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

by G J Ogden

  “We’ve suffered some minor structural damage and a dozen secondary systems are down on decks four and five,” Razor began. The ship’s chief engineer was reading the analysis on her screens at the rear of the bridge, though her voice, along with her long legs, were still unsteady. “The surge field generator is offline, but it isn’t damaged,” Razor continued, after pausing to suck in a series of long, slow breaths to help steady herself. Even so, Sterling still thought she looked like she was about to be sick. “And there are a dozen other red lights on the damage control board, but none are anything we need to worry about right now.”

  Sterling nodded then glanced across to his first-officer’s console before remembering she was still at the helm. In his befuddled state he’d also forgotten that Keller was dead, and was expecting to see him sitting in front of the helm controls. The shock of him not being there was jarring. Then the memory of Keller’s gruesome death resurfaced like a whale breaching out of the ocean. Sterling cursed Masterson’s name into the air, taking some small comfort from knowing the lawman was dead by his own hands.

  “Any idea where we are, Commander?” Sterling said, leaning on his console for support while peering at the back of Banks’ head.

  “I don’t have an exact fix yet, but it looks like we’re somewhere between F-sector and G-sector,” Banks replied. “I do know that we’re not close to any of the inner colonies; this really is the middle of nowhere.”

  Sterling’s console then chimed an alert and he checked it, feeling his pulse begin to race. In addition to their own frazzled brains the scanners had also been unreliable since the surge. He frowned at the data, which suggested there was a cluster of objects a few hundred kilometers directly ahead, though Sterling couldn’t tell if they were ships, asteroids or something else entirely.

  “Lieutenant Razor, can you clean up the scanner resolution?” Sterling asked, glancing over his shoulder at the engineer. “Something is out there and I’d like to know what.”

  Razor was silent for a few moments while she worked. Then she tutted and shook her head before turning to face the command station. “That’s the best I can do right now, sir,” the engineer said, clearly frustrated by her inability to provide a better response.

  Sterling checked his console again, but other than the scanners indicating that the objects in question were not rocks, he was no wiser than he had been before.

  “Well, there’s certainly something out there,” Sterling said, tapping a new series of commands into his console. “And if our scanners can’t tell us what they are then perhaps the good old mark-one eyeball will do a better job.”

  Sterling finished his sequence of commands, manually aiming their optical scanners at the area in question. A blurry, magnified image of the cluster of objects appeared on the viewscreen. He scowled at the image then returned to his console, adjusting the parameters one by one until the image began to resolve more clearly. Suddenly, Banks let out a long, low whistle.

  “What on earth is that?” she said, eyes fixed on the collection of warships and space station components that were now showing clearly on the viewscreen.

  “I have no idea,” replied Sterling, also marveling at the spectacle.

  “Scanners are back online,” Razor announced from her station behind Sterling. “But they’re only telling me what we can already see.”

  “It looks like some sort of damned ship’s graveyard out there,” commented Banks. “Where the hell has all this stuff come from?”

  “Griffin has clearly been busy,” said Sterling, alternating his gaze between the updated scanner readings and the viewscreen.

  Spread out in front of the Invictus were dozens of warships in various states of disassembly, and at least as many space station components. The station components appeared to be Fleet designs spanning at least three decades. Sterling could see sections of what looked like old command outposts married to much more recent shipyard components. There even appeared to be an old Fleet Gatekeeper built into the hodge-podge structure.

  “I’m detecting around a hundred ships in total, sir, all of which have been stripped down for salvage,” Razor reported. “There are also six gen-one repair ships and what looks like a KT-400 mobile repair platform.”

  “A KT-400?” said Sterling frowning at Razor. “Those things haven’t been in service since before you were born.”

  “That’s correct, sir,” Razor replied. “Though it was an excellent piece of equipment and far superior to the KT-500 and KT-610s that replaced it.”

  Sterling raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take your word for it, Lieutenant,” he replied, recalling Lieutenant Razor’s fondness for all things tools and machinery.

  “The gatekeeper that’s integrated into the main structure is actually the Stalwart,” Razor continued, unperturbed by Sterling’s slightly sarcastic response to her geek-level historical knowledge. “If you recall, captain, the Stalwart used to be the gatekeeper for G-sector.”

  “That I do remember, lieutenant,” Sterling replied. He was a senior lieutenant at the time the Stalwart was decommissioned. Then he remembered that Griffin – a Rear Admiral at the time – had been responsible for the decommissioning operation.

  “It’s clear that Admiral Griffin had been playing an extremely long game,” commented Sterling, sweeping his eyes across the sprawling space city. “She must have been planning this for decades.”

  Sterling’s console chimed another alert, but Razor was quick to provide an update before he could check it.

  “I’m detecting another structure to the rear of the main installation, sir,” Razor said. The viewscreen then updated to show what looked like a long scaffold, which was set apart from the rest of the pick-and-mix style station. “There are fifty-two warships docked to the structure,” Razor went on, zooming the display in onto one of the onyx-black ships. “I’m picking up subtle variations in design and configuration, but broadly speaking they are similar to the vessels we saw with Admiral Griffin. And judging from their material composition, I’d say they were constructed from the parts of the other ships that litter the space surrounding the installation.”

  “Obsidian ships,” said Sterling, looking at a detailed scan of one of the vessels on his console. As with the other warships they’d encountered, they were small and powerful, like the Invictus. And Sterling guessed that they were also all crewed by Griffin’s neurotic Obsidian Soldier robots.

  “We’re receiving a communication request from the station, Captain,” said Banks, swiveling her seat to face the command deck. “It’s the Admiral,” she added, flashing her eyes at him.

  “Let’s not keep her waiting then,” Sterling replied. As usual, the prospect of speaking to Griffin caused flutters in his gut. It was a sensation he’d never been able to shake off – like the feeling of being sent to the principal’s office and waiting to be called inside. Submitting to the urge to fix his disheveled appearance, Sterling straightened his back and went to smooth down his tunic. However, his hand merely scraped across the hard, synthetic fabric of his armor. He’d forgotten he was still wearing it.

  “Are you going to dock, Captain, or just lurk around outside for the remainder of the war?” said Admiral Griffin, as pugnacious as ever.

  “Honestly, Admiral, I was waiting for an invitation,” Sterling replied. “Or at least some confirmation that this isn’t an abandoned Sa’Nerran outpost or some other alien command post.”

  “It is not, Captain, as you can well see,” Griffin hit back. “You are cleared for docking, port two.” The helm control console registered the arrival of the docking data with a brief chirrup and Commander Banks began steering the Marauder on course. “I must admit I did not expect to see you back so soon,” Griffin went on. “I assume this means your mission was either a spectacular success or a spectacular failure.”

  Sterling sucked in his cheeks then sighed through his nose. Griffin was going to find out sooner or later, so he figured he may as well let her have the bad news now.r />
  “Colicos is dead,” Sterling began. Griffin’s eyes closed and her jaw clenched. It was perhaps the first time in his life that he’d seen her lost for words. “We had a run in with a Void Marshal on Far Deep Nine, then Emissary Crow showed up,” Sterling went on, using the silence to get the rest of his story out. “The Marshal took Colicos and we tracked him to Oasis Colony, but Colicos was caught in the crossfire and killed.”

  A tense silence followed Sterling’s announcement, during which time Griffin merely glared into his eyes through the viewscreen. Sterling didn’t even dare to blink.

  “That is an unfortunate development, Captain,” she eventually replied. Sterling had envisaged Griffin’s reaction to be akin to a volcano erupting. In contrast, the understated nature of her reply came as a welcome relief, despite also being more than a little perplexing.

  “We did recover a PDA with some of Colicos’ early analysis, but I don’t expect it to turn up much,” Sterling went on, if only to fill the silence. “However, we have to face the fact that finding a way to reverse the effects of the neural weapon is no longer a possibility.”

  “Come aboard, Captain, and we will discuss the next steps,” Griffin replied, still with remarkable cool. She looked ready to terminate the conversation when her eyes drifted off to the side of Sterling. “Where is your first-officer, Captain?” Griffin said, brow furrowed into a frown.

  “She’s at the helm, Admiral,” Sterling replied. A wave of repressed anger then flooded through his body, knowing what he would have to say next. “Ensign Kieran Keller was also killed in action on Far Deep Nine.”

  Sterling was about to tell Griffin that his ensign had given his life in the best tradition of the service, and that his death had been worthy. However, he realized that Griffin wouldn’t care and it would have been a waste of breath.

  “I understand, Captain,” the Admiral replied. As expected, she offered no condolences or asked any questions regarding the circumstances of Keller’s death. To Griffin, Keller was just another statistic. “An Obsidian Soldier will meet you at the dock and bring you to me,” she went on. “Only you and Commander Banks need attend our meeting. The rest of your crew can assist with repairs to the Invictus, aided by my facility and soldiers.”

  “Understood, Admiral,” Sterling replied. He was about to enquire further about the mysterious ‘facility’ that Griffin had just mentioned, but the Admiral had already severed the link.

  “That went surprisingly well,” said Banks as the Invictus crept closer to the space station. “I was half-expecting the Admiral to bite your head off.”

  “So was I,” Sterling admitted. “The fact she didn’t means she has a plan B. And whatever it is, it must be big.”

  “Maybe she has her own secret army of turned Sa’Nerran warriors that she plans to unleash against the alien armada?” suggested Banks, turning to dark humor to fill the vast gulf in their knowledge.

  Sterling snorted a laugh. “I guess anything is possible,” he replied, staring out at the bizarre space station in the middle of deep space. Then a chill ran down his spine, wondering whether Banks might in fact be correct.

  Chapter 23

  The best defence is offence

  Sterling watched one of Admiral Griffin’s robotic “Obsidian Soldiers” march toward him and Commander Banks as they waited at the docking port. The pace of the machine’s advance and its ominous appearance felt threatening and Sterling’s hand instinctively moved toward his sidearm. The robot eventually stomped to a halt a few meters in front of him, though it was still a few seconds before he allowed his hand to relax away from the grip of his pistol.

  “Admiral Griffin has ordered me to deliver you to her,” the Obsidian Soldier announced. The machine used the same synthesized voice as the gen-fourteen AI on the Invictus. However, the robotic soldier lacked the cheerful demeanor of his ship’s computer, coming across as flat, aggressive and terse. In many respects, It sounded just like Admiral Griffin, which Sterling figured made a lot of sense, considering who its commander was. “Follow me,” the robot commanded before spinning on its metallic heels and marching away again.

  “Yes, sir…” commented Sterling, raising an eyebrow at Commander Banks as the robot rapidly departed.

  “They appear to be a little short on charm,” Banks replied. “I wonder where they get that from…”

  Sterling decided to allow his first officer a little leeway, rather than chastise her for the snarky comment about Admiral Griffin. This was mainly because he had been thinking the exact same thing. Then he noticed that the Obsidian Soldier had already nearly marched out of their sight.

  “Come on, we’d better hurry before we lose the damned thing,” Sterling said, setting off in pursuit of the Obsidian Soldier at a brisk pace. He eventually had to jog the length of the first corridor just to catch up with it.

  The robot continued on in silence, leading Sterling and Banks through the interior of the station. Their journey lasted only a couple of minutes, but in that time, Sterling noted that they had passed through three distinctly different eras of space station design. It felt like some sort of clever museum exhibit, showing Fleet architecture through the ages. The final section was one that Sterling recognized. It was the command section of a Gatekeeper-class mobile weapons platform.

  The Obsidian Soldier moved up to the door of the command center and pressed its hand to the entry pad. The lock mechanism appeared to interface with the machine then the door swooshed open.

  “Go inside,” the robot said, extending its claw-like fingers through the opening.

  “Only if you say, please,” Banks replied, squaring off against the machine. The Obsidian Solder angled its dome-shape cranial section at Sterling’s first officer and focused its optical sensors on her face.

  “Go inside,” the machine said again.

  Sterling was surprised to hear that the robot’s second command was delivered more assertively, to the point of being borderline aggressive. It was clear from the fierce expression on Banks’ face that the directive had not gone down well with her.

  “Come on, commander,” he said, ushering his first-officer away from the machine before she decided to tear it to pieces. “Let’s save the lesson in manners until another time.”

  Banks glowered at the machine for a moment longer before moving inside. Sterling followed, keeping half an eye on the robot soldier as he did so. He knew that the machines were on their side, but at that moment it certainly didn’t feel that way. Sterling then spotted Admiral Griffin at the far end of the old Gatekeeper’s Combat Information Center, and moved toward her. She was staring out through a window at the docking scaffold containing the Obsidian Ships.

  “Welcome to Obsidian Command,” said Admiral Griffin, turning away from the oval-shaped viewing window and meeting Sterling’s eyes. The robotic warrior stepped inside the CIC and the door closed behind it.

  “Does the robot have to stay, Admiral?” Sterling hooked a thumb at the machine. “I feel like it’s only waiting around to rip my head off.”

  “I can assure you it is not, Captain,” replied Griffin, stopping just short of rolling her eyes at Sterling.

  “Good, because I’d hate to have to blast the damned thing into scrap,” quipped Sterling.

  Then without warning, the robot advanced, thrusting its claw-like hand toward Sterling’s throat. “Hostile intent detected,” the Obsidian Soldier announced, its tone suddenly darker and more menacing. Sterling froze as the robot’s blade-like finger was pressed against his neck. “Shall I terminate this human?”

  Banks sprang into action, catching the robot’s arm and forcing its deadly claws away from Sterling’s throat. The gears and motors of the Obsidian Soldier whirred and groaned as the super-human officer overpowered it and drove it back. The Obsidian Soldier then tried to grab Banks with its other hand, but she anticipated the attack and caught the machine’s forearm. Sterling had no doubt that his first officer would win the contest of strength, but he wasn�
�t willing to risk it. Drawing his pistol, he pressed it to the machine’s domed-shaped head and slipped his finger onto the trigger.

  “Back off, right now!” Sterling snarled at the machine, adding pressure to the trigger.

  “That will be all, soldier,” Griffin said, her own voice belying the seriousness of the situation.

  The Obsidian Soldier immediately stood down and took two swift paces backward. Without another word it turned its back on Sterling, opened the door and marched outside. Sterling waited until the door had closed again before lowering his weapon and turning back to the Admiral. Banks, however, remained focused on the door, her chest rising and falling rapidly and hands balled into fists.

  “Forgive me, Admiral, but what the hell was that all about?” Sterling snapped, holstering his pistol. For once, he didn’t care about adhering to protocol – he needed answers.

  “Please, Captain Sterling, get a hold of yourself,” Admiral Griffin replied, still remarkably unperturbed by the whole situation. “The Obsidian Soldiers are merely adjusting to their updated coding. Generation-fourteen AIs are as close to sentience as we’ve ever come, but they’re also more than a little unpredictable, as I’m sure you’re aware,” Griffin continued. “This was why they were removed from service in favor of the more reliable, but less intelligent gen-thirteens.”

  “Admiral, my ship-board AI has a tendency to be annoying, but it’s never tried to slit my throat,” Sterling hit back.

  “The Obsidian Soldiers are merely protecting me,” Griffin replied, shrugging off Sterling’s protests. “They are like children in many ways, still learning and adapting. I have already updated their code to include your ship’s personnel records, but the process of familiarization will take some time. They will obey your commands, eventually.”

  “Eventually?” replied Sterling. Griffin’s casual dismissal of the robot’s actions was not reassuring. “Just how long are we talking, Admiral? And how many of my crew will it slaughter before it figures out that we’re on the same side?”