“I would like to talk to her.” There was always a possibility Aolyth didn’t have correct information or was exaggerating the situation.
“She won’t talk to anyone.”
“And you want me to take this as a sign the Spirits are unhappy with the choices we’re making?”
“I suppose you will assume whatever you are disposed to,” Eolith said. “I know I can’t convince you.”
“But you still try.”
“I merely report to you what is happening here.”
“Then is there anything else?”
“No.”
Aahliss smiled. “Then thank you.” She ended the call, then stood and paced, the fear now settled into her stomach. What was she doing here? Had she made the wrong choice? Would the Spirits never return, because of her actions?
She quickly left her room and made her way to the Hall of the Spirits. There, she stood before the empty Spirit tubes and prayed for guidance. “Please,” she said, “do not punish us for disobeying instructions you have not even given us.”
No reply came, only the loneliness of a life without the warmth of the spirits.
And fear that she had made a terrible mistake.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Mehta made her way to breakfast, then found Trel sitting alone at a table, nudging his food with his shovel-shaped spoon. She sat facing him. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t feel good.”
“You’re sick?”
He shuddered.
“Trel? What’s wrong?”
“We need to go to the bridge,” he said. “Now.” He jumped up, reaching out to her.
Just as she leapt up to follow him, the ship’s loud speakers came on. “Ship attack. There is a ship attack.”
“Tdelum, save us,” Trel whispered as he broke into a run.
Damn his long legs. She couldn’t keep up with him. But she only arrived a few seconds behind. When she stepped inside the bridge, the screen displayed another Mralan bridge as if seen from the front, the crew diligently staring at their control panels.
“Five seconds,” someone on the screen said,
“Five seconds ’til what?” she asked.
“Until they get close enough that sensors can tell who the other ship is,” Trel said.
“The trouble is,” Fmedg said, “the other ship is moving toward them, not away.”
“That can only mean one thing,” Vril said.
“Species X,” the sensor operator on the other ship said.
“This is it,” Trel whispered. “Now we find out.”
“The Species X ship is still approaching,” the sensor operator from Trin’s ship said, her tone matter-of-fact.
“Full power transferred to weapons,” Trin said at the engineering operator console.
“I’m charging them now,” the weapons specialist said, the volume of his voice a little higher than the others.
“Why are they charging weapons?” Mehta said. “That wasn’t in our plan.”
“They’re scared,” Trel said. “I think this is a back-up, in case the other doesn’t work.”
“They’re almost in range,” the sensor operator said. This time, the pitch of her voice was up, and the tone signaled nervousness. “Their shields are still down. Five, four, three, two...”
“We’re going to hit them,” Trin whispered with excitement.
“Firing.”
“Their shields just came up.” The sensor operator shouted. She looked frustrated. “No damage. Hit them again!”
“Firing!”
“Moving to the trap,” the helmsman said. His fingers flew over the controls, while the weapons operator continued firing on the Species X ship, and everyone else watched.
“Full rear shields,” Trin said.
“Just like we planned,” Mehta whispered. “Keep it up.”
The ship on the screen rattled, and force fields glistened around the crew, keeping them in their chairs, their hands still on their controls, still giving the ship commands.
“Approaching the comets,” the helmsman said.
“Remote detonator ready,” weapons said.
The sensor operator stared into her screen. “Fifteen seconds.”
Mehta clenched her fist. They were going to do it. They were going to blow that attacking ship to bits, and Species X would never see it coming. She exchanged a glance with Trel, a smile of confidence.
He smiled back, with a little nervous nod, but now his face looked hopeful. “I think it’s working.”
“Five sec—wait a minute. What just happened?”
The helmsman’s fingers suddenly scrambled over his console. “I don’t know. They didn’t follow us.”
Mehta leaned forward. “They didn’t move into range of the mine?”
The sensor operator gasped. “They’re getting ready to fire on us. Full power to the shields!”
“I need full power to weapons!”
“Our weapons aren’t getting through!”
By this time, everyone on the bridge was shouting, and Mehta could no longer tell who was saying what.
“Shields! Transfer power to the shields!”
“Try luring them in again,” someone shouted to the helmsman. It sounded like Trin.
The bridge rocked, and the crew grabbed their consoles, faces ashen, dampening fields around them zapping.
“Hull breach on the weapons deck.”
“Weapons aren’t functioning anymore.”
“Full power to shields.”
“No! Give me propulsion! We have to get out of here!”
“Shields! They’re firing again!”
Trin worked frantically, pressing the controls while the others shouted at him. “I can’t get—”
The picture blinked into blackness.
Mehta wasn’t breathing. This couldn’t have just happened. None of this was even real. The universe had slowed to a frozen blur, barely moving, the smoldering ruins of a distant battlefield.
Beside her, Trel lifted hands to his face and shuddered, mute, chest collapsing in on itself.
Mehta wrapped her arms around his shoulders, while he trembled, grunting in wordless agony, the sound laced with pain, knees buckling beneath him, weight too much for her to carry. But no one approached. “I need help over here.”
Fmedg took two steps toward them, then stopped. “The feelings are too strong.”
Trel’s knees landed hard on the deck, his breathing a quick hissing of air, and then a soft pleading “No.” She dropped to a kneeling position beside him, still supporting him. His arms reached out, the drowning man realizing that you cannot grab water. “No!” he said, desperation turning his cry into a squeak.
“You people are pitiful. You can’t even help.”
“He just felt… he felt death,” Opash said.
Oh, god, what kind of sensation must that have been? The word traumatic probably didn’t even scratch the surface of what he was going through. Not only had he lost his brother, but he’d seen death through someone else’s experience.
There was no way she could help him. She wasn’t trained to do something like the kind of grief counseling Trel was going to need. “Are there some ship’s counselors he can work with?”
“They’re on their way,” Opash said.
She squeezed Trel’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry this happened,” she whispered to him.
Her eyes filled with tears, and the light smeared across her field of vision. No one offered her tissues, and she would have refused them. This was the only way she could honor Trin, the only way she could support Trel.
The bridge door opened, and two robed women made a beeline to Trel, each one grabbing one of his arms. “Let’s go.”
Mehta stood as they brought him to his feet. His face was pale and expressionless, a ghost of the delightful person he had always been, a motionless specter, like he was dead inside. Oh, god, they had to help him. He had to recover.
“Where are you taking him?�
�
“The hall of the Spirits,” the taller woman said.
“I want to come, too.”
“No. Your feelings are too strong, and he has enough to deal with right now without you adding to it.”
She took a step back, releasing his shoulders, her hands trembling. “Please help him.”
They both nodded serenely, then walked Trel off the bridge.
Her hands dropped to her sides, tear tracks still wet on her face. “What the hell happened?”
“Sure didn’t go like we planned,” Davis said.
“I thought it was a good plan,” Hiranaka added.
“It was. But Species X somehow knew.”
“Yes,” Ndrem said, coming forward from the back of the bridge. “I’ve been seeing this a lot. They respond to our decisions before we’ve even acted on them.”
“They must be telepathic,” Fmedg said. “This means we can never defeat them.”
Ndrem nodded. “That was my thought, too. Telepathic.”
Mehta clenched her jaw, her frown twisting at her scar. Check everything, the scar always said. And she’d not done that.
She turned to the communications console, where Fmedg sat with his long legs bent at an awkward angle. “Mlendish told me communications were secure.”
“Oh, shit,” Davis whispered.
“They are,” Fmedg said.
“Okay, then, tell me this. If the Dakh Hhargash want to listen in to our conversations, can they?”
“Anyone could. But why would they want—” He brought his hand to his mouth.
“Not secure, then.” She ran her hands over her face. “Son of a bitch. Why didn’t I check on that?”
“You mean Species X was listening to their bridge conversations?” Opash said. “They heard that it was a trap?”
“They could have listened in on the whole plan,” Mehta said, “for all we know.”
“Then we need a new plan,” Fmedg said matter-of-factly.
“Yes.” Mehta nodded to Hiranaka, who looked like she’d just seen the ghost of Trin. “A new plan.”
Damn it. The old plan had been brilliant. It should have worked. But now, they were going to have to do more.
And it was her fault. Her fault that Trin had died, her fault that Trel was suffering now. There was no way she could ever fix what had just gone wrong. But damn it all to hell, she wasn’t going to let it happen again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
An hour after the battle had ended, Mehta had her senior officers and planners in the meeting room to discuss what had happened and see what they could learn from it.
“First thing,” Hiranaka said, “is we go to radio silence.”
“Now wait a minute,” Mlendish said. “If that means what I think, then we won’t be able to do a transmission to the home planet.”
“You’re right,” Mehta said. “That transmission is how Species X knows what we’re going to do next.”
Mlendish put his hands on his hips, making him look shorter than he already was. “That transmission is important. It lets everyone else know how well our tactic worked. You can’t just stop it.”
“Maybe we can just pass notes to each other,” Vril said.
“Too cumbersome,” Mehta said.
“Yeah,” Mlendish said, “and then the people watching our transmission won’t even know what tactic we used.”
Mehta smiled. Most people didn’t like Mlendish, because he liked to argue, but in this case, all his nay-saying was a good thing. Whatever they decided to do, they needed to know if there were potential flaws in the plan, so they could compensate, and Mlendish seem determined to point out every problem.
“Maybe we transfer that information to the home planet as soon as the battle is finished,” Hiranaka suggested. “We could record the whole thing, but not send it until we’ve won.”
“And what if we lose? We won’t be around to send the message.”
Mehta shifted in her chair. Hiranaka was right. She just didn’t know it. “Could we record it for later?” Mehta said.
“I just explained,” Mlendish started, but Mehta held up her hand and he stopped.
“I’m thinking more like, we can start sending it, say, five minutes after we first spot the Species X ship.”
“Five minutes,” Ramirez whispered. “That would keep Species X from knowing what we’re going to do in the next minute.”
“They wouldn’t be prepared for what our next move will be,” Mehta said.
“I like it,” Hiranaka said. “I think that will work.”
Mehta turned back to Mlendish. “Now, answer the question. Can you do that?”
“We’ve never tried it,” Mlendish said. “I’d have to see.”
“Good. Let me know. If you can, then we’ll include that in our next exercise and see how it works.”
Mehta sat at her desk, staring at her notes. Did she trust Lieutenant Colonel Davis? She’d always claimed she did. But she’d always kept the big tasks for herself, always thought no one else could do them as well as she.
What was the matter with her? Clearly, she’d reached the stage in her career where she could no longer do everything herself. So, why was she still reluctant to delegate?
Oh, sure, she’d allowed them to do what was in their job descriptions, but never anything beyond that. She’d not delegated any authority nor responsibility. That’s why she’d had to work such long hours, while her staff and subordinates went home at the close of business and enjoyed their families and their off-duty time.
Now, her insides trembled, a desperate voice screaming that she was making a mistake.
Someone knocked on the door, then it opened, and Davis slipped his head into the room. “You sent for me, ma’am?”
“Come in. Have a seat.”
He complied, curiosity on his broad face.
Now she had one last chance to back out on her decision, tell him he was doing a good job, and then send him back to his work. Should she? Or should she implement her latest idea?
“Sorry I didn’t check on communications, ma’am,” Davis said. “I’m in charge of the staff, and that should a been on my list.”
She stared at him, surprised and impressed. He was ready to take the blame for the disaster, ready to heap the responsibility on himself. But no, she was the commander. Ultimately, it all fell on her.
“I think I’ve been under-utilizing you.”
“Ma’am?”
“You’ve got the staff going, and everything seems to be covered except operations and training. I want you to work there and concentrate on training the Mralans.”
He sat up straighter. “Can do, ma’am. Got a plan for this?”
She smiled. He’d been trained well not to think outside his lane, not to do the things she reserved for herself. Time to change that. “Just some guidance. You make the plan.”
His brows lifted. “Really—uh, will do.”
“Try to keep your pulse on the Mralans, figure out what they’re having trouble with. Then once you’ve trained a group of Mralans, have them teach their fellow crewmates.”
“Train the trainer. Got it.”
“And I want you to personally concentrate on the tactical training. Keep abreast of what’s coming out of plans, then train to that.”
“Sounds good.”
“Any questions?”
“Not right now. But I know where you work…” He smiled.
“Good. Then go out and do wonderful things.”
“Yes, ma’am. You want me to brief my plan?”
She was about to say “yes,” since that would have been her normal answer. But things were not business as usual. “I’d like that, but we may have some trouble fitting it in. I’m going to be working with plans a lot.”
“Got it.”
“Give me whatever information you can, but even if we never get around to that, I want you to take this project on as if you were the commander. Set yourself a vision, and then go for it.”
&
nbsp; He looked like he was struggling to keep from bursting into a grin. She’d never given him this kind of responsibility, this kind of… trust.
No! her inner self screamed. Listen to your instincts! Listen!
Was this the same voice that had tried to tell her she was missing something from the plan? Was this an instinct she could trust?
This was fear of losing control, fear of not being able to have her hands in everything, fear of turning the results over to someone else.
Not the same feeling as before.
Now, she just had to get Davis to leave before she changed her mind. “Dismissed.”
As he left, the voice of fear began to fade, and she had the pleasant realization that a large burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She smiled, then headed for the plans office.
Half way there, she spotted Trel coming in the other direction.
Her insides clenched. Was he going to tell her he never wanted to speak to her again? She had failed him in the worst way.
Stop thinking these negative thoughts.
Easier said than done.
“Hello,” she said as they got within speaking range. “I thought you’d still be in your counseling.”
He gave her a soft smile. “I still have a lot to work through, but you can only do so much in a day. It’s very exhausting.”
She nodded. “Where are you going now?”
“The dining room. I’m starving.” He patted himself on the belly. “Would you like to join me?”
“Uh… yes.” She could take some time out from her day to spend with him. After all, part of her job as commander was to make certain all the crew were well and able to function.
Once at the empty dining room, they got their food and sat across from each other at one of the small two-person tables.
After a few bites, Trel gazed at her with piercing eyes. “Something’s changed.”
“Changed?”
“One of your fears is… dampened.”
Wow. He could tell that? “Can you tell what fear?”
“Fear of trusting anyone.”
Woah. His ability to sense what was going on with her was more accurate than she’d realized. “You’re pretty amazing.”
No Plan Survives (Tales from the Protectorate Book 1) Page 18
