“Not so fast,” Winsley’s hologram objected. “We’re not going anywhere without knowing what’s awaiting us. Transmit the coordinates of the planet, and we’ll send a recon ship.”
Adisa ordered her people to remove Adrian’s handcuffs, but continued jamming all wireless transmissions, so he couldn’t access the ship’s cyber-system via his implants. As soon as his hands were free, Adrian went to the navigation station and entered the coordinates of Chloris, as well as the location of the research facility on the planet’s surface. The navigator transmitted the info to the Defiance.
Now there was nothing else to do but wait. Two of Adisa’s men dragged away the body of the officer she’d executed. The stench of burned flesh made Adrian sick. This whole situation made him sick.
We can’t blame the Biozi for everything that’s happening to us. We’re on the brink of extinction, and instead of bonding together, we’re fighting among ourselves like packs of wolves. I expected better from humanity.
“The desire for revenge is a human trait, is it not?” Ria asked. “Can you say in all honesty that you’re surprised?”
“Surprised? No. Disappointed? Yes. Hope is also a human trait, Ria.”
* * *
Half an hour later, Winsley informed Adisa that the planet Adrian called Chloris was heavily defended. He showed footage taken by the recon ship. A carrier battlegroup was guarding the only black hole gate in the system, and another battlegroup revolved in geosynchronous orbit above the research facility.
“That’s a lot of firepower,” Winsley commented. “Not even counting the reinforcements the Biozi will surely bring as soon as our fleet jumps in.”
“Can we jam their interstellar comms?” Adrian asked.
“Doubtful,” Winsley replied. “As long as they have the facility and the gate under their control, they can send quantum carrier waves back and forth. There’s nothing we can do to prevent them from doing so.”
“We can win.” Adrian was surprised to hear so much resolve in his own voice. “We must win. Think about it. Raak’naar expects us to try to retake our worlds. That’s what he wants; he needs this war to drag on for a few more years. But he doesn’t expect us to attack his key research facility.”
Adisa glanced at Winsley’s hologram. “Admiral, prepare a battleplan. We attack Chloris.”
31
Rescue plans
Admiral Winsley conveyed an urgent video conference with his senior officers from the rank of commander upward. Jason attended it from a briefing room on the Phenix. Winsley started by explaining the situation.
“Why do the Earthists want us to attack a Biozi research facility?” Captain O’Neil asked.
Winsley waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t ask. Dr. Darus convinced them it’s the only way to find the map to Earth. The poor man has gone wacko. He speaks of spirits, angels, ancient aliens, and whatnot. To me, it all sounds like esoteric drivel.”
Great, Jason thought darkly. What remains of mankind is led by a religious fanatic and a mad scientist. Just great.
“Our top priority is to retake control of the Capitol,” Winsley continued. “It won’t be easy. I suspect the Earthists were planning this coup for weeks, and they had inside help. Lots of inside help. We can’t just send in marines; it would be a bloodbath. Adisa Multan executed a security officer in front of me, just to prove she was serious. She made her point. I saw rage in her eyes. She won’t hesitate to execute DeCourt and every member of his cabinet, if we force her hand.”
“Admiral, Commander Lance was still in solitary on the Capitol when the Earthists took control of the ship, correct?” Hunt asked.
Winsley nodded. “Good thinking, captain. We need to establish contact with her, facilitate her escape, if she’s still in the brig, and instruct her to free the Fleet Security officers. Including Kwan Kor. I have no love for that butcher, but we have no choice. We need him to retake the ship. Meanwhile, we’ll keep the Earthists distracted. We have to play along with their plans for now, or at least pretend to.”
“Admiral, infiltrating the lab on Chloris may not be such a bad idea,” Hunt said. “If it contains the gravimetric map of the entire sector, as Darus claims, it would give us intel on enemy supply routes. This intel can prove vital to our long-term survival and our war effort. I think we should attempt to retrieve this info, and if Biozi forces are too strong, we can always withdraw.”
“You’re not serious, captain,” O’Neil scoffed. “This facility is heavily defended. If we want to succeed, we need to commit our entire fleet. Can we leave the civvies without escort? Adisa Multan must be insane, or maybe the Biozi brainwashed her, and she’s doing their bidding. Have you thought of that?”
A moment of silence followed, as the officers pondered his words.
Winsley broke the silence. “The way I see it, we have no choice. We must attack Chloris and give Commander Lance time to rescue the hostages. Now, let’s discuss the battleplan.”
The holo-screen displayed the Chloris system. Its sun was a main-sequence white dwarf. Chloris was the third planet, the only one in the habitable zone. All other stellar bodies in the system were of little interest. Winsley zoomed on Chloris and its surroundings. The black hole gate revolved in a high orbit around the planet. Enemy ships appeared as bright red dots.
“We’ll divide the fleet into four battlegroups,” Winsley resumed. “Battlegroup Defiance will jump next to the gate and secure it. Battlegroups Ceres and Deneb will engage the ships guarding the facility. Battlegroup Vega will land a strike team and protect it from low orbit. Captain O’Neil, you will lead Vega for this op. Captain Hunt, I have a special mission for the Remembrance. I’ll explain it to you later. Dismissed.”
The preparations for the attack began immediately. The operation was codenamed Map to Freedom, as Adisa Multan had proposed. Winsley didn’t object to that, although for the ASF the word freedom had a different meaning in this context.
* * *
For Riley, days passed in agonizing monotony. She hadn’t felt so frustrated since her internment in a Biozi camp on Deneb. A solid nanoalloy door isolated her from the rest of the ship. It was even worse than being stuck behind a forcefield. She passed her time doing physical exercises and reading tactical manuals on her mobile holo-projector. She had no contact with outside world, and food was delivered by bot through a narrow conduit in the ceiling.
When the two weeks were over, she eagerly anticipated release. But on the morning of the fifteenth day, no one showed, and the door of her cell remained obstinately closed. She called several times, to no avail. She banged on the door with her fist and shouted again.
Silence was the only answer.
What the hell is going on? Did they forget about me? Did they abandon ship in an emergency and forgot to let me out?
She glanced at the conduit in the ceiling, wondering if she could get inside and escape via the air vents. However, the conduit was way too narrow for that. She waited for the bot that brought her breakfast. It turned up right on time, at 06:00, carrying a tray with a bottle of recycled water and the usual military ration.
She grabbed the bot before it could disappear back into the conduit and twisted its head. It buzzed and whirred, its flagellar rotors spinning at full speed, but it couldn’t escape the grip of Riley’s bionically enhanced hands. She snapped its head off, and the little bot went silent. Then she plugged the universal connector implanted in her index finger into the bot’s nanocomputer, made a few adjustments to its programming, and reactivated the bot.
She screwed the bot’s head back into place and whispered, “Good boy,” as if the primitive machine needed encouragement. “Go!”
She let it fly into the conduit and guided it remotely. When the bot exited the air vent, she saw a corridor in black and white through the bot’s cam. Instead of Fleet Security guards, she spotted two men in bulletproof vests and helmets armed with shotguns, surely members of Multan’s paramilitary group.
Riley realiz
ed what had happened on the ship. She knew the protocol to follow in cases like this. The ASF had a contingency protocol for almost any situation.
She directed the bot to the nearest cyber-terminal and instructed it to plug itself in. She searched the transmission list and found the one she was interested in. It was disguised as a routine maintenance instruction, but was in fact an encrypted message from Captain Hunt.
She replied, using the same encryption. The answer came back within seconds.
Lights went off. Through the bot, Riley found the virtual switch that controlled the cell doors and activated it. The door of her cell slid to the side. She removed her shoes and dashed to the corridor silently. Her optical implants went into thermal imaging mode; the guards appeared in red and yellow, like in a painting of an avant-garde artist.
She sneaked behind them, grabbed one of them by the throat, pulled his blaster pistol, set it on stun, and zapped both guards. The blaster was a Wells-9, a smaller caliber than the Wells-12 she preferred, but it was enough for what she needed to do.
The lights returned. She confiscated the guards’ weapons and body armor, dragged them into a cell, and locked the door. Then she followed the plan Hunt had transmitted. She reached the cell block where Kwan Kor and all security officers were detained, stunned the guards, and opened the cells. She was pleasantly surprised to see Sergeant Mortensen, one of the most skilled marines in the ASF. He was unharmed.
The same couldn’t be said about Kwan Kor. The colonel looked like hell. Multan’s followers didn’t go easy on him. His face and his bald head were smeared in blood, he could barely keep his right eye open, and the tissues around it were black and swollen. He walked with a limp due to an injury, yet he still had the gait of a career officer, and his face sported an expression of resolve.
“I’ve been through worse,” he croaked, meeting Riley’s stare. “Compared to Biozi warriors, these nutjobs punch like pussies.” He spat on the body of one of the incapacitated guards on the floor.
“Let’s be clear,” Riley said, pointing a finger at Kwan Kor’s chest. “I’m in charge. You follow my lead, or you return to your cell. If you disobey, I won’t hesitate to zap you. Understood?”
Kwan Kor nodded. “I hear you loud and clear, commander. You’re the boss. What’s the plan for retaking the ship?”
“First stop—sickbay. We need to ensure CMO’s safety.”
“You’re kidding? Why not take the bridge?”
Riley glared at the disgraced colonel. “I thought you heard me loud and clear. This is an ASF op. We follow my CO’s orders. If you’re unhappy with this plan, you’re free to return to your cell and await judgment.”
Kwan Kor’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t argue. “It was just a suggestion. I’ll follow your lead, no questions asked.”
* * *
Adrian sat on the bridge’s floor together with the other president’s secretaries and advisers. The ASF fleet had jumped to the Chloris system and engaged the Biozi forces. The operation Map to Freedom had begun.
Something odd was happening on the Capitol. Lights had gone off for about a minute, then came back, but the intercom was malfunctioning, and Adisa couldn’t reach her followers in some sections of the ship, including the brig.
She called Winsley and demanded an explanation. His blurry and degraded hologram flickered on the bridge, now that his ship was several parsecs away from the civilian fleet. He informed Adisa that the attack was proceeding as planned, and denied any involvement in what was happening on the Capitol.
Adisa’s eyes narrowed. “Stop playing games with me, admiral. I warned you. Don’t you think I know what you’re trying to do? One of your ships didn’t jump, but cloaked and stayed with the civilian fleet. I suspect your marines sneaked on the Capitol and are now trying to retake control. That won’t work. I’ve got five hundred people on board, all armed, trained, and totally devoted to our cause.”
“I give you my word as an officer that none of my ships have deployed marines to the Capitol,” Winsley said. “I decided to keep one cloaked ship in reserve, as I didn’t want to leave the civilian fleet unprotected.”
“How thoughtful of you,” Adisa said with irony. “The Jamnagar is armed and fully capable of protecting the fleet. I want all your ships out of this system, fighting the Biozi instead of trying to retake the Capitol. I want to see your ship decloak and jump. Now!”
“That won’t happen,” Winsley snapped. “I need to keep at least one ship in reserve; I cannot engage the totality of my forces.”
Adisa turned to her men and pointed at one of the hostages sitting on the floor. “Bring me the blonde, the political adviser.”
Two of her men grabbed DeCourt’s adviser by the arms and dragged her to the middle of the bridge. Adisa drew her blaster and aimed it at the terrified woman. “You were saying, admiral?”
“Please, don’t,” the adviser begged her in a high-pitched voice. “I’ve a husband and two little kids!”
“I also had a husband,” Adisa snapped. “But you advised the president to assassinate him.”
“Enough!” Adrian cried.
He stood up and stepped forward. Two of the Earthists pointed their submachine guns at his chest, but he ignored them.
“You’re a disgrace to your species. All of you. You, DeCourt, with your plotting and scheming, and you, Multan, with your fanaticism and your hatred. You both carry responsibility for what’s happening. Mankind is facing extinction, and all you think about is your personal power. Shame on you!”
“Doctor—” Adisa started, the barrel of her blaster moving from the woman to him.
“I’m not finished!” he yelled. “Kill one more hostage, one more, and you’ll never find your beloved Earth. Never! And you, admiral, you will give me your word you won’t attempt anything until Ophelia is rescued. No boarding, no hacking, no attacks on the Capitol of any kind. Tell the Remembrance to decloak, as a gesture of good will.”
Winsley glared at Adrian, his lips pressed tight, but finally agreed with his suggestion.
“That seems fair,” Adisa conceded. “As long as the admiral keeps his word, no one else has to die. And for the record, doctor, I’m not doing this to gain personal power. I’m nothing but the instrument of God’s will. He wants his children to return home, and I will lead them to the Holy Planet.”
32
Operation Map to Freedom
The Phenix reached low orbit around Chloris, ready to deploy dropships. These were Griffin models, bigger and tougher than the Spearheads, and capable of carrying one Barracuda APC each.
Jason ordered the launch of two squadrons of Rapiers, Atlas and Bellum, and a squadron of Tomahawks, Squadron Castor. He was leading Atlas in person.
As his interceptor shot out of a launch tube, a breathtaking view unfolded before him. The sun was rising above the horizon, a green curve shining like an emerald facet. A lace of clouds cocooned the planet, white curls swirling above forests, lakes, and majestic mountain ranges. One of those mountains was rising to dizzying heights, its summit piercing the clouds and reaching the stratosphere.
“Protect the dropships,” Captain O’Neil ordered. “Remember, we have few marines left, and every life counts. But I don’t want any heroics. Play it safe, and if the op gets too hot, I’m pulling the plug.”
Jason activated the wing channel and instructed, “Bellum, escort the Griffins. Castor, take out the ground defenses and secure the landing zone. Atlas, we’re going to taunt the cockroaches. You heard the captain—no heroics. We just need to buy time for the dropships.”
The funnel of a wormhole flashed in the sky, and a Biozi carrier battlegroup jumped through. Nine bioships in total, including a Kraken-class carrier.
“Battlegroup Ceres is going to take care of the newcomers,” Captain O’Neil said. “Just keep the spiders away from the dropships.”
Fleeting stars lit up in the sky, explosions from anti-capital ordnance. The battle had begun.
“What
are those things in the sky that look like asteroids?” Mitch asked on the squadron’s channel. “They can’t be asteroids; they’re too close to the planet.”
“Those are clumps of spores,” Jason explained. “I’ve seen similar ones around another partly bioformed world. Dr. Darus explained they’re part of the bioforming process. This planet is still being bioformed. Don’t fly into one of those things—your bird won’t like it.”
Two squadrons of Arachnid interceptors swooped on Atlas. Followed by another two.
“That’s sixty-four spiders,” Porto boomed with a tinge of apprehension in his tone.
“Five to one?” Radge scoffed. “Just a warmup.”
“Stop boasting and start shooting,” Jason cut him. “Attack formation sigma-four.”
The missile lock icon blinked on his HUD. The nanocomputer of his Rapier was tracking four incoming missiles.
Jason thrust the stick to the left, stepped on the accelerator, and shot defense bots.
Remember—you’re in the stratosphere, not space. Don’t forget about gravity.
Two missiles exploded, intercepted by countermeasures. The lock icon was still blinking as the other two closed in. Jason cut the main thrusters and flipped his Rapier around. The missiles were two glowing dots on his HUD, and the rapidly decreasing red numbers next to them indicated the distance.
He targeted the first one and shot it with his quick-fire blasters, then stepped on the accelerator to dodge the last one. It whooshed past, so close its trail almost blinded him.
The lock icon was still blinking. Four more missiles rushed toward him from above.
Damn, you’re kidding me? You want me that badly? Okay, let’s dance!
He shot two alphas and punched the afterburner. Punishing G-forces pinned him to his seat. Two Arachnid interceptors flew straight toward him, appearing on his HUD as red dots surrounded by square brackets.
Battlegroup Vega Page 22
