by Jean Johnson
“You have the bridge, Lieutenant,” Ia reminded him, rising and heading for the back door. “Try to remember to dust off your footprints before the lieutenant commander comes on watch, will you?”
JULY 9, 2496 T.S.
JS 723 SYSTEM
“Bogey at 49 by 299…298…295,” York stated from the communications seat. With an entire sphere’s worth for their field of view, and a set of computers that were smart enough to sort out potential problems in a sky of data, but not smart enough to decide what to do with it, more than one set of eyes was needed to manage the flow in an ice-filled system like this one. “Moving fast with what looks like weapons hot, sirs.”
“Looks like th’ Squid’s back,” Spyder quipped, checking his own screen at the command console. “Same config as before. Yakko doesn’t know when t’ give up.”
O’Keefe muttered something under her breath, hands dancing across the controls. Her movements drifted the Hellfire to the right a little bit, but not strongly. Ia wasn’t strapped into a seat, and the yeoman knew it. She also knew it was likely there were plenty of others around the ship who weren’t strapped in for maneuvers. “Captain, do you want to take the helm?”
“Not necessary. No sudden moves, Yeoman,” she told O’Keefe. She had emerged from her office with the foreknowledge of the best way to handle this encounter. “Continue on course to the Dlmvla mining station.”
“Then it is th’ Squid?” Spyder asked, lifting his brows. The nickname had been voted on informally for the Salik hunter-pilot crazy enough to try to engage them. This was her third time finding and following the Hellfire, though her ship wasn’t close enough yet to fire accurately.
Douglas spoke up from the operations seat. “Sir, we’re badly damaged. Deschamps says his repair teams have parts strewn all over the aft and stern lower decks. One good hit to the rear of the ship, and there could be a lot of flying debris.”
“Yes, I know that, Private. And you know that, but they don’t know that,” Ia soothed. Moving from the back door to the pilot’s seat, she touched O’Keefe on the shoulder and gave the curly-haired woman a reassuring smile. “Rotate the ship 180 degrees, Yeoman. Point the muzzle of our main cannon at the Squid, but continue on course. Be mindful of the repair crews and take your time. Head for the mining station and cozy up our middle to their number 17 hatch. At all times until the last few minutes needed to dock, keep the main cannon pointed at the Squid.
“Private York, inform them we will be arriving in time for tea, and that we’d like a canister of frozen ksisk delivered to our airlock. Offer them a single teddy bear in return, then contact Private Bethu-ne’. Ask him to select one of the teddy bears from his collection as a gift for the Dlmvla—the older and more worn, the better. Tell him he has fifteen minutes to p-suit up and get the bear to the amidships Deck 12 portside airlock for the exchange.”
York blinked twice, bemused by her odd set of orders, then turned back to his console. “…Aye, sir. Whatever you say, sir.”
“Y’ don’ get it, do you?” Lieutenant Spyder asked rhetorically. He had given Ia a quizzical look when she first stepped onto the bridge, but hadn’t relinquished his seat, yet. “Well, the Cap’n an’ I do. Xenopsychology an’ all that.”
York snorted. “Well, I’m glad you do. Mind explaining it to us lowly peons?”
“The Salik, most unfortunately, aren’t stupid enough to open up an extra war front,” Ia told him. “Discounting the Greys, and with little competition from the other races for the various methane-rich worlds out there, the Dlmvla are the single largest nation in the known galaxy. If you counted the entire galaxy, the Solaricans would come in at third place and the Dlmvla somewhere around fifteenth,” she added dryly. “But not in this known patch of it, so the felinoids don’t count.
“Up to this point, the Salik have been very careful to avoid Dlmvlan targets. They won’t even attack anything near a methane-rich world if there’s a single Dlmvlan ship in the system. The Dlmvla think this might be a courtship method of reverse psychology, ignoring them in order to seek an alliance,” Ia added lightly, “but the Salik honestly have no interest in contacting them. At least, until the Alliance is shattered, all the tastier species are firmly rolled up in their tentacles, and they’ve rebuilt their war machine strong enough to take up the hunt for new prey.”
“That’s why they ’aven’t fired on us yet,” Spyder pointed out, looking up briefly from his screens. “Back in th’ Corps, we heard news ’bout our old Sergeant Ia, after she got jumped up t’ be a lieutenant in th’ Navy. Nothin’ specific, just that she’d play up th’ enemies’ weaknesses psychologically. Pirates, Salik, smugglers, didn’ matter. When she didn’t ask fer this seat, I sussed out why she wasn’t inna hurry. Salik won’t fire on us this close to th’ methane-breathers.”
“Which is why we’re safe to dock,” Ia agreed, nodding at her 2nd Platoon lieutenant. “Leaving is another matter. At that point, it’ll be third watch, and I’ll take the helm. We can’t ask the Dlmvla to help us with our repairs, so we’ll be here a good twelve hours, but if everyone works hard, that’ll be enough time to get the hull solid again.”
“And the frozen ksisk?” Private Sharpe asked, eyes on his navigation screens. “What is that, some kind of fish?”
“A very tasty berry, but only once it’s been aired out,” Ia stated dryly. “That’s because it’s colloquially known as the ‘fart fruit’ to the Human colonists manning the one M-class world in the otherwise Dlmvlan-run system of Kvuu Zhwinnh 525. A single canister’s worth of frosted methane crystals isn’t going to bother us, and I’m in the mood to tease the Dlmvla with an exchange of a fairly valuable but edible commodity for a near-worthless but much more permanent child’s toy.”
“Captain?” O’Keefe asked, frowning in thought. “You do know that the Dlmvla are more than three meters tall, right? Our Deck 12 starboard airlock is designed for two-meter-tall beings. I can’t guarantee a solid docking seal if they open up that big door of theirs.”
“That’s the other reason why Private Bethu-ne’ needs to suit up for hard vacuum,” Ia told her. “Trading the bear for the canister without pressurization will ensure neither side offends the other with unwanted gasses. It’s a subtle courtesy and a subtle insult at the same time, and the Dlmvla will love it. They think the Salik might be courting them with illogic, but I actively am.”
“And when we’re ready to leave, sir?” O’Keefe asked her, making a minor course correction.
“As soon as we’re repaired and clear of the station, we’ll be making our way around the gas giant’s curve. At about halfway into our run-to-jump, a rather large fleet of Salik summoned by the Squid will leap out of the night and attempt to destroy us…followed by a rather large fleet of prewarned Alliance ships.” Ia grinned at the second watch pilot. “It should be fun.”
Nodding to Spyder, who had the watch, she walked off the bridge again. She had just enough time for a four-hour nap, followed by eight hours of hard work helping the engineering teams catch up on the needed swap-outs of various refitted and repaired parts, and a long, tough, but ultimately victorious fight against a good chunk of the local Salik fleet. A pity it would be only a small fraction of the whole.
Afterward, the Hellfire would need extensive repairs, more than her Company could handle. She knew there would be three Battle Platforms coming, though, more than enough to spare them the repair gantries that would be needed. She also knew that the Squid would get away and live to track them again, but that was all factored into her plans. As was not saying much to the Dlmvla this visit, other than swapping an old teddy bear for noxiously sweet fruit.
At least God lets me amuse myself at certain points along this path.
AUGUST 8, 2496 T.S.
GOLDEN PRISM DOME
GOLDEN GLITTERS III ORBIT, SALUK 199 SYSTEM
The view from Lieutenant Commander Helstead’s helmet cam wobbled a little. The explosion was two blocks away from the mechsuited woman, but the fo
rce of the shockwave still rattled the petite woman’s armor. Another, harder explosion rattled the video feed for a moment, sending streaks of static across Ia’s second tertiary screen. “Captain, there is a lot of fighting going on nearby. These people are getting slaughtered!”
“Stay on target,” Ia ordered her. The Hellfire rocked as well. Strafing the ship sideways helped; it gave the gunners, reduced in number thanks to Helstead’s troops on the ground, time to angle their weaponsfire at the three ships pursuing them.
Splitting their forces was not exactly the best option, but the Gatsugi colony needed defending, and theirs was the only ship anyone could spare. The disturbing fact, one Ia had known all along and the rest of the known galaxy was only now beginning to learn, was that the Salik fleet was a lot larger than anyone else knew, partly from mixing their forces.
Tentacled, ostrich-flippered soldiers served alongside mass-manufactured robotics, the latter crafted with at least five completely different programming systems. Orders were given verbally so that all could obey whatever Salik officer led them, but viral attacks that affected one type of robot did not necessarily disable the others, and the algorithms were swapped out every few days. Some worlds were even coming under attack by dangerous beasts bred to survive on a particular planet, to help the Salik in their quest to colonize as well as conquer them.
A hard explosion shook the Hellfire. Never a good sign in a starfight, this explosion shoved the ship slightly to the right. Red telltales flooded Ia’s upper screens, followed by distant whunks and a wailing, stuttering siren.
“Hull breach!” Private Nelson yelped. “Hull breach, fore section Decks 18 and 19! Ah…ah…section seals are strong, and inner seals are holding.”
Ia rolled the ship, sheltering the wound in its side. “Helstead, turn left. You will see a service entrance to their Senate Hall, and then—”
“—And then split off A Squad to hold the path to the shelter tunnels, and B Squad up two flights and turn left, to defend the Bright Speaker up in the broadcast booth. I remember, sir,” Helstead told her. “Alright, you mudding slackers, left face, move out! Puan, Franke, hold the rear but do not fire! We don’t want to draw any froggy-bot attentions our way!”
“Captain! Priority message from the Admiral-General,” Al-Aboudwa called out. “Putting it through.”
“Belay that,” Ia countered, most of her attention on turning the ship so that all three Salik carrier ships were on her port side, not the vulnerable starboard. “Inform the Admiral-General that we are in heavy combat and inform her that I say, quote, ‘I know, sir. There was nothing we could do for them. We could only save the rest,’ end quote. Restate we are in combat, and cut the link. L-pod 12, P-pod 14, abandon your pods. I repeat, abandon your pods. Retreat to Deck 5 immediately. All hands, prepare for another hull breach.”
“O Captain, my Captain,” Rico stated calmly, “have I ever told you how much I hate it when you say things like that?”
“Get in line behind Harper. It’s his precious ship I’m blowing up. L-pod 12, P-pod 14, this is not a drill. Move it!” she barked into her headset.
“Harper to Ia,” she heard in her left ear. “What the shakking hell are you doing to my ship?”
“Captain, the daily bread is in the basket, and the security teams are forgiving us for our trespasses,” Helstead reported in her right.
“Helstead, you make sure she transmits, whatever the cost. Harper,” Ia added, switching channels, “stuff it and start making repair plans. Al-Aboudwa, prepare to retransmit the signal coming from the surface. All relays, all bandwidths, all stations and comm sets on board this ship. I want everyone to hear why we are here instead of anywhere else.”
“Aye, sir. Opening all channels,” he agreed.
Nothing happened for several seconds, then a voice spoke. The tone was lyrical, the pitch high and soft. It was a whisper. A murmur. A promise.
“I send/transmit in the hyper. I send/transmit in the light. I speak plainly/straightly so that each word, each meaning, will be treasured/grasped. Night has fallen, coating all we can see with the dull black of despair/death. The glow of our bodies has dimmed, our grip has weakened, and our foe listens with sharpened teeth for our last/dying breath. But I, but we, are not dead yet.”
The gentle voice sharpened, gaining strength.
“No limb can tear us down. No tooth can bring us death. These beasts wish to leap upon/destroy us, to drag us down/down/down, but they will fail. They are strong, but we are stronger. They are many, but we are legion. I send/transmit through the hyper. I send/transmit in the light. Every single being/body that faces these predators is my brother/sibling/kin! Native or alien, we who are sentient, we who are compassionate, we/we/we have more in common than these murderers/monsters.
“Grasp your spears/rocks/knives. Grasp your guns/ships/strengths. We will drop upon them from the highest stars! We shall stab them down, and fill our veins with the bitter reds of our rage, and when they bite…when they bite, they will choke/suffocate/perish on our fury, torn apart by our combined might!”
Shouts and sizzling sounds came through in the background. Ia could hear Helstead barking orders to her teams, and an explosion that punctuated the Bright Speaker’s next words. Lasers struck the Hellfire, damaging more panels; she dodged them as best she could.
“I am not afraid!” the Gatsugi speaker asserted. “I transmit in the hyper, I transmit in the light, and I am not not not afraid! The hunters will be hunted. Stand on the branches by your choice/will/right. Climb for the strength to survive this war. Fight for your sentient brothers, and they will fight for you—when the easy prey has been shaken loose, their ceaseless/wasteful hunger will send them into the trees for those who think they are safe! Strike now! Strike/Strike/Strike now, and cut out the tendons of their ambitions. Shove them into the Room for the Dead, before they can shove you in and shut/lock/seal the door!
“Here I stand, surrounded by foes, but defended by friends. Gatsugi and alien. Why? Why would these Terrans come to our aid, when they themselves are hunted hard? They have a quote from a Bright Speaker of their own. It has changed words and changed hands many many many times, for it transcends mere words, and mere hands, and mere species.”
A small explosion rocked the Hellfire’s shields. It was followed by a much larger one, skewing their flight and the stuttering siren of another hull breach.
“I say it now in my own words, sign it with my own hands! They came for the Solaricans, but I was not a Solarican, and I stayed high above as they perished. They came for the V’Dan, but I was no V’Dan, and did not look nor move. They came for the K’kattan, but my limbs were less, and I did not raise my spine…and the K’katta, too, died. But I know in my soul that they are coming for me. When will I fight for myself, and how can I fight for myself, if I will not also fight for the rest?
“I am not afraid. I am not at rest. No ruler, no leader, no Nestor can tell me what I know is right, and I will fight. I am a Bright Speaker because I speak the truth! I speak it until the universe itself listens. I send/send/send in the hyper. I send/send/send in the light. I demand an answer/response from you! Will you fight?”
Silence followed the unseen speaker’s words. Al-Aboudwa licked his lips and murmured, “Transmission has ended, sir.”
“Open a broadband on the lightwave, Private,” Ia directed him, dodging another round of missiles.
“Aye, sir…Broadband ready.”
“Make no mistake. They will come for you, too,” Ia said, thumbing open the channel. “My Prophetic Stamp on that.” She closed the link with a tap of her thumb and darted the ship between two of the Salik vessels, increasing their velocity. “Jumping in ten.”
“Jumping?” Fielle questioned, looking up and back from his screens. “But sir, Helstead and the rest…?”
“They’ll be alright,” Ia told him, activating one of the two undamaged OTL nose cones. It swung into position and pulsed a torus of energies. “We’re just going to repos
ition.”
Darting into the grey maw, they left the orbital space of the third planet. Not even a second later, the hyperrift spat them out somewhere beyond the seventh planet. The rift was still open behind them for a moment. Ia once again hit the thruster fields, accelerating them forward. One of the Salik vessels, tail-chasing them, came through the rift as well.
Or rather, most of it did. With its unmodified FTL fields for grease, it survived the collapse of the rift, but at a cost; damaged by the fight with the Hellfire, those shields prevented the wormhole from rifting their ship but didn’t prevent the forces from crumpling their stern. Silent explosions of energy and air escaped. Crippled, the enemy ship skewed off to port, its thruster fields abruptly unbalanced.
There had been a modest chance the enemy ship would be rifted and explode instead of merely being tail-nipped. No doubt the Salik on board considered themselves lucky. Ia intended to disabuse them of that idea.
Wrapping her ship in a vector-soothing bubble, Ia eased their acceleration and gently swapped ends. Now she could pulse the Godstrike cannon, and not worry about local space traffic for the next four months. Now she could whittle down the others, and rout the Salik forces attempting to seize the Collective’s colonyworld.
The message had been sent; that was what was important. It had cost them a terrible price to be here, to help the alien poet speak so passionately for her kind. Only Ia knew it would be worth it. Just…not right away.
This was the part of being in command that no good officer liked. Ia was no exception. Dressed in formal Blacks, her cap on her head and her half glittery—Terran only—pinned to her jacket, she entered the bow mechsuit bay.
Private Tormez was the first one to spot her. Caught in the act of stripping out of her pressure-suit, the short, muscular woman snapped to Attention. Or tried to. She yanked her hand out of her half-tangled p-suit sleeve and snapped it to her brow in a salute. “All hands! Ship’s Captain on deck! Ten-hut!”
