Resolute Glory (The War for Terra Book 8)

by James Prosser

  Bolz and his wife are dead,” Sterling said, pulling the hood back to reveal his brindle fur. “The patrols destroyed the restaurant and incinerated their bodies. It was all I could do not to tear those lowbred beasts apart myself.”

  A new voice entered the conversation. “Had you done that, you would also be dead, Sterling. No one we know has ever survived an encounter with the warrior caste Ch’Tauk.”

  “Advisor Ringgit,” Sterling said, surprised to see the smaller Vadne still at the former governor’s side. “I had heard of one in the northern villages who had—”

  “He is dead, my friend,” Drachma replied. “The story of his survival is true, but he was found wandering the village afterwards, tearing at his own eyes and howling like an injured Tonal.”

  “Howling?”

  “The story as we heard it is that he saw what was inside the suit and it drove him mad,” Ringgit said. “He was rambling about the old gods when he tore his own throat out.”

  “The three Vadne settled into a contemplative silence as the soldiers around them lowered their weapons. Sterling had been away for so long he had not realized how large the group had become. As far as he could see, armed Vadne warriors seemed to be readying for battle. After the sights he had seen on his travels, the sight of more battle was unnerving.

  “What has happened?” Sterling asked the former governor. “Why are they arming?”

  Ringgit and Drachma exchanged glances. Their pheromone scent of anxiety became stronger. Drachma motioned for Sterling to follow and the pair moved into a small room containing crates of weapons. His people were warriors at heart, but he had not witnessed such a massing of arms outside of a military invasion on the home planet. It seemed the planet was rising up against itself. The feeling made him uneasy. The Vadne were typically contemplative of their own world. Ringgit closed the door to the noise outside and turned to face Sterling.

  “The fleet,” the advisor explained, “the Vadne home fleet has abandoned the system.”

  “We received a burst packet from one of the loyalist captains,” Drachma added. “They are joining the humans against the Gizzeen. We are alone.”

  Sterling’s mind whirled. The home guard fleet had always held the government in check. If the situation in orbit was bad enough to make the defenders of Vadne leave, their cause was truly lost. He took a deep breath to clear his thinking and addressed the former governor.

  “Are the humans coming for us?” he asked pointedly. “Do they even know about the Ch’Tauk betrayal of the Chancellor?”

  “We believe so,” Drachma said, shaking his head and stroking the white fur on his chest. “The system is broadcasting, but the outgoing signals are all controlled by the Chancellor and his new controllers.”

  “So what is our plan?” Sterling asked, a hint of desperation wafting into his own scent. “Are we planning a revolt in the capital? Hundreds will be killed, Governor. We need the aid of the fleet if we hope to survive.”

  “We would have no hope to survive if we attempted a rebellion,” the former governor replied. “Our plan is more reliant on stealth than force.”

  “What I am seeing is not stealth,” Sterling replied. “It’s a full scale assault. What are we these people readying for?”

  “We need to contact the Alliance fleet and coordinate,” Ringgit replied. “Our objective is the broadcast antennae inside Trinity Plaza. The assault, however, will not take place there.”

  “You are planning a distraction for the patrols,” Sterling reasoned. “They will die.”

  “They will die for our freedom,” Drachma replied. “While they are attracting attention, we will be infiltrating the tower and sending a signal for aid.”

  “The Alliance is scattered and in a state of disrepair after their assault on the Sol system,” Sterling replied. “I have heard of tremendous losses from our friends. Even Lee Pearce is said to have been lost in the battle. Where will you turn for your aid?”

  “We were hoping you could assist us with this task,” Ringgit replied, his crest rising with trepidation. “We have heard of certain elements that will come to our aid, but we needed you for the communications.”

  “Me?” Sterling asked, realization dawning on him for the plan. “Why do you need me? I have been away from contact for too long to be of service.”

  “You have one contact we can use to our benefit,” Drachma said, stepping closer to look Sterling in the eye. “We need your son.”

  17

  Luna – Night Side

  Henry’s head was pounding as he swung his legs over the side of the cot. The station’s shuttle had a faint odor of rotten eggs that had given the old soldier a migraine of epic proportions. Glory, as she had begun calling herself, said there was no trace of methane or sulfur compounds in the air recycler and the ship was airtight, but Henry smelled it.

  His bare feet felt the shock of the cold metal floor. He hated that about the vehicle. It may have been bigger and more durable than the service pod they had left behind on Venus station, but it lacked any sort of creature comforts. He surmised that, early on, the heaters for the floor had been removed, along with additional seating and inner bulkheads, to maximize power in the hostile atmosphere and align with the colonists’ simple code of living.

  “Do we have any of those tablets left?” Henry asked Glory in the pilot’s seat. “I really need to…”

  The view from the small window showed Henry a sight which made his blood run cold. Beyond the silver gray edge of the lunar surface, Earth was just peeking its blue glow into space. The planet’s reflected light made his head throb, but the image of his home planet was not what gave Henry pause. Swarming around the planet was a horde of the squat, banded metal ships the Ch’Tauk favored. Just in the small view he had, Henry could count nearly a hundred of the fearsome ships of various sizes. It was closer than he had ever been to a fleet that size. He could only guess how many there were in orbit.

  “How did we get so close?” the old soldier asked, scratching the shaggy hair he had been growing. “Why didn’t they see us?”

  “There are no more analgesics on board,” Glory replied in a clipped tone. “We are drifting on momentum and minimum power and they weren’t looking. Captain Jakes taught us how.”

  “Jakes, huh?” Henry replied, craning his neck to get a better look at the holographic projections. “Figures he’d know how to sneak around. There’s too many of the damn bugs out there. We’ll never get close to Earth.”

  “Perhaps we will not need to get to the surface right away,” Glory replied, tapping a key on the panel and changing the image. “I believe we should choose an interim destination to base our landing which provides supplies and cover.”

  “Orbital stations have got to be trashed by now, and you know they’re keeping an eye on those,” Henry replied, feeling his head spinning as the image changed. “Maybe if we try floating around with all the other junk, we’ll do a slow roll towards the planet?”

  “There is another target far better suited to our needs, Henry Moore,” replied the android. “I believe there is still life support on board this vessel.”

  On the screen, Henry saw a dull silver blur surrounded by floating debris. As Glory adjusted the image, he could see the familiar shape of an Alliance carrier in orbit over the polar regions of Terra. Magnification revealed the size of the ship was much different than he expected. His foggy mind, still trying to think clearly through the haze of the headache, refused to give him the name of the vessel, but he knew what it was. As the relayed sensor image came in closer, the image of the twin silver needles projecting outward from a sleek central hull resolved into focus. He could see pockmarks and blast patterns along the side where someone had been using it for target practice.

  “There’s power on that thing?” Henry asked, surprised anything survived on the damaged hulk. “Sensors must be faulty. It’s got a hole in the side near the engine room. I can see plasma burns all along the side.”

 
“Trinity has suffered extensive damage to primary systems and structural integrity, but … there is a small pocket of livable atmosphere inside. I doubt the Ch’Tauk sensors have bothered with it yet. I am reading significant fighting on the surface.”

  “That’s my girl,” Henry said with a smile. “In any case, I don’t know how we drift through all of that to get there. The Ch’Tauk will pick us off as soon as we get anywhere near that ship.”

  “I believe I can adjust our trajectory to join the debris surrounding the planet,” Glory replied. “Earth defense must have put up quite a fight when the Gizzeen arrived. There is a considerable amount of metallic and carbonaceous debris.”

  “Once we crest the moon, they’ll detect our power signature no matter what trajectory we’re on,” Henry said, looking around the cabin and trying to think of a way in. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “I believe if we power down completely and use the moon’s gravity, we can appear to be more like debris and less like a ship.”

  “If we power down completely I won’t be able to breathe. That may be fine for you, but I still need air.”

  “There is a pressure suit in the rear hull designed for harsh atmosphere egress,” the android replied. “It should provide suitable protection from the vacuum.”

  “Vacuum?” Henry said. “Why vacuum? We should have enough cabin air for a bit. It might grow a bit stale but—”

  “To appear as a damaged ship, we need to look like a damaged ship. I intend to blow out the plasma clamps and detach our cabin door. That should provide us with a suitable camouflage.”

  “Dammit, you’re every bit as nuts as that pirate,” Henry said, stepping back into the main cabin and raising his arms. “We’ll be a radioactive hunk’a junk moving at fifty thousand k.p.h. with no engines and no power. How do you intend to get on board Trinity like that?”

  Glory’s smile was one of the most frightening things Henry had ever seen.

  The Ch’Tauk scout ship scanned the horizon above the troublesome planet. The pilot hated the sight of the blue and green planet. It was a constant reminder of death. He missed the broad expanse of sheefa grass on his home world and wanted to be done with the war against the soft, pink aliens below. The Emperor had commanded his force to stay behind as their allies, the Gizzeen, withdrew. It was another thing irritating about the situation. He had not seen any action by those mysterious aliens which had convinced him they would be any stronger than the humans.

  The Centurion loved his god-emperor, like all his kind, with the full measure of his being. The introduction of the Gizzeen to their universe had thrown everything off, though. No longer did the Centurions occupy the ranks of the Ch’Tauk preferred. For him, the Gizzeen and the human threat were far too important to spend time considering the granting of names and rising of positions in the military ranks. It was his opinion, such that he was allowed to possess one, that the Chancellor had laid influence at the feet of the Mother when she was vulnerable and diverted her teaching the young one as he grew. He missed the days when the Protector of the Territories was embodied in the form of Ki’Bara. He had been a leader the Centurion willingly followed.

  The invasion and possession of the Terran planet had even been damaged by the Chancellor bowing to the will of the Engineers. The tiny members of Ch’Tauk society had promised a new golden age for their people, but delivered only war and more loss. The Engineers had made the Ch’Tauk and their god-emperor weak. There was only room for a single god in Ch’Tauk society, and the pale creatures were not what he had been born to believe in. The final indignity was his posting to this tiny vessel, not allowed to engage the enemy on the ground and forced to clear the space around the planet from the debris created by the Gizzeen invasion.

  Terran and Ch’Tauk ships of all sizes floated in chaotic orbits around the besieged planet. During the second occupation, the Gizzeen seemed to pay only little mind to the planet’s inhabitants, which left Centurions such as himself to keep them at bay. Unlike the first invasion, however, these humans were prepared for war. Years of enslavement had sparked a fire and intensity the Ch’Tauk had barely seen in other races. The humans below resisted with every weapon at their disposal. He had been present at a siege where the soft-skinned creatures had thrown rocks from a tower at a passing Ch’Tauk brigade. They were wiped from the planet by aerial fire, but the audacity of the creatures was startling. They had even begun to harness the power of Ch’Tauk technology when they could capture it. It made for a heightened state of awareness and a desire to vaporize the planet and everyone on it. The loss of the Gizzeen had only fueled the mission to retake and possess the planet and crush the inhabitants.

  A string of debris, six to seven large pieces in all, flashed in his scope, illuminating his face for a moment with digital reflections. It wasn’t much, but it was a break from the tedium of patrol. He activated his targeting sensor, smelling the targeting systems coming online, and swung the ship around to face the targets. Most of the debris was pieces, chunks of a capital ship which had probably been destroyed by superior Ch’Tauk forces during the invasion. There were also two smaller vessels in the ersatz convoy. One was a bulky, angular ship with a long plasma burn along the flank, and the other a fighter, probably with the dead pilot still inside. None of the pieces were a threat by themselves, but as he tracked the ships he noticed where they were heading.

  The bulky shape of the enemy carrier still hung in the skies above the planet, making for a favorite target during practice runs. The line of debris heading past his scanners was going to crash directly into the vessel, most likely destroying a section near the engine room. The potential explosion would be enough to cause a disruption in fleet operations. He clicked his mandibles and let out a chuff of satisfaction.

  “Centurion to Command,” he called over the communications array. “I am targeting incoming debris threatening the silver needles.”

  Without waiting for confirmation he knew wouldn’t come, Centurion accelerated towards the incoming debris. Activating the weapons systems, he pushed his nose down towards the lead chunk of metal. The destroyed ship piece was larger than his ship and posed a significant threat to the enemy derelict. He fired his cannons, feeling the surge in power as the red-orange blasts slammed into the hull plating. The piece spun away before bursting as the superheated metal lost cohesion. The feeling of victory was hollow, though, as he realized it would not be the same as destroying an enemy worthy of him. He throttled back the power, engaging reverse thrust to slow his ship. A new target might make him feel better.

  He zeroed in on the fighter, tumbling through space without direction. He tried to scan closer to the vessel to determine if there was an occupant, but his scanners were not powerful enough. In his mind, he could see the suited pilot, his face burned away by Ch’Tauk weapons fire, grinning back from the damaged cockpit. The spirit of the defeated warrior would know the impending destruction of the body, and the soul would be lost forever in the depths of space. The Centurion slid the control for the weapons to half, wanting to savor the kill as he closed in. The feel of the energy drain from the weapons was exhilarating. He saw the fighter spin around like a child’s toy. He kept up a rate of fire to keep the ship moving away from the rest of the debris. He could see the hull of the fighter glowing from the stress and he pushed his power levels back to full. The fighter exploded in a cascade of plasma and superheated hull.

  “If only…” the Centurion said to himself.

  The disappointment made the kill empty again and the Centurion accelerated again towards the remaining debris. He destroyed the remaining hull pieces with a perfunctory series of uninspired blasts. He had decided to leave the smaller vessel for last, preferring to engage his imagination with thoughts of dead bodies inside, or even better, living souls who were screaming for redemption. As the last piece disappeared in a haze of fire, he turned his attention back to the shuttle. It was bulky and ugly like all the human vessels. no plating or elegance to the ship. It
was a box with angular pieces welded along the top and sides. A tear in the engine pod was producing flashes of green plasma fire from within, but not enough to indicate any power levels. A deep scan revealed no life support and no life signs from within. The only power registering was from the remaining electrified plasma still burning off into space.

  “Centurion,” a voice clicked over the communications system. “You are being called to sector four-four-one for reinforcement patrol. Confirm.”

  The order had come so unexpectedly the Centurion had almost mis-fired his cannons. His targeting reticule was not quite on the tumbling shuttle and he would have registered a miss. The frustration of the sudden distraction gave way, however, to excitement as he realized the nature of the order. Sector four-four-one was an active hot zone. The opportunity to fight against something other than debris was too enticing for any warrior. He slowed his velocity and brought her nose back up, wanting to ensure a clear broadcast back to base.

  “Centurion acknowledged,” he said, hoping to keep the excitement from his voice clicks. “Adjusting course to sector four-four-one.”

  The Centurion rechecked his weapons systems, powering up a full scale assault configuration on his controls. A quick check on the shuttle showed it would miss the Terran ship by a few body lengths, so it was no longer his concern. He re-set his guidance system for the planet and began the process of converting to atmospheric flight. A nagging concern brought his attention back to the floating debris. His chances for a name would increase with this mission, but fall if any damage came to the massive Terran ship. He dropped the nose of the scout ship back down, pointing his emitter at the ship. As it passed beneath the hull, he let loose a final volley. The shuttle held up remarkably well under his plasma assault. It had obviously been configured for a harsh environment. He moved closer, wanting to be sure of his aim. It had already taken too long for the ship to die, but he continued on for the final kill. As the hull peeled away into space, the Centurion was disappointed there were no bodies falling from the open wounds of the hull. In a bright flash, the ship vanished in plasma fire. He throttled forward, curving under the big Terran ship as he descended towards the cursed blue planet.