by Greg Dragon
“Disable the ship,” he replied, decisively. He was here to take out the trash, not follow it about the galaxy wasting valuable time and fuel. In the hands of a psych, Commander Kur would tell him everything they needed to know about his mutinous actions. The council had made it permissible to capture and detain the rogue captain of the Harridan, but there had been nothing said about what he could do to him.
He glanced over and saw that the awkward boy was still waiting, frozen at attention, eyes looking forward into nothing. The old man glanced at his nameplate and reached forward to place a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Ensign Lark,” he said softly. “You may return to your station.” Then he turned and approached a large bay window, where he could see the shadowy form of the destroyer behind ripples of energy depleting its shields.
“What are the chances of hooking her before she burns line?” he asked Homerus Cho, who was back at his station though well within earshot of his animated captain.
“Impossible, Captain, not unless there’s an idiot at the helm willing to risk staying longer than the little time they have. But no scenario I can think of makes that a gamble worth anything short of death,” he reported, crossing over to stand next to his captain. It was something he often did when they spoke, though it annoyed Lede, who despised the way the man was so eager to please.
“Got word from the Harridan, Captain,” his XO, Cecil Bo-Antar, reported over comms. “They have many dead or injured. I also got word from our Marines, and they are safe. Harridan’s XO Leon is complying with your orders to stay on the cold side of our hull where the tracer can’t reach. One more thing, Captain. They’re requesting medical assistance. Should I shuttle over a Cel-toc with a medkit and escort detail for them? They’ve lost all access to both medbays. It has to be unpleasant in there, sir.”
“Of course, send them help, man,” Lede growled his acknowledgment, “I need that thing gone.” He held up his wrist-comms, which revealed the Geralos destroyer’s shields having dropped to below 30%. “Put me in a Phantom with a torpedo launcher, and I will give you thirty,” he whispered, remembering days when he was in the cockpit of a Vestalian Classic.
“Captain, their FTL drive just came online,” Homerus Cho reported after receiving his own update over comms.
Run, coward, run, Lede thought, glaring at the destroyer with extreme malice.
In the space along the 8km distance between the warring starships, the Phantom pilots of Missio-Tral saw the Geralos zip-ships suddenly break off to beat a quick exit back to the destroyer. Already at risk of falling prey to the blast of an energy cannon or trace-laser, the only pilots who dared to pursue were the ones whose sparring partners were close to their doom.
Flight commanders rallied their squadrons back into formation, applying heavy thrust to return to Missio-Tral through practiced routes to keep them out of the crossfire. The destroyer was turning to calculate its jump, still firing its cannon as more of a deterrent than any real attempt at crippling its foe.
Though it faced no real threat of disablement, barring malfunction or sabotage—two issues that could be accounted for the majority of their losses to Alliance vessels—the Geralos knew when a fight was lost, and wasted no effort in beating a quick escape whenever they could. This frustrated old warlords like Captain Jawal Kur, whose pugnacious reputation was widely known across the Alliance Navy.
He watched it go through the motions via the holographic simulation, which took the great distances, invisible ordnance, and varying heat signatures of space combat and made it all very visible to him. Some captains relied on the more intelligent mathematicians, scientists, and engineers to go through the motions, only chiming in when the intangibles needed addressing. This was Captain Felan Lede, however, a pilot turned captain, who treated the complex strategies of capital ship warfare no different than he did fighters dueling.
They had won, and he should have been happy, but as he stared into the blackness—as if he could see the details of the destroyer with his naked eyes—he muttered a curse at the method in which they had won it. Having another lizard force them to expend energy only to tuck its tail and run when they were halfway through its shields? How could that not be unsatisfactory for a man who once took great pleasure in disabling several zip-ships in a line, just to watch them come apart under the force of his energy cannons?
He shot his cuffs, suddenly feeling the restriction of his jacket, and all the eyes on the bridge scrutinizing his mannerisms to see if he would again vent his frustration on their duties. He knew his flaws, his tendency to lash out at the closest thing when things weren’t controlled the way he liked them. The cadet from earlier had looked ready to melt, not from the difference in rank, but because of his infamous temper and reputation. The boy had been frightened.
“Captain.” Cecil Bo-Antar again materialized at his side, breaking his inward study and putting an end to his reflecting. He chose not to look at him because surely if anyone was to feel his temperament, it would be his XO, the second most powerful person on the bridge. “Captain, a transport cruiser from Harridan has come aboard with a handful of our Marines and Commander Leon, “ he reported, seeming to dread his role of being the messenger for this sudden turn of events.
Now Captain Lede looked at him. “Leon is here?” he asked, and when the younger, hawk-nosed officer made a bow of acknowledgment, Lede looked back out at the stars and smiled knowingly. “Must be urgent, him coming so fast with the lizards still scratching and clawing from their backs. I hope this means he has information worth our time, Mr. Bo-Antar, or his already difficult cycle is about to become positively nightmarish.”
“Aye, Captain Lede,” Bo-Antar agreed. “He did relay to me in our ongoing correspondence, however, that he has been wary of things on the Harridan for some time, but was rendered practically helpless by his captain. The details on this he wished to express in our confidence, with the understanding that he too is under suspicion of violating his oath, and could wind up in stasis cuffs, awaiting a trial if we find any reason to detain him.”
“Good,” Lede confirmed with finality, turning to walk back from the window towards his war table. “I want you there with me, Cecil. It is important for the Alliance council that any interviews with the command of Helysian’s Harridan have no less than two senior officers present.”
“Is that a precaution, Captain? I don’t follow,” Cecil Bo-Antar admitted.
Lede stopped to turn and regard the man. “A ship has gone rogue, Cecil. A powerful Alliance infiltrator. You and I both know how stringent an application for helming a warship is. The Helysian’s a premier starship, and the Harridan has done good things up until this. Must I outline to you what this says about the sudden change in behavior of their captain?”
Cecil Bo-Antar froze, seeing his meaning for the first time, and understanding why a second was necessary. “Corruption, captain?” he whispered. “But we’ve never had one so close to—”
“Understand now?” Lede coached, placing his hands behind his back as he stepped up to the holographic display. They spoke more on Lede’s suspicions that captain Jawal Kur’s mind had been invaded by the Geralos and was now on his way to one of their ships, bearing Alliance plans, locations, and secrets. His tone was no longer speculative, Cecil Bo-Antar noticed, as he drove home their need to capture Kur’s cruiser or risk annihilation by the enemy.
Minutes later, with the destroyer having fully charged its engines and powered down its canons to leave the system, Bo-Antar updated his captain on their guest being taken to his quarters for their meeting. He reassured him that the commander had been treated respectfully since coming aboard. Despite a senior officer being one of the accused, it was the Alliance way to afford them all the allowances befitting their rank up until they were convicted and removed from the role.
Captain Felan Lede was a believer in protocol despite whatever feelings he had on Harridan. Hearing the report actually pleased him and set his mind at rest.
Leon being confined to a compartment with what he knew would be a full Marine escort meant he no longer had to give it any thought until he was ready.
Never one to miss the sight of a Geralos ship fleeing into the bridging dimension of a wormhole, the captain scrutinized the holo for nearly an hour until the destroyer was but a memory, leaving them alone. Even when it was gone, he took the time to personally grade the ranks on their performance. Only then did he and his executive officer leave to make their way out to his office.
The captain’s quarters, like most on a capital starship, was a large compartment, with dark-red paint on the bulkheads, over which were installed numerous frames and vid-screens bearing honors, memories, and renderings of old Vestalia. On one side towards the bow of the ship sat the captain’s berth, lounge, and an expansive collection of spirits from every known planet. Above his bed hung several weapons, former tools of the trade long retired now that their master was at the helm.
On the other side sat a large desk and three high-backed chairs, one behind it and the other two mounted to the deck at catercorner angles. A massive Alliance flag showcasing the twelve planets about a shattered crystal sat above it all, draped behind the desk where Lede’s visitors couldn’t miss it. More replicas of a long, multi-faceted career were evidenced here, along with a tired Leon Anu who stood up to salute as soon as they entered.
“You can remain seated. Do make yourself comfortable, Commander Anu,” Captain Lede instructed, after turning to relieve a young master-at-arms who had been waiting with their guest. The short-haired Meluvian saluted crisply before exiting to the passageway where six waiting Marines stood guard, ready in case of anything. Lede sat behind his desk and Bo-Antar took the remaining seat, facing his impatient captain.
“Let’s get to it, shall we?” the older man said directly to Leon Anu, as if this whole exercise was a waster of time and a test of his patience.
“From what I can remember, Captain Lede, everything started when we first arrived in Genesian space,” Leon relayed through a steady but hesitant voice. “One of our fighters tracked it, cloaked, whilst conducting a routine patrol 50km out from the Karace Colony, where we intended to get repairs. At the time, the ship’s signature wasn’t recognized, so we approached sending hails. None of which were answered, so we fired a few shots across her bow to get her attention. Standard operating procedure. Still, her helm wouldn’t answer our hails, so we traced her, effectively removing her cloak to expose her as a first-generation assault cruiser. One of the older, full-sized sloops.”
“Very interesting,” Cecil Bo-Antar mused, crossing his legs and massaging the top knee methodically, as if this was a casual chat among old friends. “A ship that old still intact and fully functional?”
“Yes, indeed,” Leon confirmed, “We were intrigued, but not our captain, who was convinced that it was a Geralos prize with human captives on board needing help. We disabled her easily, with still no answer to our hails, so we sent our Marines aboard to investigate. They found and neutralized a dozen lizards, and as the captain suspected there were prisoners: twelve Vestalians, and over thirty Genesians. Captain Kur went along with the Marines personally to see what he could glean from the cruiser’s records. He was gone for a long time—became driven, dare I say, obsessed. He sent back most of the Marines. He stayed with a handful acting as bodyguards while he locked himself inside the quarters of the cruiser’s former captain. What should have been a cycle turned into weeks of his absence, while we of the Harridan waited, preparing for a possible ambush. See, we were no longer in Alliance space, but just beyond it.”
Leon became distracted, pausing his report to raise his near-empty mug to his lips. “When he returned, he was different,” the commander continued after a long, heavy-chested sigh. “He ordered the cruiser destroyed, claiming corruption rendered all of her parts unusable, which at the time didn’t make a whole lot of sense. We did as was ordered then jumped out to a more remote region of Genesian space, here. This is where we’ve been since then, Captain. We’ve kept our thrusters on standby and our fighters grounded while Captain Kur held private correspondence with the Alliance.”
“Strange, since our council sent me here because your captain refused to answer any of their summons, be it on comms, holo, or virtual mail,” Captain Lede commented. “Your starship Helysian’s captain, Abe Rus, hasn’t been able to reach Kur. Have you spoken to him?”
“Briefly, sir,” Leon quickly admitted. “He reached me directly to check on the status of our crew, and to inquire why Captain Kur had been absent. I reported what I could to him, but you understand that I couldn’t relay my suspicions, not at the risk of undermining my lead, when I had no real proof to support any of it.”
Lede crossed his arms and tucked his chin into his chest, realizing now that it was in fact Abe Rus who had set things in motion to liberate their wayward infiltrator from Jawal Kur. He wondered how he would reconcile with the man after thinking him somehow complicit, or just worthless, letting a rogue ship exist within his fleet. “What about the Marines who went on the ship with your captain?” he asked, deciding to mull it over later on when all of this was finished.
“They too acted strangely, Captain Lede. We started getting reports from the rates of some unrest which involved some of those men. One who was detained ended up stabbing the officer who was trying to counsel him. Many strange things started happening with them. They were different. Stranger still was when Captain Kur sent some of them to the surface as ‘ambassadors’ for more private correspondence. I objected, but was overruled, and threatened with the brig for insubordination. It wasn’t long after this disagreement that Missio-Tral appeared, followed by the destroyer.”
“What about the hostages, Commander Leon? Are they still in your medbay?” Cecil Bo-Antar pressed.
“All have died from their wounds, Commander,” Leon responded morosely. “The lizards weren’t just biting into their heads as we expected. They conducted experiments, butchered them, fused them with things that, if you saw, you could never forget.”
“And in all this time that your captain exhibited such strange behavior, Commander Leon, what did you assume was really happening?” Captain Lede asked, looking not so convinced of the younger man’s tale.
“To be honest, Captain, I assumed he’d gone mad from something he’d seen inside that compartment. He allowed no one else in there, and had us destroy the vessel once he’d come back aboard with his detail.”
“Aside from pleading your innocence to this entire fiasco that has exposed us to the lizards, Commander Anu,” Captain Lede growled, suddenly impatient with this meeting, which was presenting nothing more than what he already knew. “Is there anything else you would like to tell me?”
“Yes,” Leon Anu said quickly, and Lede noticed that despite his tone, the ever-professional Leon Anu had maintained his composure. “Gentlemen, the ship my captain left in was an ‘05 Exalt multipurpose cruiser.”
“We know of it. Go on,” Bo-Antar urged, already wary of the growing impatience within his captain.
“It has no FTL capabilities,” Leon continued. “So barring it docking with a capable vessel, it is still in this system. I—I hate to admit this, Captain, but I came immediately to inform you and the commander in confidence that I had trackers installed on all of our light cruisers once I became suspicious. The following are the codes you can use,” he said, leaning forward to place a small tablet on the desk, displaying myriad cryptic codes and symbols.
Captain Felan Lede almost cracked a smile, surprised for once that some good fortune had finally fallen their way. “Cecil,” he said, looking at his number two, who too had perked up at the sight of Leon Anu’s gift. “Get Commander Anu some accommodations. He’ll be staying with us until I can verify this intelligence. Harridan is tethered?”
“As of thirty minutes prior, Captain,” Cecil Bo-Antar replied, eager to get moving on something.
“I need to get back to my b
ridge and coordinate some actions with the Alliance to prevent the former captain from escaping.” He stood up suddenly, walking over to place a hand on the shoulder of Leon, who had gotten up with him. “This turns out to be what you say, Commander, you will have earned some of my trust, despite having planted these trackers through speculative means.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Leon Anu nearly shouted, looking somewhat relieved.
“Sit tight. We’re not out of the muck yet; not until we catch him,” Lede continued conspiratorially. “We’ll see how far he can run with local Alliance intelligence on the lookout.”
21
In the streets of the tenements, armed militias rolled through in armored transports, hopping out to harass any and everyone who they believed had knowledge of Fio Doro. The gangs, having no payment to account for the invasion of armor and uniforms, struck back with a vengeance, sniping the invaders from rooftops and lobbing firebombs into their transports. Some corners turned into war zones, with bullets being lobbed back and forth all through the night.
BasPol was involved, but only the bravest or the ones on the take were available to strap up and ride into the tenements. For the mercenaries, Alliance Marines, and otherwise thinking this would have been an easy shakedown of their careers, they were met with forces just as vicious as the most committed Geralos with an honor debt. Buildings were on fire, and people were trampling one another to find refuge from the gunfire.
Both sides suffered injuries and many losses, but the citizens, mostly gangsters, were losing five to one. This wasn’t the worst of it. With the distraction of the violence happening, and people feeling helpless, more than a few of the Marines took advantage. Kicking down doors, they took what they wanted, having their way with people who believed they lacked any power to stop it.
Every vid-screen and holo-projector showed the footage of this violence, no matter if you were stuck in the tenements or had a miniature mansion in the hills overlooking the skyway. People saw BasPol, Alliance Marines, and unmarked mercenaries firing high-powered weapons into this residential area. Calls to officials prompted help from neighboring cities, and the governor announced that the Genesian Guard was on their way to institute martial law in the tenements.