“We’ll see,” Jess said. “I’m not taking any chances. Unless there’s a damn good reason we won’t be stopping until we are well clear of the Quarantine Zone.”
“I think a completely alien ship would count as a damn good reason.”
“I said we’ll see,” Jess snapped.
He expected that to start an argument with Dash, or possibly with Sal, but they just nodded in acknowledgement. Jess wouldn’t even have seen that much acknowledgement of his words if he wasn’t watching them through the ship’s internal sensors. Dash seemed to finally be treating Jess with some respect, the kind a captain deserved on his own ship. Sal, too. That made Jess feel uncomfortable. One more thing that seemed just a little off kilter.
He tried to put the worries out of his mind, to focus on what might be coming, but to no avail. His mind kept running through the same worries. The time he couldn’t account for, the changes in the attitude of Dash and Sal, trying to find connections between them, even though none were apparent.
He was so caught up in his thoughts it took a few moments to register that the ship was trying to grab his attention. Normal space around them was no longer empty. They had reached the next defensive layer, and this time there was far more than just wreckage to see.
Chapter 39
Clay was back in the briefing room. The same group of pilots were there, except those who had died in the recent attack. Clay couldn’t bring himself to call it a battle, it had been nothing of the sort. He didn’t let himself think of it as a slaughter in case he spoke those words out loud. He didn’t want to attract any attention.
He wasn’t alone in his feelings. A nearby pilot was loudly denouncing what they’d done. The pilots around him quickly moved away. He moved himself, trying to speak to another group of pilots who also refused to engage. He reached Clay.
“Can you believe what we’ve just done?” the pilot demanded. “What are we? Pirates? Terrorists? I joined up to prevent attacks like that happening, not to commit them.”
Clay almost started nodding. He agreed with everything the pilot was saying. They, and their commanders, had become far worse than pirates or terrorists. And this was just the beginning. Instead he just gave the pilot a cold stare.
“We signed up to serve the Empire,” Clay said. “We follow orders. That’s what we do. We follow orders, whether we understand them or not, whether we like them or not. We follow orders because those giving them understand the situation far better than we do.”
He turned and started to walk away.
“Soulless coward,” the pilot spat.
Clay kept walking. He focused on being as cold as possible, keeping himself separated from what had happened. Once he’d crossed most of the room he turned. He wasn’t surprised to see the pilot had tried to engage someone else in conversation, and that they too were moving away quickly.
Studying the crowd Clay spotted two other pilots on a similar mission. It wasn’t long before the three found each other, and in doing so found a ready audience. Their voices grew louder and more indignant. Their gestures became wilder. They were stirring each other into a frenzy.
The rest of the pilots kept well clear. None looked at ease. Clay guessed they were worrying about being called in for the briefing. He certainly was. He’d docked with the Clanar’s Sword once the attack was completed. The original briefing had placed the next target less than an hour's travel away in jump space. The pilots had been scheduled to stay in their fighters, ready to launch as soon as the Sword arrived.
Clay had landed his fighter and settled down for the wait, using the chance to grab something to eat and drink. He’d only been there a couple of minutes when a terse message ordered him and the other pilots to the briefing room.
Now he stood worrying over what was going on. Were their orders going to change? Was the plan of attack changed? Against his better judgement, hope flared in his chest. Had the reality of the attack been too much for those in charge? Had it turned them against their previous course of action?
An officer entered the room, the same officer who'd briefed them before. The pilots all scrambled to attention, which brought a slight smile to the officer’s lips. She studied them, not saying a word, spending several seconds on each person.
Every pilot kept themselves rigidly at attention. Clay heard movement behind, the solid tramp of boots marching in unison. The troopers had arrived. The hope died in Clay’s chest. Whatever was coming it wasn’t a change of heart.
The officer spent a long time studying the pilots. When she turned her gaze onto Clay he had to fight not to flinch. Did she know how he felt about the attack? Had he given himself away in some way? Her expression was unchanging as her eyes bored into his soul. Surely she had been studying him for far longer than the others?
The longer she stared at him the more he wanted to scream out his defiance. To tell her and her orders to go to hell. To tell her how wrong the attack had been. The presence of the troopers behind him increased the urge to shout out.
Desperately he struggled to contain the words, but the harder he tried the stronger the urge became. He had to find something else. Some way of keeping calm. Of course! That was it.
Clay imagined himself back in the cockpit of his fighter. Not in combat. Out in space on the far leg of a patrol. The blackness of space around him, punctured by the stars. Nothing and no one anywhere near. He immediately started to relax. The tension left his shoulders and the urge to yell died away completely. Now the biggest risk was that he would grin at the officer. He suspected that would be even worse than yelling defiance.
The officer continued to study him. There was no doubt, now. She was definitely watching Clay for longer than she had the other pilots. He kept his mind firmly focused on his imaginary flight. He could wait as long as it took.
An emotion flashed across the officer's face too quickly for Clay to make out. It might have been amusement, annoyance or even anger. Then she was looking at another pilot. Clay held in a heavy sigh of relief. She might not be looking at him, but he wasn’t out of danger.
She continued her examination. To Clay it felt like being back at the academy. Some of the instructors had enjoyed keeping the students at attention, sometimes for an entire lecture, but this felt far more dangerous. This was far more dangerous.
The three pilots who had spoken out against the attack were standing as straight and silent as everyone else. Whatever bravado they’d felt had evaporated in the face of the officer, or possibly at the sound of the troopers behind them. The officer only seemed to glance at the three, immediately moving on.
Finally she finished. She glanced over the crowd once more, then simply nodded. Clay heard the troopers moving, their boots crashing down in a chaotic manner now. He fought the urge to turn around, instead forcing himself to stay at attention.
Something hard jammed into the back of his head, just above his neck. Now the urge to turn around, to fight back, was almost impossible to ignore. Troopers rushed past Clay to jam their guns against the back of other pilots’ heads. The guns were angled upwards, ensuring any shots would only strike the intended victim.
Clay counted six pilots, other than himself, that had been targeted by a trooper, though there might have been more behind him. He wasn’t surprised to see the three pilots who had condemned the attack were receiving the same treatment he was.
As for the other three… Clay could only guess why they’d been singled out. It was probably for something they’d said or done before entering the briefing room.
He felt strangely detached from what was happening. There was fear, but it felt distant. He was almost more interested in the others who’d been picked out than he was in what would happen to him.
The officer muttered something under her breath, too quietly for Clay to hear. He assumed it was an order for the troopers. Now the fear hit. He tensed, thinking she’d ordered them to fire. Nothing happened.
A part of him wanted to fight, to turn and wrestle wi
th the trooper, to hang on to every last moment of life. He resisted the urge with an iron will. At best it would only buy him a few seconds more. He’d be damned before he sold his dignity for such a small reward. When the moment came he would face it with what little honour he had remaining.
The officer glanced around the room once more, then barked out a clear order.
“Kill them.”
Clay’s stomach dropped and his legs threatened to turn to water. He couldn’t help squeezing his eyes shut, but he did manage to avoid any other visible reaction. His heart rate shot up but he knew he’d be dead before it led to an increase in his breathing.
Pistol fire rang out around the room. Clay tensed against the impact, useless as he knew it would be. It didn’t hurt. That was the first surprise. It was soon eclipsed by surprise that he was still thinking. Opening his eyes he saw the bodies of the other targeted pilots dropping limply to the ground. He remained standing.
Or he seemed to. He’d never been religious, had never worried over what might come next. He’d felt sure there was only one life and had been determined to do good with it, funny as that seemed now. Had he been wrong? Was this the beginning of the afterlife? If he glanced down would he see his own dead body?
The pressure on the back of his head disappeared. The trooper had removed the gun. Somehow Clay managed to remain still, standing rigidly at attention. It had more to do with shock than discipline. Slowly it dawned on him that he was still alive. That, for whatever reason, he'd been spared. He was the only one that had been.
“Impressive,” the officer said, staring at Clay for a moment. Then she gestured. “Get rid of this useless meat.”
Some of the troopers dragged the dead pilots out of the room. The rest took up positions along the back wall. The officer stood silently, letting the tension build. Finally she spoke.
“Those who just died were weak. They lacked commitment to the Empire. They questioned or doubted our course. There is no room for doubt. There can be no questions. Not if the Empire is to survive. I trust you will all remember this lesson.”
She fell silent, studying each pilot in turn. When Clay’s turn came the ghost of an expression crossed her face, much too fast for him to read. Then she moved on. Once she’d finished measuring the remaining pilots she barked out an order.
“Dismissed to your fighters. Maintain full combat alert.”
The pilots reacted slowly, uncertainly. Too slowly for the officer.
“I said dismissed to your ships!” she screamed at them.
It had the desired effect. The pilots snapped into action, turning quickly and making for the exit. Clay moved with them. He was sure the officer’s eyes followed him until he left the room. Why had he been spared?
The other pilots were wondering the same thing. They quickly pulled away from Clay, refusing to even glance his way. He'd been singled out by the officer. Being near him seemed dangerous. Clay didn’t blame them at all. He’d have joined them, if it was possible.
* * *
“Battle Stations!” Admiral Vorn bellowed over the command channel. “Assume defensive formation Knight-Four.”
As his fleet rapidly reacted, Vorn tried to take in the situation. They had emerged into a full blown battle. His orders had been a reflex reaction. With the fleet following his commands he had the chance to study the furious fighting.
Immediately ahead was an Imperial fleet. The blockade. It was heavily engaged with… Vorn found himself momentarily at a loss. It wasn’t a fleet, that would indicate organisation. The only word which really fit was mob. A mob of ships were attacking the Imperial fleet, and were gradually grinding the defenders down.
The mob consisted mostly of civilian ships with a smattering of Imperial warships. The attacks were disorganised but pure weight of numbers was winning out. The Imperial fleet simply didn’t have the resources needed to win.
Until now. Vorn’s fleet completely changed the balance. The additional firepower would be enough to smash through the nearby attackers, and then overwhelm the rest. Vorn could imagine how the defenders felt, seeing salvation suddenly appear.
Vorn’s commanders were already drawing up possible plans of attack. The comm officer transferred an urgent, and heavily encrypted, text communication to Vorn. As Vorn had expected, the commander of the defensive fleet was requesting immediate assistance.
Vorn stared at the displays, taking in the situation. He made his mind up, then opened the command channel again.
“All forces maintain defensive formation. Engage targets where possible but do not break from your positions. This battle is a side issue. We must stay focused on our mission. To that end, all non-fleet ships are to be considered enemies. That includes the defending Imperial fleet and any Imperial warships accompanying the attackers. Anything that didn’t travel here with us is a valid target. Vorn out.”
He could sense the shock spreading through those around him. It was quickly replaced by action as officers rushed to carry out his bidding. They knew all too well the price of questioning his orders, let alone opposing his wishes. Vorn prepared a message for the leader of the defenders.
“This is Admiral Vorn. Unfortunately, I must deny your request. We are on a mission of critical importance to the Empire. I cannot tolerate any delays or weakening of my forces. We will destroy any ships that approach but otherwise will take no part in this battle. Please note that I said any ships, Imperial or not. I have learnt enough about the Taint to know absolute isolation is our best policy.”
Vorn sent the message. He had no doubt he would receive a heated reply, but it was of no importance. All that mattered was chasing down the Wanderer, and for that he needed every ship under his command… if not more.
* * *
Vorn hadn’t been disappointed. The commander of the Imperial fleet had sent several messages, each more impassioned than the last. Vorn had read then discarded each one. He knew he had burned another bridge, but it didn’t matter. If he succeeded in capturing the Wanderer all would be forgiven. If not, then he would never be able to return anyway.
He was surprised by how easily his fleet was able to make progress. Initially some of the attackers turned their attention on Vorn’s forces. They attacked in small groups and were easily swatted aside. Then, once Vorn’s fleet had passed the defenders and was clearly moving away, the attacks quickly tailed off. It seemed the attackers were willing to leave his forces alone if they didn’t interfere in the battle.
Despite their relatively clear route, Vorn was chilled by what he saw. The attacking fleet was immense. Only its lack of any significant tactics was preventing it swatting the blockading forces aside. If someone managed to coordinate the attackers more efficiently they would quickly smash through every layer of defence within the Quarantine Zone.
Vorn changed his earlier assessment. His fleet couldn't possibly have tipped the balance. His forces would have been chewed up along with those of the defending fleet. The further his fleet travelled the fewer fights were visible, though the wreckage of battle was everywhere. Vorn waited anxiously as his fleet slowly navigated the dangers. Finally they cleared the tar pit’s range and launched themselves back into jump space.
* * *
Greenseed Station
Marsh stared at his screen, watching the freighter depart. His team hadn’t found any way to communicate yet. The freighter had taken aboard the cargo, blissfully unaware of the danger. He couldn’t help wondering what had been hidden amongst the cargo. Had it been the Tainted themselves? Or could the Taint be spread by objects? By food? By water?
He was bitterly disappointed. He’d hoped someone from his team would pull a miracle out of thin air, but it hadn’t happened. No one had even put forward an idea so far. Despite what he’d told his team he wasn’t happy with the idea of warning the hundredth ship, or the tenth or even the second. He’d wanted them to warn off the first and they had failed. Whatever happened now there would always be one ship which had got away, one ship
that was spreading the Taint in Greenseed’s name.
Marsh could feel the mood of the team dropping by the second. They were having similar thoughts. Everyone had hoped to stop the Taint spreading from their station. Now they felt they had failed. Marsh forced himself to speak.
“Listen up,” he said loudly. “We knew we might not be able to warn the first ship. Or even the tenth. That doesn’t matter…”
“It matters to anyone who meets that ship,” someone muttered.
Marsh glanced around sharply but couldn’t work out who had spoken. Sullen eyes stared back at him. He realised he needed to take a different tack.
“Yes,” he said more quietly. “It matters to them, and to wherever they end up delivering those supplies. But we can’t do anything to save them. We have to focus on those we can help. On those who haven’t arrived yet. If we give up now then they will suffer the same fate, as will every ship that docks here.
“No one said this was going to be easy. It won’t be. We are fighting against an enemy who knows our systems almost as well as we do. Almost. Remember that. You are here because you're the best we have. If anyone can find a way, it’s you. Are you going to keep trying? Because I damn well am!”
Marsh stared fiercely around the room, challenging his team to agree. He was pleased to see grins and vigorous nods. He could feel the change in the room. A spark was back, and it was infectious. Marsh smiled. That had felt good. He’d made similar impassioned demands many times as a captain, but none since moving to Greenseed.
Damn, he thought. I should never have let them retire me. If we get out of this I’m going to demand command of a warship again. If we get out of this then they’ll bloody well owe me one!
Chapter 40
Jess studied the picture of real space the Wanderer was able to generate. While the ship was in jump space details were difficult to discern, but several major themes could be made out.
Wanderer's Odyssey - Books 1 to 3: The Epic Space Opera Series Begins Page 79
