Obsidian Fleet: A Military Sci-Fi Series (Omega Taskforce Book 4)

by G J Ogden

  The SIB agent who had been tasked with verifying Sterling’s story then sheepishly approached his superior.

  “Umm, Petty Officer Anderson…” the man said, trying to keep his voice low.

  “What is it, crewman?!” Petty Officer Anderson snapped back.

  “Captain Sterling and Commander Banks were cleared about thirty minutes ago,” the more junior SIB agent said. “They are escorting a VIP prisoner to Commodore Wessel, by order of Admiral Wessel.”

  The petty officer’s face finally showed a flicker of emotion. It was the expression of a man who knew he’d screwed up, and screwed up badly.

  “It all checks out,” the junior SIB agent added, before stepping back and lowering his eyes to the deck.

  The other two SIB agents then came running over, red faced and weapons in hand. Like their volatile and paranoid superior, their fingers were on their triggers.

  “Stand down!” the petty officer snapped, thrusting the flat of his palm toward the agents.

  “What the hell is going on here?”

  Sterling glanced along the corridor to see Commodore Vernon Wessel at the next junction. The head of the Special Investigations Branch then began stomping toward the site of the affray, like a man possessed.

  “You’re just in time, Commodore,” said Sterling, enabling the safety on the pistol and flipping it in his hand. He offered the weapon back to its original owner. “A few seconds later and your SIB agents here might have killed the only man in the universe who can create a defense against the Sa’Nerran neural weapon.”

  The petty officer’s face flushed a slightly hotter shade of red. The man pointed to the scientist, who was still on his knees.

  “He said he was being held captive by Sa’Nerran emissaries, sir,” said the sergeant, addressing Wessel. “I wasn’t to know, sir.”

  “If you’d bothered to check the latest clearances before setting out then you would have!” Wessel barked back, causing the petty officer’s eyes to fall to the deck.

  “Yes, sir. Sorry sir,” the petty officer said sheepishly.

  Colicos jumped to his feet and shot Commodore Wessel an awkward smile. “Pleased to meet you Commodore,” Colicos said, grabbing Wessel’s hand and shaking it vigorously. “Sorry about all this,” he laughed. “I have a very peculiar sense of humor.”

  Commodore Wessel yanked his hand away out of Colicos’ grip then turned to the petty officer. “Take this man to the brig and guard him with your life,” Wessel snapped. For a moment, Sterling wasn’t sure whether Wessel was referring to Colicos or himself.

  “Yes, sir,” the petty officer replied, his voice suddenly as stiff and a straight as the man’s back. The SIB agents then hastily regrouped and began to lead Colicos away.

  “Petty Officer Anderson…” Sterling called out before the security detail had gotten too far away. The group of agents stopped and the senior man spun around, standing to attention.

  “Yes, sir,” Anderson replied, looking straight through Sterling.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something, petty officer?” Sterling continued, relishing the moment.

  The agent’s face flushed again, but this time it appeared to be more out of anger than embarrassment. “I’m very sorry for the misunderstanding, Captain Sterling, sir,” the petty officer said. The man again tried to leave, but Sterling coughed loudly. The agent slowly and grudgingly turned his attention back to Sterling, who merely gestured towards Banks. “And, I’m very sorry too, Commander Banks, sir,” the man said, looking like a pupil who had just been made to stand up in front of a school assembly.

  The security detail scampered away before Sterling could humiliate them further. The rapid drumbeat of bootsteps was only slightly louder than the complaints of James Colicos, who continued to protest about his unfair treatment.

  “I want those men disciplined, Commodore,” Sterling said, locking eyes with Wessel. “Their incompetence cannot go unpunished.”

  “Don’t tell me how to manage my own men, Captain,” Wessel spat back. “I will deal with them however I see fit.”

  Another group of SIB agents then awkwardly filtered past Sterling, Banks and Wessel. They shot up stiff salutes to the commodore and eyeballed Sterling and Banks like they were on fire.

  “You two are drawing too much damned attention to yourselves,” Wessel barked, while unlocking a door to a nearby room and waving them inside. “The sooner we get you off this station the better.”

  Sterling scowled and entered the room, which turned out to be an unused office space. Although the whole of level five was dedicated to the SIB, the division had clearly not yet scaled up to the degree where all the space was utilized.

  “We only just got here, Commodore,” Sterling said, as Banks and Wessel followed him in. Wessel closed and locked the door again. “You want us to leave already?”

  “I am ordering you to leave, Captain,” Wessel hit back, straightening his new tunic, which was so dark blue that it was practically black. “There is a difference. Do not forget that you are now under my command.”

  “So, where are you ordering us to go to, Commodore?” Sterling replied, stressing the word, ‘ordering’. In that moment, he honestly didn’t care where the Commodore wanted to them to go. He’d have happily flown into the center of a black hole if meant being able to leave Wessel and his bungling SIB agents behind.

  Wessel folded his arms and glared at Sterling. “I take it that you have already fully familiarized yourself with the mission of this division, Captain?” the Commodore asked.

  “If you mean how the SIB conducts witch-hunts in an attempt to uncover turned enemy agents, then yes,” Sterling replied. He immediately chastised himself for his impertinence. Being a jerk to Vernon Wessel was a lifelong habit and one he was finding hard to break.

  “Very droll, Captain,” Wessel hit back. “I hope you tackle your new duties with more seriousness than that glib remark suggests.”

  “You don’t need to worry about me doing my duty, Commodore,” Sterling replied, tersely. “The Invictus and her crew always get the job done.”

  Wessel snorted in response to Sterling’s boast, which only made him want to pummel the smug officer’s face into the wall.

  “Very well, Captain, let’s cut to the chase,” Wessel continued. He removed a data chip from his breast pocket and took a step closer to Sterling. “The complete mission briefing is on here,” the commodore said, handing the chip to Sterling. He took it and placed it into his own breast pocket. “In short, you are to immediately depart for C-sector, New Danvers Colony.”

  “New Danvers?” said Banks. “That’s an industrial colony that produces many of the raw materials used in warship construction.”

  Wessel’s narrow eyes flicked across to Sterling’s first-officer. “Correct, Commander, though you will score no points with me by being an outspoken know-it-all,” the Commodore answered.

  Sterling saw Banks’ eyes widen and her biceps twitch involuntarily. However, his first-officer managed to show more restraint that he had done.

  “What are we supposed to be doing at New Danvers, Commodore?” said Sterling. He now regretted being so keen to leave A-COP. A mission to a factory planet in the middle of nowhere was not quite what he had in mind.

  “Our intelligence suggests that the primary factory involved in producing metals for warship hulls has been infiltrated,” Wessel replied. The Commodore’s tone was haughty. Clearly, the man was excessively proud of his department’s work, Sterling realized. “We have identified two men and a woman who are suspected to be aides to the emissaries,” the Commodore went on. “They recently went missing and we believe they plan an attack on the factory, hampering our shipbuilding capabilities at a crucial time in the war. You are to find them, stop them and interrogate them.”

  Sterling frowned. “What’s the source of this intelligence?” he asked. It didn’t sound like the Sa’Nerra’s style to engage in terrorist activities of the sort Wessel described, Sterling thought.
“The Sa’Nerra already have the advantage of numbers, and at the rate that they’re turning our own ships against us, I doubt they’d want us to stop building more.”

  “Read the file, Captain,” Sterling snapped, tapping the chip in Sterling’s breast pocket. “Everything you need is in there.” Wessel then unlocked the door and waited for it to swish open.

  “Commodore, you saw how twitchy even your own agents were at the sight of someone new,” Sterling called out, unwilling to let Wessel brush him off so easily. “If we rock-up at New Danvers throwing accusations around, we could start a riot. People are on edge as it is.”

  “I’m sure you can handle it, Captain,” Wessel replied, shooting Sterling an oily smile. He wafted a hand at Sterling and Banks in turn. “By the way, you two are out of uniform,” he said, looking at Sterling’s blue outfit with its distinctive silver stripe. “Ensure that you and your crew have changed into the correct SIB uniforms before you depart this station.” Wessel then set foot outside the door before pausing and turning back. “I’ve already taken the liberty of having the Invictus repainted,” he added, the oily smile broadening further. “Now, I have business elsewhere in the sector that requires my immediate departure,” Wessel spoke as if his urgent business was the most important matter in the entire galaxy. “Welcome to the SIB, Captain. Do not let me down.”

  Wessel promptly stepped out into the corridor and the door slid shut behind him. A millisecond later, Banks turned the air blue with a string of very creative curses. Sterling would have joined in with a few of his own, were it not for the fact that his first officer had already hollered every expletive known to humanity.

  “Does the Omega Directive apply to that little shi…” Banks began, but Sterling was quick to shoot her a reproving look. “Does it apply to the esteemed Commodore?” she finished, quickly adjusting the last part of her sentence to remain duly respectful to their new CO.

  “Maybe during the course of our very important investigation in C-sector, we can prove that he’s an aide to the emissaries,” Sterling replied. “In which case, yes.”

  “I don’t think we’re that lucky,” Banks hit back. “And do we really have to dress in those secret-police SIB uniforms? We may as well paint a target on our backs.”

  Sterling rested back on the table in the empty office. Banks’ comment, though said flippantly, was not far from the truth. “We need to be careful, Mercedes,” he replied, feeling a sudden chill spasm throughout his body. “Both of the Wessels have it in for us, and with Griffin out of the picture, we’re in a bad position. One wrong move and Wessel will pounce.”

  “So, what do we do now?” said Banks, folding her powerful arms across her chest.

  Sterling shrugged. “We head to the stores and requisition the new uniforms,” he replied, with a fatalistic air. “It’ll take them a few hours to sort that out, no doubt, during which time I imagine Wessel will have painted a giant SIB logo on the hull of the Invictus.”

  Banks laughed, but then saw that Sterling was stony-faced and silent.

  “If that happens then screw the Omega Directive,” Banks said. Her muscles were so taut, she was on the verge of tearing her uniform. “The Banks Directive will be in effect instead. And that’s a whole lot worse, especially for anyone named Wessel…”

  Chapter 7

  The good girl

  Sterling had reached his twenty-sixth push-up when the door chime sounded in his quarters. Pausing in the plank position, he glanced up at one of the light panels in the ceiling of his quarters.

  “Who is at the door, computer?” Sterling asked, pushing out another rep as he did so. The door opened and Sterling cursed. “Computer, we really need to have a little chat about this door-opening business,” he said, still holding himself in plank.

  “Did I miss something?” called Mercedes Banks from the corridor outside. “Unless I’m mistaken, it’s just past fifteen-hundred hours, not first thing in the morning?”

  Sterling adjusted his balance so that he could pivot on one hand, then waved Banks inside. “Come in and close the door before one of the crew sees me like this,” he said, slamming his palm back down on the deck to stop himself toppling over.

  Banks obliged and was dutifully followed in by Jinx the beagle hound. Her cybernetic leg clanked tunefully across the metal deck as she ran over to Sterling and tried to lick his face.

  “Damn it, control your animal,” snapped Sterling, trying to fend off the dog. Jinx made a series of curious howling noises before jumping up on the bottom of Sterling’s bed. He glowered at the dog as she circled around a few times, then curled up.

  “You also haven’t changed,” said Banks, noticing that Sterling was still wearing his regular blue Fleet pants. His old tunic was slung over the top of his chair. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

  “I’m fine, I’m just catching up on the fifty I missed a couple of days back,” said Sterling, pushing out another few reps in the process. “I figured since I’m changing into the black Gestapo gear, anyway, I may as well do it now before I grab a shower.”

  Banks huffed then stepped behind Sterling so that he could no longer see her, which made him immediately nervous. He craned his neck to look at his first officer, but she remained just off to his side, arms folded.

  “What are you doing there?” Sterling asked. “You’re making me uneasy.”

  “Just carry on, Captain, don’t mind me,” replied Banks, breezily.

  Sterling shook his head, then continued his set. He’d lost count of the number of push-ups he’d already completed so decided to start from twenty-five. Three reps in, he felt a weight pressing down on his body, as if someone had just dumped a sack of flour on his back.

  “What the hell?” Sterling said, again craning his neck to look at Banks. She had her boot on Sterling’s back and was pressing down hard.

  “We don’t want this to be too easy, do we?” said Banks, with a wicked smile. “It’s good for you, Captain. You need to build some extra muscle.” Then her expression changed and she looked suddenly remorseful. “Unless you don’t think you can handle it, of course?”

  Sterling snorted a laugh. “That’s not going to work, Mercedes,” he lied. They both knew full well that Banks’ challenge would not go unanswered. “But go ahead, do your worst.”

  The last suggestion was foolish, Sterling realized, and it wasn’t long before he regretted it. The next fifteen push-ups were excruciating. Not only were his chest and arms burning, but it felt like his spine was going to snap in half too.

  “Had enough yet, Captain?” said Banks, goading him on.

  “If you ever leave Fleet, you’d make one hell of a personal trainer,” Sterling gasped, reaching push-up number forty-eight. “Though I don’t think you’d get many clients,” he added, managing the last two push-ups before collapsing face-first on the deck.

  Banks finally lifted her boot and muscular thigh off Sterling’s back then stepped into his line of sight. From the look on her face, it was clear that she had enjoyed torturing Sterling immensely.

  “I’m actually impressed,” Banks said, folding her arms. “I didn’t think you’d get those last couple.”

  Sterling flopped onto his back, his breathing still labored and heavy. “I’ll be out-lifting you in no time,” he said, smiling.

  “Unlikely,” replied Banks, casually. She then wandered over to Sterling’s wardrobe, where his dark navy SIB uniform was already hanging on the outside. She casually picked a piece of fluff off the shoulder and flicked it onto the deck. “Hurry up and get showered, or we’ll arrive at New Danvers before you’re even dressed.”

  Sterling pushed himself up and headed past his first-officer into the rest-room. His original plan was to complete a fairly relaxed set that wouldn’t cause him to break a sweat. However, the arrival of Banks and her unfeasibly powerful legs had changed that.

  “Grab me another tank top, will you?” said Sterling, turning on the faucet and hurriedly washing himself. He th
en tore off the one he was wearing and tossed it to the deck before setting about unbuckling his belt. Banks appeared with a fresh top in hand just as Sterling’s pants flopped to the deck.

  “You could have warned me, Captain,” Banks said, holding out the tank top, while turning away, modestly.

  “What’s the matter, Commander?” Sterling replied, taking the garment and pulling it on. “Scared of a pair of shorts and a hairy chest?”

  “It’s scary how little muscle you have,” Banks hit back.

  Sterling replied with a sarcastic, “ha, ha,” then began to quickly don his new SIB uniform. Other than the near black coloring and garish “SIB” logo on the shoulder, it was the same cut as his other uniform and so at least felt comfortable and familiar.

  “Computer, how long until we reach New Danvers?” Sterling queried, buttoning up his tunic.

  “We will arrive in orbit of New Danvers in one hour, twelve minutes, Captain,” the computer replied, cheerfully.

  “We’d better get to the bridge then,” Sterling said, realizing that they’d made more rapid progress to the colony than he’d expected. No doubt this was due to his ever-busy chief engineer’s near-continual process of tweaking and enhancing the Marauder’s engines.

  “We can just leave Jinx where she is,” said Banks, pointing to the hound, who was now snoring softly on the bed. Sterling had completely forgotten the dog was there.

  “Not at chance in hell,” replied Sterling, robustly. “I don’t want to wander back in here and find that it’s left me a present in a place I least expect.”

  “She went not long ago,” said Banks with a shrug.

  “Went where?” replied Sterling. Then he held up his hand to stop Banks before she answered. “Never mind, I really don’t want to know,” he added hastily. “Come on, we can drop it back in your quarters before we head to the bridge.”

  “Jinx is a she, as you well know,” replied Banks. She then let out a series of short sharp whistles, as if she was trying to get a border collie to herd sheep. Jinx pricked up her ears then jumped down off the bed and gave herself a little shake. “Go on, Jinx, let’s leave the grumpy captain’s quarters,” Banks said to the dog, speaking to the animal as if it were a baby.