  "I don't know how they're coming up the curve so quickly, but their new Spartan-class destroyer could likely be a handful even for the Defiant."

  "A destroyer against a battlecruiser?" Seeladas scoffed.

  "It's a destroyer in tonnage only," Kellea said. "The ships are smaller, but the demonstration I saw of their destructive capability was truly awesome. They're also building their own class of battlecruiser, as well…they tell me it will be ready to enter service within the next two years. The weapons technology they're implementing isn't something they bought from the Eshquarians or ripped off from the ConFed. I recommend having our intelligence service see if there's another outside influence helping them out."

  "Noted," Seeladas said. "You're sure their activity is well hidden? We can't afford to have them screw up our negotiations with the ConFed right now. If the capital caught wind that one of our probationary members was in the middle of an arms buildup— Actually, did they even say why they're pushing so hard to build their military?"

  "Fear," Kellea said. "They didn't say, but I gather that the two attacks by armadas they couldn’t defend themselves against left a lasting scar on their collective psyche. They think the Ull will return at any moment to finish the job or that the A'arcooni might come back again. All of the designs I saw definitely felt like they were part of a defensive force more than an invasion fleet."

  "The A'arcooni don't leave their planet, and the Ull are a weak, dying power nobody even cares about anymore," Seeladas said. "But that's not your concern. I'll approach Earth through the diplomatic channels and make sure they're not about to do something completely foolish with all this new power they've discovered. We can't forbid them from building a defense force but, hopefully, they'll understand the need for discretion."

  "Because of the ConFed negotiation."

  "I know you don't approve, Admiral, and that's your right." Seeladas stood and walked to the windows, looking out over the lake outside the building. "The ConFed will be the only remaining power in this quadrant soon. Let's just be grateful they approached us with offers of a treaty negotiation and didn't roll over top of us like they did with the Eshquarians. The Saabror will likely fall next, then the Galvetic Empire, all two planets of it, and, if we don't enter into some kind of deal, we'd be next in line."

  "And if the ConFed catches wind that the humans are building a massive war machine at the same time we're negotiating an armistice—"

  "It would reflect rather poorly on us, don't you think? So, we just keep your human friends as a relative unknown for now and hope some sharp-eyes auditor doesn't ask to see their assets in person."

  "Of course," Kellea said, feeling a bit ill. She'd been told of Seeladas's reaching out to the ConFed for a truce through a friend in the intelligence service. In her heart, she knew this was a mistake, but it was not her place to question Seeladas Dalton.

  "Now for the real reason I asked you here," Seeladas said. "The ConFed has been in the process of hunting down rogue Imperial Navy units that fled the battle for Eshquaria, but they haven't had much luck. I've offered our assistance as a show of good faith. I'd like you to take the Defiant and your taskforce out to the Concordian Cluster and interface with the ConFed fleet and help in the search."

  "You want me to take a Cridal taskforce to help the ConFed hunt down and slaughter Eshquarians that escaped the invasion?" Kellea was dumbfounded.

  "If you value your job, you'll learn to word your thoughts more carefully, Admiral Colleran," Seeladas said sharply. "Unless you're telling me that you wish to step down."

  "Not at all, Premier," Kellea said carefully. "The Defiant can depart immediately, the taskforce is spread out throughout the cooperative and will take some days to recall. I shall have them meet me en route."

  "That's more like it, Admiral. You are authorized to depart at your discretion. Dismissed."

  Kellea walked out of the room feeling more uneasy than she had in a long time. She had to remind herself that Seeladas was still Crisstof Dalton's First Daughter. Crisstof had been a person she thought incapable of a dishonorable action until he'd been caught trying to overthrow the government of a neighboring superpower. They'd executed him, and that allowed Seeladas to step in and mold his empire in her own image. It went from being an industrial powerhouse to a full-fledged sovereign nation with a Dalton sitting at the head. Her speeches might paint her as a benevolent dictator, but Kellea was beginning to see the desire to accumulate and preserve power seemed to be a family trait. Seeladas might have sold the Cooperative out to the ConFed in return for letting her remain on her throne, a puppet emperor presiding over nothing.

  "You seem stressed, Admiral," her aide remarked as she blew out of the outer office, the young officer scrambling in her wake.

  "Inform Captain Essel that the Defiant will be departing as soon as possible for the Concordian Cluster," she said, ignoring his question. "By the time I arrive, I expect her to be fueled, armed, and otherwise ready for an extended deployment that may include combat operations."

  "At once, Admiral."

  Kellea didn't slow or even acknowledge him as she pressed ahead towards her own destination. It would take the crew most of the day to get the battlecruiser ready to slip lines and break orbit so he had time to make some discreet inquiries before bumbling into a dangerous situation. She enjoyed the trust of the Terran military power structure right now thanks to her role in fighting off the Ull during an attempted coup by one of their own, now she had direct lines of communication to powerful people within Earth's intelligence service and navy that might shed some light on what was happening. One thing she knew for certain at this point…Seeladas was playing both sides right now and cutting her out of the loop when it came to revealing her plans. That made her leery of trusting the premier's intent when she orders the Cooperative's most capable battlegroup into a contested area. The whole mission seemed completely ill-advised, and she knew she had to proceed with caution while executing her orders.

  11

  Lucky began to understand what the ConFed crews were doing aboard the ship, but he was still unclear as to why they were doing it. He's been to the two forward magazines where all of the ship-to-ship missiles had their access panels open and teams of technicians were patching into the guts of the weapons with their own computers.

  Since Nikain was a technical team lead and, ostensibly, familiar with their work, Lucky couldn't question any of the technicians without raising suspicions. From observation, he was able to glean that they were updating the missiles' targeting software as well as the encryption routines for command and control. The reason this didn't make much sense on the surface is that ConFed missile technology was on par with Eshquarian tech. Hell, in many cases, the ConFed missiles were Eshquarian tech. Furtively sneaking around in a fleet of abandoned warships, tinkering around with the armament, and using crews of hired contractors indicated to Lucky that something interesting was about to happen, he just wasn't sure what.

  The fact there were no ConFed fleet regulars walking the decks in their light gray uniforms told the battlesynth that this was most likely
an operation the intelligence service was pulling off alone. The Imperial ships would be a great tool for a false flag attack, except that they're flying the flag of an empire that no longer exists. Eshquaria was completely under ConFed control and any attacks by rogue elements at this point would be considered a criminal case.

  With the information he had, Lucky gave a sixty-three-point-two-seven percent probability that the ships were being refitted and sold as part of an unsanctioned operation by elements within the ConFed intelligence apparatus. Over forty newer capital ships that had never been damaged or seen combat would be worth hundreds of billions of credits to the right buyer. The reason he didn't give it a higher probability was he had to assume any criminal organization looking to buy themselves a war fleet would have come up on Mok's radar. It's possible that a smaller nation like the Galvetic Empire might want to sneak the ships into their possession away from prying eyes, claim salvage rights, and then put them into service defending their system.

  "Sir, Team Six is asking for you in the aft magazine. There are issues with some of the munitions running an older version of code."

  "Thank you, J'huggon," Lucky said, pulling the tech's name from the files he'd taken from the real Nikain's neural implant. "Inform them I'm on my way, and next time, they need to page me on my own com unit."

  "They said they've been trying, sir."

  "One more problem to take care of," Lucky said, feigning disgust. "Just tell them I'm on my way."

  He stormed out of the large bay that housed the missiles before they were fed into the launchers, pulling the com unit out and looking to see what the trouble could be. The unit was locked up and wasn't responding so he tried a full reset and continued on his way. He needed a reason to get his hands on one of the computers they were using to upload new instructions to the missiles, and the problem down in the aft magazine might be the thing to do it.