“The elders I have spoken with say that there was a war, hundreds of years ago. They told us stories of the great nations destroying each other using weapons that had caused Sol to be blotted out for a generation…or more. Much of the planet was rendered unlivable and abandoned. Rat City itself had been the new world capital city in those days, they claimed. One of the few untouched by the war’s fallout.”
Halloran repeated Deacon’s words for the benefit of Chandler and Zhang.
“Crap, we finally did it,” Chandler breathed. “Who started it?”
Halloran asked.
Deacon grew irritated. “What do you mean, ‘who’—we did. Humans.”
“You seem pretty knowledgeable,” observed Halloran.
“No one living today, in the shadow of the Praxxan occupation, thinks much about Earth’s distant past. People like me, we dream of returning to the stars. The stories we grew up with of colonization and development of interstellar travel…Ceti. Luyten. Centauri. And the colony planet of Coloran.”
“But…”
“Staying alive and away from the observation of the Prax is the goal of every Earther now.”
Halloran gripped Axxa’s arm in a flash of annoyance and felt the thick cords of alien muscle tense. “This still doesn’t answer the question about the need for mid-twenty-first century nuclear weapons in this one—what year is it, anyway?”
“I do not know the chronological designation of this cycle in your terminology.”
Deacon spoke up. “These weapons your ship possesses, they were outlawed and destroyed long ago.”
“How are you so sure?” Halloran was skeptical.
“I don’t know, the only explanation I have heard of is that humanity realized after the war that the weapons should be destroyed due to their potential.”
“There are peaceful applications of nuclear power. Reactors like the one that powers—powered—my sub.”
Axxa spoke. “This I understand. Your people created a sustainable reactor powered by anti-protons and electrical power when they found the path to interstellar travel.”
Halloran translated, amazed that he was hearing about interstellar travel from humans.
“Anti-proton propulsion for space travel has been proposed,” said Admiral Zhang. “My country is in a research project on that very subject. The challenge is the gamma radiation put off by the reaction, this is fatal to humans.”
Halloran nodded to himself; this was starting to come together, dimly. “Axxa, so your Prime leader found histories of our military and identified our ship in particular. The new pure fusion weapons.”
“I was not part of the planning, but what you say has the sound of truth. I remember seeing an image with your face.”
“But, our vessel’s plots are kept top-secret, so how could they pinpoint a sub’s position in a specific place and time—to the minute?”
“Captain, that’s obvious, sir.”
“Skip?”
“Well, sir, I hate to say it but it’s because of Antonov and Zhang here. Remember the press conference, the photos and video being taken by them at the quay?”
Halloran realized that it was true. No doubt a reporter or two noted the departure time in their articles…idiots.
“Captain Halloran, I object to being portrayed—”
“Admiral, I think we’re all in agreement that no one here expected to be where we are now, let alone planned this.” He paused for effect. “Gentlemen, we need to realize that our situation is grave and we have charges underneath us who we are responsible for. It’s imperative that we hold it together and work towards a common solution…getting the hell out of here. Deacon, what’s your plan?”
The younger man sighed. “Yeah. About that…I’m going to need to check something first.”
Chapter 23
Luyten Star System - 8.73 LY from Sol
“Well now, that’s a thing of beauty, ain’t it?”
Creal beamed at the compliment. “A rare find, I’d say.”
“You’re right about that, Creal. What’s your ETA again?” The view on the bridge monitor switched back from an external camera aimed at the Praxxan ship in tow to that of a grizzled face dotted with tattoos.
Creal glanced away from the monitor towards Barstow, who didn’t look up from his screen. “Two days max. Unless the diverter cranks us again,” the navigator replied tersely.
“Two days, Harper.”
The tattooed face nodded. “I’ll be waiting. You didn’t try to enter it, did you?” The voice held an edge of suspicion.
“Nope. That’s your department, boss.”
“Good. See you then. And Creal…”
“Yes?”
“Stay out of trouble in the meantime.”
The screen went dark as Harper cut the communication.
“Creal.”
He spun in his chair. “I know. Shut up.”
“I’m just sayin’…”
Creal jumped up and began pacing. “You don’t cross Harper. This is his hauler operation.” He leveled a finger at Barstow. “You want to get us all spaced?”
The junior man sat back in his seat and laced his fingers across his chest, which was wrapped in a thick fur coat, origin unknown, found on one of their hauls. “You’ve got the ship, Creal. He don’t. That makes you the boss of the haul.” He lifted his eyes to the bulkhead above. “Bet there will be other bidders. The Fleet, for example?”
Creal leaned against a panel, rubbing his hands together pensively. “He’ll kill all of us—as an example.” But the idea was in his head, all the same. What would the Prax pay to get this ship back? In one piece… Or the human Fleet commanders might pay a pretty sum to get the parts to study, assuming that this ship was as advanced as Creal suspected.
“I can tell you’re thinking about it.”
“Of course I am!” Creal snapped, rubbing his hand across his bald head. The hauler tattoos covered his pate from ear to ear.
Barstow affected an exaggerated sigh and turned back to his instruments. “Will mean a bigger payday for all of us, I expect.”
Creal plopped back into his chair. “Will you shut up and let me think about this?!”
“No problem. Just remember that we should be finding a hidey hole for this prize within the next day or we’ll be poppin’ up on Harper’s planetside sensors. Then it’ll be too late—”
“Gimme a moment of peace, will ya?”
Barstow’s conniving grin was hidden as he turned away.
Prax Sol Center, Rat City, Earth
The Prime was tapping the arms of his command chair in the Center’s control compartment, realizing that the motion would likely convey his frustration and perhaps anxiety to those working around him—but he welcomed the outlet, almost daring his subordinates to react to it. He’d like to kill something at the present moment.
“Lord, we have contacted the fleet with your instructions. Receipt confirmed.”
“When will they arrive?” Talxen’s finger-tapping didn’t stop.
“Within the hour, Lord. Twelve destroyers.”
“I want them deployed immediately to augment the atmospheric screen.”
“As you wish, Lord.”
The initial city sweep by Observers and foot patrols had yielded nothing. Amazing. They’d executed a number humans near the Center in an effort to loosen some tongues, but somehow no one had seen the parade of green-clad soldiers pass by in their districts.
Shortly after the escape had been discovered—and Axxa’s treachery—security had unraveled the Second Advisor’s hasty attempts at covering his tracks. Footage of the group moving through the mechanicals passageways had been shown to the Prime. The security team had also discovered the specific exit the prisoners had used to leave the Center. But since then, no news of their movements in the city had surfaced.
The only logical conclusion was that they were planning to escape the planet and join with the humans somehow. Axxa was planning to join the humans. Unbelievable. More to the p
oint, unfortunate—for Talxen, once the Premier learned of it. Severe disciplinary action might be taken against the Prime for his mishandling of the Sol System…or worse.
Axxa had to be stopped from getting away. And the Prime would need to accelerate his clan’s plans on Mars and the homeworld.
A messenger came to attention beside him. “Lord, the Xu ship has landed at the Center.”
The Prime nodded. At last, a competent commander had arrived. “Send Calxen to my residence.” He made to rise but an electronic hail from the communications station stopped him. He settled back to await the message, hoping that it might be the destruction of Axxa.
“Lord, response from Fleet Commander Xylan.”
“Yes, what?”
“Our pickets report that their sensors are picking up energy plumes from the human fleet orbiting Mars.”
That stopped the Prime’s wandering thoughts. “How many ships?”
“Most of them, Lord.”
Another attack? The Prime stood up and wandered across the control room. Normally the humans would pull back after an assault was defeated and lick their wounds for a month or two before showing signs of renewed interest in Earth. It’d only been a few days since the last battle. Could it be a withdrawal? Unlikely. One thing the humans were was predictable. They simply would not abandon their futile attempts to break the Praxxan blockade.
He connected to the science level. “Where are we with the superweapons project?”
Elexxan’s face came into view. “Lord, not very far yet. Still examining the missile and—.”
“Move faster! I want to destroy the human resistance once and for all. Is that clear, Elexxan, or do I need to remove a body part to encourage you?”
The science leader was clear. “Lord, as you wish.” But he also had his own slight edge in in tone. “I would prefer not to accidentally detonate a weapon here inside the Center, however. We will proceed with both speed and prudence, Lord.”
The Prime relented, annoyed at the impudence but wary of the unknown tech. “Do what needs to be done.” He closed the communication and looked up.
His messenger was standing there, looking uncomfortable, most likely from having witnessed the Prime’s outburst up close.
“What?” Talxen wanted to just kill him. Maybe he would…
“Lord, Commander Xylan requests that the order to separate the destroyers be canceled in case the human fleet moves towards Earth again. He—”
The Prime cut him off. “Get Xylan on the comms.” He dismissed the hapless assistant and waited at the screen until the Commander’s older face came into view. The Prime had a healthy respect for the wizened Praxxan warrior, and was keenly aware of the age disparity between the two of them. Xylan could have claimed Prime status many times over but instead had chosen a career in space, leading fleets in battle. The Prime knew that the Commander was originally from the Praxxan moon, not the homeworld itself, and as an offworlder had had to fight his way through the ranks against the bias. He also knew that the boxy, short warrior had a close relationship with the Premier and had been involved in the leader’s ascent to power many cycles prior. Not a Prax to be trifled with. Plus, he was the one protecting the Prime’s Sol System kingdom at the moment.
“My Lord,” Xylan’s head dipped in greeting. “I’m assuming you’ve heard about potential human incursion. I’d like my destroyers to stay with the fleet, of course.”
It wouldn’t do to snap at the Commander. “I understand. However, we have a situation developing on the planet surface, and I deem it necessary to bolster the atmospheric blockade.”
Xylan looked dubious. The tight-band signal traveling across space created a wave effect at times, and now the Commander’s face seemed to elongate, accentuating his thin features. “I fail to see what degree of human unrest planetside could merit a response by twelve destroyers. Can you elaborate?”
The Prime hesitated. “We have a possible defector to the humans. Being aided by a rogue band of human soldiers.” He had to be truthful yet determined with Xylan.
The Commander paused. “Who is this defector, and where are they currently?”
“That information is privileged as we prosecute the search for them, Commander. I want to be sure I’m reading the situation correctly before besmirching a reputation.”
That much Xylan could swallow. “As you wish, Lord. However, I must protest the number of vessels being detached. With the exception of occasional smuggler vessels there is almost no space traffic coming and going from Earth in recent cycles. Three destroyers to augment your current pickets should be sufficient…”
“Commander, I will accede to your request, but please pull back towards Earth with your line of defense immediately. That way there is a shorter distance to traverse should I desire additional vessels on short notice.”
The older Prax nodded, however uncomfortably. “I shall do so, Lord. As you know, I much prefer to keep the action in the vicinity of their moon…” The Commander was leaving his sentences to hang in the air, as if making a protest without actually saying it. Probably doing it for the recordings to be analyzed later by the Premier.
“Understood. Move your line immediately and keep monitoring the human fleet.”
“Lord.” Xylan looked offscreen and the communication was cut. Talxen realized that he was on shaky ground with the older leader and wanted to avoid alerting him to Axxa’s identity before he’d captured him and interrogated him. Of all Prax, it had to be Axxa…he should be shipped him home months ago on trumped-up reasons.
“Lord, Xu Calxan awaits you in the residence.”
The Prime nodded. “Alert me to any developments in the search.”
“What have you recalled me for, my Lord?”
Talxen called up a drink from the processor and removed the decanter from it. He eyed the younger man as he took a sip. “You and your team are fit?”
Calxen was lounging in a chair, legs crossed and hands laid apparently carelessly across his crossed leg as he stared up at his Prime. But nothing that the assassin did was careless. He was, in reality, a sharpened instrument of the Praxxan Empire, trained specifically to remove problems with surgical precision. And five more like him were at the Prime’s disposal. “Tell me again what services you are in need of, Lord.”
Talxen gazed down into the dark, calculating eyes of his son. “I have an urgent need, here in the human capital city. There has been a defection.” He looked away as he said it, partially to avoid letting Calxen see the frustration in his own eyes.
“Who?”
Talxen took another sip. “Axxa.”
The Xu assassin exhaled slowly. “Deep waters, indeed.”
“He must be located and stopped, or our family’s plans could be jeopardized.”
Calxen stood up. “Have the data files from security been transferred to my team?”
“Most likely. I want him back alive, if possible. I just talked to Xylan and managed to avoid giving the name away. I’d rather tell him next that we’ve got the defector in custody.”
The younger man nodded. “The Premier…will not be pleased.”
Talxen shook his head. “No communication yet. I’m sure his spies here will get wind of it soon enough. Again, the need is for a quick capture.”
“As you wish, Lord.” Calxen hesitated. “But there is something else.” It was a statement, not a question.
Talxen nodded. “I have procured a new weapon. More accurately, a very old one. From the humans of many Earth years ago.”
“What sort of weapon?”
“A set of missiles with spectacularly powerful warheads. I am confident this technology could turn the system battle, and likely the war, in our favor in very short order.”
“Excellent for our agenda.” Calxen still waited.
“We have a number of humans who have personal knowledge of this weapon system. I was planning on torturing them all to secure more knowledge of the weapon, but Axxa released them and escaped the
Center in their company.”
“How many?” Calxen was nodding now, out of respect for what Axxa had pulled off.
“Sensors counted at least forty.”
The assassin’s eyebrows went up. “That’s a lot of humans. We’ll find them, Lord.”
“Do it soon.”
Chapter 24
Underneath Rat City
The moisture was thick in the atmosphere; it even dripped from the ceilings and coated the walls with a glaze. There was a distant odor of mold that never seemed to grow worse—or better—over time. Given the fact that the space in question was almost fifty meters below the city streets, the ambient temperature tended to stay on the cool side. The combined effect was that of a defrosting icebox.
Not that the vessel sitting in the center of the space minded the temperature or humidity much; the craft was quite used to being wet and cold, and only occasionally complained to its owner about it.
The human in question was currently wedged inside a cramped service panel, attempting to work on a difficult-to-reach junction box of circuitry. The cold bothered his arthritis, but he had little choice in the matter. The junction box needed attention and he felt around with practiced fingers for the multi-tool he’d laid on the decking nearby.
A pleasant-sounding chime from the flight deck caught his attention. Despite the innocent tone, it was an alert. A proximity alert. And that only meant one thing; there were life forms in the hangar.
With a sharp exhale the man pushed out of the access panel and jumped to his feet, eyes going to the open rear ramp of the ship. Originally designed to embark a Fleet strike team, the opening at the back of the vessel now usually found itself being loaded with contraband supplies.
The man reached for the pistol hanging at his side and lifted it toward the damp stone flooring just visible at the base of the ramp. As an extra precaution, he flattened himself against the bulkhead, eyes narrowing. Too late to do anything but fight. He’d been caught repairing his ship.
A light tapping could be heard outside. Someone was striking the ship’s hull.
War Without Honor (Halloran's War Series Book 1) Page 14
