Resolute Glory (The War for Terra Book 8) Page 15

  The ship swooped in to the landing pad. Geothermal heat kept the pad clear, and lights sensitive to the arrival of the transponder on board blazed to life, adding to the blinding white-out. The ship struggled to steady as it descended towards the pad, blasts of wind pushing it towards the low building nearby.

  Touching down, the shuttle made a sound like relief as its engines cycled down and the metal cooled. It took several minutes for the ramp to descend and the two figures, one small and compact, and one tall and lean, fought the wind and moved towards the receiving building. Each was covered in heavy thermal wear, with the low one seeming to be a moving rock on the bare landing platform.

  The door slid aside and the two figures disappeared as the pilot waited on board the ship. Outside, the wind howled continuously. Inside the low building, the air was cool but survivable. The two guards shed their outerwear and waited for the attendant. The tallest was a Vadne officer with lieutenants’ rank pins, and the shorter was a native Octopod with a black bar indicating Alliance Intelligence. The attendant rolled into the receiving room and looked them over. The taller waved an I.D. badge, and the smaller simply waited.

  “Orders,” barked the vocoder around the female Octopod’s neck. “I need to verify your orders before I can grant entry.”

  “Prisoner transfer to carrier Zeus,” replied the Vadne with an air of casual disinterest. “The admiral wants her back up there.”

  “Humans…” the female replied. “Never make up their minds.”

  The Octopod reached out with a long tentacle and grasped the small data pad the Vadne had proffered. She turned to a wall unit and pressed the end of the appendage against the screen. Both of the Alliance officers waited patiently as the information scrolled by on the screen. There was an audible vibration as the data was confirmed, and the Octopod turned back.

  “Your orders check out here, but I can’t reach the fleet,” she explained. “You can come into the ante-room and wait until the storm clears.”

  The door slid open to admit them into the interior area. A long arm shot out from the low security guard. A slap of flesh on flesh, and the female seemed to deflate. The tentacle released with a wet slurp, and the Vadne saw an exposed barb withdraw into the Octopod’s arm.

  “Why did you kill that woman?” asked Farthing, reaching out for the dropped data pad. “That was unnecessary.”

  “We would have had to do it on the way out,” replied Cal as he moved to the open door. “She’s not dead. I withheld the poison that kills. She will wake when the storm has mostly cleared and will have an excuse for letting her prisoner escape. By then we will be gone.”

  The two moved into the short corridor outside, finding the inner waiting room door open and inviting. Farthing straightened his uniform as they walked into the room. Two more Octopod guards waited by the inner door that led to the small prison. Both guards uncoiled, breaking away from a vid-screen showing images from the deep ocean. Cal’s heart leaped as he saw the strands of seaweed undulating in the currents, one of his favorite things to watch in his cabin. The guards moved to cover the inner door, suspicious that their comrade had not accompanied them.

  “Wait here,” the lead Octopod said as he tried to move past them.

  Farthing’s long arm shot out and grasped the creature by one of its tentacles. The creature whipped up, trying to fold around the felinoid in a crushing hold. Instead of resisting, Farthing allowed himself to be wrapped up before leaping backwards against the near wall. There was a whine from the Octopod’s vocoder as it screeched out an obscenity. Cal moved fast, slapping his own arm against the head of the oncoming guard. The paralyzing poison acted slower against this guard as he was already on alert. The two invertebrates clashed on the floor in a mass of flesh before the struggling guard finally succumbed.

  Farthing had managed to untangle himself from the arms of his own attacker, beating and clawing at the tough hide until the other was senseless. A quick slap by Cal rendered the guard unconscious in a matter of seconds.

  “That was uncharacteristic of you,” Cal said as they dragged the bodies from the center of the room. “I thought we were going to negotiate, as in those vids the humans like to watch.”

  “Those bore me,” Farthing replied. “I prefer the direct method.”

  Cal blushed a deep blue in agreement. He liberated one of the pass keys from the lead guard and activated the inner doorway to the cells. The barred rooms were created to hold pirates and thieves for only a short time before execution. They lacked the comforts of modern cells and had only a short cot and a basic toilet. In the first cell, Alice was standing by the far wall, looking out a small window to the white sky beyond.

  “Is it time for lunch?” she asked idly, appearing not to care about her captors. “I don’t think it’s that time yet, but I will eat if it is.”

  Farthing waited while Cal activated the door. As he stepped into the small cell, he noticed the scratches along all the walls, deep cuts into the stone made with some crude instrument—equations like he had seen only in textbooks. He recognized basic M-space equations, but beyond that were numbers denoting multiple dimensional realities scrawled together with basic addition and subtraction. The mess of numbers was frightening in its complexity.

  Alice had yet to turn from the window, so he reached for her. There was a coppery smell in the air he could only just make out. Until he grabbed her hand, he didn’t recognize the scent.

  “Do we get to go now?” Alice said as Farthing turned. “I want to see the sea.”

  Her palm was warm and slick with her own blood. Farthing startled backwards towards the cell door as she raised her hands. The tips of her hands with their primitive claws had been torn away. He saw the writing and realized she had been using her own fingers to carve out the equations. Cal called from the hallway and he snapped out of the shock and grabbed her hands again.

  ‘We’re going now,” he said in a calming voice. “We’re going back to the ship, Alice.”

  “The ship?” the woman replied, partially regaining some composure as she was tugged gently from the cell. “We’re going back to the ship? Are we going after Lee? I worry about him, out there alone.”

  “Yes, but we need to hurry,” Farthing replied, stepping behind her as she moved into the hall. “Lee needs you to hurry so we can get away.”

  “Yes,” Alice said, raising her hands and motioning with her torn and bloody fingers. “Away from this place.”

  It took Farthing a moment while they moved back through the antechamber and out towards the outer door to realize what she was doing. Her hands were moving rapidly, tracing the outlines of numbers and shapes in the air. She was still trying to carve equations into the air.

  When she had been brought here for the assault on Chang, she had yet to accept the Engineers’ offer. But it seemed she had finally regained the knowledge of how the interdimensional engines worked. And with it she had also regained the madness.

  “Find her a coat and let Mister Goldstein know we’re coming,” Farthing ordered Cal. “She has a long way to go.”

  Franklin Dalton stood on the wide bridge of his command carrier and beamed. The admiral had chosen him, finally, to command the attack strategy that would retake the galaxy from the Ch’Tauk and their damned cousins the Gizzeen. He had crafted a plan, based on one of his father’s strategies, that would end the threat forever in a single massive clash.

  The fleet was spread out on the projection screen, readying for the deployment to the first three battle zones. Once those sectors were closed to the Gizzeen entry, they would meet again and re-deploy to three new locations. Each target had been selected to seem random. As the Gizzeen tried to respond to the attack, the fleet would already be moving towards a new location.

  The efficient running of a ship was one thing, but Franklin was now in command of a diverse fleet representing the Barathists, Octopod, and Allied rogue fleet. He had already contacted other captains across the galaxy who had agreed to meet
them at the next jump point and who would be providing cover for the Engineer bombs which would seal the cross-dimensional vortices. He would have the full might of the allied fleet to hold off the invaders before the fleet turned back and destroyed them utterly.

  It was a brilliant plan, to which he had added his own special touches during the briefing. The fact the admiral had enough confidence to allow him the final order was just another step towards his own admiralty. His counterpart, Admiral Browning, had already checked in and departed with her assault fleet to meet with forces that would provide fighter cover. He was truly a fleet captain in more than just title. He was commander of the mightiest fleet in existence, and it made him feel like he had finally achieved his life’s dream.

  It also made him nervous. The size and scope of the attacks were beyond his experience. Even during the war he had commanded multiple ships in the final assault against the Ch’Tauk, but not on this scale. It was his responsibility to manage the millions of things that would go wrong at multiple locations separated by thousands of light years. It was a responsibility he took very seriously, and he knew it was driving everyone else mad. At the very least, he thought, he didn’t have to deal with a wildcard like Lee Pearce who would probably run off to fight alone against the hordes of enemies they were facing to save the love of his life or some such nonsense.

  For a flicker of an instant, though, he thought how good the man was at winning against incredible odds. He may have hated the man, but he had to admit, even to himself, he was good in a fight and would be missed.

  “Commander, what is the status of the advance scouts?” Dalton ordered across the command bridge. “Are we all clear for the jump to Alpha Site?”

  “Aye, sir,” replied the middle-aged man with the sharply pressed uniform. “All ships reporting clear for the jump. The fleet is at eighty percent readiness, but we expect to be at one-hundred in fifteen minutes. The Barathists are reporting trouble with one of their destroyers, and a few others have fallen back from readiness to assist.”

  “Order them back into position,” Dalton replied, his dark skin furrowing as he brought his eyebrows together. “Send one of our support ships to assist. Those hulks they call destroyers are going to fall apart one way or the other. At least we can have our engineers hold them together as long as the battle.”

  “Aye,” replied the commander. “We’ve also got two of our frigates on final approach to the jump point, a courier ship is finagling crew transfers, and the Octopods appear to have lost their minds completely. They are switching attack positions every three minutes. They say it’s how they prepare for battle.”

  “Nothing we can do about that right now. As long as they jump with us and arrive at the right place … Maxwell, did you say a courier ship? Which one?”

  “Kissinger, sir,” the commander said, checking his data pad. “She’s undocked with the personnel shuttle and is moving towards the fleet.”

  “What crew rotations were assigned? I didn’t authorize any—”

  “Sir, the Barathists are moving away from formation,” Maxwell cried, a bead of sweat forming over one eye. “They’re moving towards Kissinger.”

  “Order them back into position and give me a visual,” Dalton said, looking up to the large screen. “Are they all leaving?”

  “Negative, sir,” Maxwell replied, tapping the data pad and switching the large tactical area map to show the ships’ movements. “I have about a third of the Barathists moving out of position. The rest are reforming into their stations. It looks like a rogue element might be—”

  “It’s no rogue element, Commander. It’s a mutiny led by Captain Farthing. Get me that ship.”

  Maxwell slid data around on his screen while Dalton watched the big board. Altogether, nearly thirty ships were moving out of their planned positions in orbit of the Octopod home world. It was a disaster, but his mind was already working, trying to create a new strategy for the re-taking of the galaxy. As he watched, the ships formed up on Kissinger and began to move away from the fleet. There was a blast of noise from the overhead speakers that ended quickly. Maxwell looked sheepish as he tapped keys on the data pad. It was a static broadcast to keep them from being able to communicate with the rest of the fleet until they made a getaway.

  “Launch fighters,” Dalton called. “At least they’ll know what to do. Orders to stop those ships before they can jump to M-space.”

  “Aye, sir,” Maxwell replied. “Most are stowed for the translation, but I’m launching one flight.”

  Dalton saw the dots indicating the small fighters emerge from the bow launchers of the carrier. In all, it was only five ships against thirty, and if the Barathists decided to open fire they wouldn’t last long. He had no intentions of destroying the cobbled-together fleet of vessels, but he could at least disable a few if he needed to make a point. The fighters advanced on the formation of ships at speed and spread out before reaching the formation to maximize their potential. At the last minute, the lead vessel positioned itself directly in front of the courier ship Kissinger. The formation stopped and Dalton knew he had won the engagement. They would be boarded and the captains arrested and the plan would continue without the admiral knowing any different.

  “Sir,” Maxwell said, interrupting his thoughts of victory. “I have another ship moving in towards the Barathists.”

  “Good,” Dalton replied. “About time someone else figured out what was going on. They’ll intercept and—”

  “It’s not one of ours, really,” said Maxwell. “It’s … well … it’s Resolute, sir.”

  “Oh no,” Dalton said, raising a hand to his temple. “Not that ship. I should have known. Get me the admiral.”

  The bridge of the battleship Resolute was a mess of exposed cable and sparking conduits. Josh Goldstein had assumed his position at the helm station and Cal was seated at his tactical display. In the captain’s seat, Kama Yu pulled up the weak holograms that functioned as their projection screens. Behind her, the sensor station was being manned by the young Officer Fowler. All in all, there were less than thirty people on board where there should have been hundreds. Even with automation, the crew was struggling to hold together systems that had been damaged nearly beyond repair. It was only the intervention of the Engineers that had restored their home to working order, even if only just barely.

  “Fighters are incoming, sir,” Fowler called from the staticky board to Kama’s rear. “Five in all. Dalton’s trying to redeploy using running lights.”

  “Keep up the interference, Mister Fowler,” Kama ordered. “Move us closer to the Barathists. They’re our ride out of here and I don’t want to get separated.”

  “You got it,” Josh said, tapping the remaining functional keys on his panel. “Cal, do you show structural integrity down on the port side?”

  “I’ve called to Booth to bring the system back up, but his reply was—”

  “I got ya,” Goldstein said. “There it goes. We’ve got both sides working now.”

  Resolute lumbered through space towards the cobbled-together Vadne fleet. They were to enter formation and allow the Barathists to open a vortex for them. The hope was that once in M-space, they would have time to repair their own engines and open an exit portal themselves. If not, they could be trapped in the membrane between dimensions forever. Kama leaned forward and moved elements around on her projection. The image kept buzzing out, but she had managed to identify an opening forming within the Barathist lines.

  “I’m relaying coordinates to your station, Josh,” Kama said. “Try to take us in here.”

  “The fighters are swarming us, sir,” Cal called to Kama. “They’re trying to block our route out of here.”

  “No they aren’t,” Kama called, switching the area map to local. “They’re blocking any more ships from coming in towards us. Open the bay doors, please.”

  A testament to the amount of damage the ship had received was the vibration in the deck as the pressure doors on the landing b
ay opened. She could imagine the mess as tools and discarded remnants of things left behind by Alliance crews were blown into space. The operation took less than a minute, and when she ordered the doors closed, the deception was completed. The Demon Squadron had returned home.

  “Signal the Barathists we’re ready to go,” Kama ordered. “You can drop the static broadcast, but you might want to cover your ears.”

  “The speakers crackled back to life with warnings and orders blasted from dozens of ships. The Barathist fleet had been effective in cutting off any possible attack from the remaining Alliance fleet and the formation as they moved towards empty space and freedom. She called up the signal for the courier ship Kissinger. Captain Farthing was back on board his ship with a small crew. They would be heading towards the Vadne fleet and then back to their home world. She could also hear Dalton screaming into the comms for them to stand down. As the vortex opened and the peaceful planet of Walapacku began to fade behind them into a blue black haze, Kama allowed herself the luxury of a deep breath. Already, the Barathist fleet was moving away into the blob of M-space. They were on their own now and would have to face whatever came next with nothing but guilt.

  The bridge doors opened and Doctor Demsiri entered, escorting Alice Bennett into the bridge. Her hands were bandaged and she appeared to be lost in her own thoughts for a moment before her head snapped up and looked back at Kama.

  “You’re in his chair,” Alice said. “I think he’ll want it back.”

  “I’ll give it back when we have him,” Kama said. “You should get back to your quarters and rest, Alice.”

  “No,” she said, a surprising strength in her voice. “Take me to engineering. I need to get this out of my head.”

  “I think she’s right, Alice, you need to get rested,” Demsiri said, taking her arm and trying to turn her back to the door. “Let’s just go take a rest before—”

  “No,” another voice said from behind them in the doorway. “She’s right. She needs to get back to engineering if we have any hope.”