“Emma is down there, Connor,” Henry roared. “I will do whatever I can to get down there and get her and our child back—anything.”
“Hey, alright I get ya,” Jakes coughed. “It’s good ta see ya got that stick outta yer butt, that’s all. Ready for lunch?”
“I’m going down, Jakes, and there’s nothing you can do,” Henry said, moving towards the door of the small room. “I’m getting to Emma if it’s the last thing I do.”
“You try to go down there now and it will be,” Jakes replied, straightening up and looking Henry in the eye. “You ain’t got a ship or a chance in hell of gettin’ past those Ch’Tauk lines. Even if you did, you’d probably get shot down by the militias on the ground.”
“Militia?” Henry said, stopping his move to the door. “You mean they’re fighting back.”
“They’ve been shootin’ at the Ch’Tauk and the Gizzeen practically since they invaded,” Jakes replied, rubbing his stomach. “Man, you hit like a girl. Melaina’s got me harder than that when she … well, never mind when, but—”
“Jakes, what do you know about the situation down there?”
“Well, come eat lunch with us and I’ll tell ya. It ain’t much, but Bonnie can cook up a mean mushroom stew when properly motivated.”
“I mean it, Jakes. If you know anything about my wife…” Henry said, grabbing at the black utility vest Jakes wore over a white shirt. “You’d better tell me now or—”
The pain that lanced through Henry’s skull was so intense he nearly blacked out. He could feel his body falling under the weight of the pain, and two arms as they caught him before he hit the floor. Soothing words from rough lips called to him to calm his mind. He held on to the pain, though, using it to keep himself awake. He could hear calls for help through the tunnel of pain. It could have been hours or seconds before he heard a female voice calling orders to others. There was a hiss as something cold was pressed against his neck and then sleep overwhelmed the pain and anger. The only thing missing were the dreams of his wife and faceless child. The last thought he had before sleep overtook him was how much he hated Connor Jakes and how grateful he was the man had been there to catch him.
“This man is a mess,” Rene said as the doctor fussed over Henry Moore. “He’s more trouble than he’s worth, I think.”
The man was wearing his usual military coat over a tight-fitting shirt and pocketed pants. He was leaning against a bulkhead outside the small antechamber where Connor had been talking to Henry. Just beyond, Bonnie Estevez was standing with her arms crossed over her usual blue jumpsuit. Both wore matching expressions of concern despite Rene’s assessment. Connor looked at the pair in annoyance. Neither had spent much time with the former intelligence officer, but had heard Jakes speaks of him often enough to know he was important.
“He’s suffering,” Connor replied. “I don’t blame him. I don’t know if I could hold up as well as he does.”
“Connor?” Melaina Petros’ voice echoed down the hallway. “Connor, is Henry alright?”
Connor turned to see his wife stepping swiftly down the hall towards them. He raised his hands to stop her from getting too close but she pushed past him anyway. She had known Henry longer than almost any of them, and he knew she would be concerned when she heard the call for the doctor. Behind her, Tuxor padded towards them, his green-blue skin glistening in the dimmed light of the hall. He had been present when they had taken Henry and Glory, and had restrained the man from striking Jakes. The good-natured Karisien appeared grayer than normal, but Jakes chalked it up to fatigue. They were all tired from months on board the derelict carrier.
“He’s alright,” Connor said as he reached for her shoulder. “Doc thinks it’s a kind of combat fatigue or somethin’. Lord knows he’s seen more than his share.”
“Doctor Reeves,” Melaina asked as they supervised Henry Moore’s movement to the ship’s makeshift infirmary. “Is he going to be alright?”
“I think Connor’s right,” Reeves said. “He’s suffering from some kind of post-traumatic stress. I’ll keep him sedated for a few hours and see if we can’t get him back on his feet as soon as I can.”
“How ‘bout you, Doc?” Connor asked the man. “How you holdin’ up?”
“I’m fine, Connor,” Reeves answered with a short grin. “Just let me get back to my job.”
Elliot Reeves had been with the crew for only the last few months, but had fit in perfectly. Their usual doctor, who called himself Victor, a diminutive alien with a strange habit of wanting to manipulate his patients’ DNA, had been unavailable for this mission, so Reeves had volunteered. A quiet man who had suffered his own form of stress disorder after the fall of the Confederacy, he had proven to be one of the most competent field doctors Jakes had ever known. His stress problems and drinking had cleared up after the Ch’Tauk war when he had been confronted with enemy soldiers on board the Terran Hope. The doctor had beaten back a horde of soldiers bent on capturing or killing his captain. The experience had been brutal but somehow cathartic. Since then he’d resumed his duties as a ship’s doctor and showed no signs of a relapse.
“Well now that’s done,” Connor said. “What’s the situation in engineerin’?”
“Tuxor and I have managed to restore about ten percent of the power we need to get this hulk moving,” Melaina replied, turning away from Henry and Reeves and back towards her husband. “I don’t think we can do much more without alerting the Ch’Tauk outside.”
“So what we need to do is keep them bugs’ attention elsewhere,” Jakes replied, scratching his unshaven chin. “Rene, how we doin’ on that end?”
“We have no access to the weapons pods. I could throw rocks if you like, but…”
“Start gatherin’ rocks, then,” Jakes replied. “Bonnie, you had any luck with the comms?”
“Negative, Captain,” Estevez replied with a snort. “I might be able to get something out, but it’ll light up every Ch’Tauk ship in the area when I do. I don’t think we’ll make it.”
“You leave that to me,” Jakes replied, wagging a finger at the tall woman. “I’ll get us where we need to be when we need to be there, you guys just get the rest of this place operational. Get the twins in there as soon as you can. I bet this Glory has a few new tricks since she’s been hangin’ out on Resolute.”
A new voice turned Jakes back to the corridor. “I don’t think operational is truly the best word here. I think a more appropriate word might be less dangerous.”
Alfredo Ortiz strode the deck with a confident step. He was dressed in an old-fashioned military vest and trousers he had liberated from an abandoned stateroom. The man had commanded ships in the old Confederate Combined Forces but had since retired. He had been the captain of the Terran Hope when the invasion had occurred and had kept the passengers and crew safe until they had followed a trail to rescue prisoners from the Ch’Tauk. Jakes had always admired the man, but knew he harbored a few secrets of his own. It had been Ortiz who had organized the mission to Trinity, and he was effectively in charge.
“Alright, but that’s two words,” Jakes replied. “You heard anything from the surface?”
“Whoever’s down there is quiet,” Ortiz replied, his brows furrowing over dark eyes. “I haven’t seen anything in twelve hours. How’s Henry?”
Henry Moore had served as Ortiz’ security chief on the old cruise ship, and the man had always kept an eye out for his old friend. The appearance of the shuttle and the subsequent return of Moore to their custody had brightened Ortiz’ mood considerably.
“He’s fine,” Melaina replied. “He’s suffering from post-traumatic stress or something. Reeves has him.”
“Let him rest. I’ll talk to him when he wakes up,” Ortiz replied. “Jakes, I want to talk about the timetable,” Ortiz replied. “Are you sure your people can get here on time?”
“I’d bet my life on it, boss,” Jakes replied with a grin. “I made a promise and I intend to deliver on it.”
&nb
sp; “Good. Melaina, I want to take a look at the specs on the port engine cycler again,” Ortiz replied, turning his attention to the dark-haired woman. “I think I know a patch that might work. You know, the more advanced these things get, the easier they are to repair with tape and spit.”
“I’ll try not to take that personally,” Petros replied. “You know I helped design this ship.”
“That’s why I want you to show me the specs,” Ortiz said. “I can look at the pictures, but you may have to read the words. My eyes are getting a bit old for this stuff.”
“Alright, Alfredo,” Melaina replied with a smile. “I’ll take you down. I don’t have anything else to do right now anyway, and dinner isn’t for another few hours.”
Jakes watched the woman he loved walking away with the elderly captain in tow. The mission had not gone as planned and now they were stuck here on the derelict ship. His crew, supplemented with a few technicians provided by Admiral Chang, had been amazing in repairing the ship, but there was only so much they could do. The Gizzeen had fired their cascade weapon repeatedly at the carrier and fried most of the optical circuitry before they had arrived. When the Ch’Tauk had arrived, they had used the hulk for target practice. The ship was a trophy that they needed to get working before the retaking of Earth could begin. Henry Moore or not, Trinity needed to fly again, and soon.
“Alright, ya’ll can stop standin’ around,” Jakes said to the two still standing in the hall. “This ship ain’t gonna fix itself.”
“This ship isn’t going to fix at all,” Rene replied. “But if you want it, boss, you got it.”
Alone in the hall with his thoughts, Jakes watched them leave. It wasn’t often he had time truly alone on the ship. He had surrounded himself with people ever since his escape from prison all those years ago, and now he found it unnerving to be alone. As he looked around at the empty hallway, he shuddered.
“Maybe Henry ain’t the only one,” Jakes said to himself. “But he ain’t gonna be the last one, that’s for sure.”
22
Courier Ship Kissinger
The hissing of the airlock seal grated on Farthing’s nerves. It was reminiscent of the sound one of his own people might make during a challenge. He had spent so much time among the humans, the sound had stopped bothering him. Now, though, with his loyalties split and his friends scattered, his instincts were returning. The seal shifted in color from red to green while the levels pressurized. A breath filled his lungs as the airlock door rolled away, a puff of icy air ruffling the pure white fur on his head.
Years of damage and regrowth had tinted some parts of his hide a stained yellowish, but the strips to the sides of his crest were still pure white. He pressed down on the duty uniform before stepping over the lip and into the flexible tube connecting the two ships. A moment’s glance through the clear dura-plas windows showed him the fleet splayed out around him, Vadne ships, stretched around Kissinger like needles floating in space. From his vantage point, Farthing looked back to his own ship. Kissinger was built as well as any Alliance vessel, but compared to the gleaming silver hulls of the Vadne warships around him, he felt like the poor relation.
“Keep the line open,” he called back to the bridge. “I’ll try to keep it brief and get right back. You two get ready for battle. Triple power to the shields, and try to get one of the Vadne throwers mounted on the hull. Their Marshall has agreed to move on over while we are meeting.”
“Aye, sir,” replied the earpiece.
The meeting had been called by the Marshal of the Home Defense fleet. Upon arriving at the coordinates, an empty patch of space away from the normal traffic routes, there had been a holo-meeting between the Barathists’ captain and the marshal. Mutual desire to see the home world liberated had cemented agreements between the fleets. Despite his feelings of hatred for Chang and the humans who had abandoned his people, Farthing remained quiet on the reasons for his own exit from service. The call to dock with the fleet flagship hadn’t been totally unexpected, but it still worried him. A lone Alliance vessel arriving with a Barathist fleet was cause for worry in the best of times. Now it seemed he was being called to task for his decision to stay with the humans years before.
Entering the Vadne ship, Farthing was reminded of his people’s desire for vertical space. Living on board ships designed by smaller creatures had accustomed him to small spaces and enclosed areas. Vadne ships were built to take advantage of their larger size and musculature. Narrow corridors were instead wide open areas with tiered levels between open decks. The temperature was warmer as well, and drier. He stretched his joints fully, feeling his vertebrae pop as he achieved his full height in what had seemed like forever.
Two guards were waiting for him inside the door, and he experienced what it must feel like for humans when he entered the room. The guards were massive, standing at least a half meter taller than him, with wide shoulders and fully exposed claws. Each was holding a stun baton and each seemed to size him up as prey. He held his arms high and ducked his head in the typical peaceful greeting while the guards searched his person. He carried no weapons, and after the search was ushered along the deck towards the next tier.
Instead of lifts, Vadne ships were equipped with ramps. The human desire for speed, and their lack of physical prowess, made for quicker travel to different sections of a ship, but Vadne musculature was different. Fitness was necessary on board ship, and using anything but your own power to move was considered weak. Instead of the ramp, the guard in front of him leapt to the next tier. Farthing followed, using muscles he hadn’t flexed in nearly a decade. The last guard deftly landed behind him and they continued.
Three more jumps took them to the base of a ramp which he was told led to the marshal’s office. There was no landing for him to leap to. It was a security measure designed to keep intruders from entering a secure area. There was a narrow ledge in front of the door which forced Farthing to dig his claws in and hold tight lest he fall. He patted the small pad next to the door and waited for the door to open.
The female who opened the door was smaller than Farthing but of a more regal air. She had fur the color of a Vadne sunset and wide, dark eyes that hid a deep intelligence. He nodded to her in greeting and entered the office. Unlike him, she wore no uniform or rank. She was covered in a tight fitting pressure suit which accentuated her musculature and curves. He was intrigued by the woman’s lack of adornment, but beyond that he showed the proper respect with a head bob and a spreading of his arms.
“Captain Farthing,” she began without preamble. “I wish to know your intentions with my fleet.”
“My apologies, Marshal,” Farthing replied, looking around the Spartan quarters with minimal interest. “I believed I made my intentions clear in the holo-conference. It is my intention to return with the fleet to liberate our people and drive the Ch’Tauk threat back.”
“Your apologies are not necessary,” replied the female. “Only your obedience to my orders.”
“I will obey orders when given…”
“I am now ordering you to explain your presence here,” the marshal said curtly. “I have read your files, Captain. I know of your loyalty to the Terrans and their so-called Alliance. You left them when they needed you. What would convince me you wouldn’t do the same to us?”
“I am Vadne,” replied Farthing, standing straighter as the woman turned to face him. “I am loyal to my own kind. The Alliance has brought me nothing but pain, and the people I hold loyalty to are either dead or in disgrace.”
“That doesn’t explain why you are here now,” the female replied, advancing back towards him with bared teeth. “By all accounts, you held to your loyalties even when declared dead by the humans. You did not return here then. Why now?”
“Because my father called for help.”
The two stared at each other in silence. Vadne family bonds were tight among siblings and along maternal lines, but never through fathers. Admitting that his father had called out to hi
m for help was admitting his bloodline was weak. The marshal stepped close to him, her crest rising and falling with a steady beat. She was scenting him, feeling him out. She ran a long claw along the cut of his uniform, daring him to swat her hand away. He stayed still. Although shorter than him, she possessed an air of command that kept him instantly at bay. After a few long moments, she stepped away.
“You need to change from that uniform into your robes,” the female said. “You stink of alien.”
“I have no robes,” Farthing replied. “I left before I had been so honored.”
“But your father has always been held to such a high standard,” the woman replied with disdain, drawing the word out. “Surely he must have accepted them for you?”
“I … may I return to my ship?” Farthing said, nervous about the turn the conversation had taken. “If we are to escort the fleet into battle, I need to prepare my crew.”
“So you can run away?” the marshal replied. “I don’t think so. You are not a coward, Captain Farthing. In fact, you are almost legendary among our people. Did you know that?”
“I was not aware of…” Farthing said, confused again by the marshal’s actions. “I have done nothing but serve my command. It is all I have endeavored to do.”
“Have you never chosen a mate?” the marshal said suddenly. “Among the aliens you have sworn loyalty to? Are there no Vadne among your colleagues you could…”
“I have never had the time,” Farthing said. “I don’t see what this has to do with the fleet or my loyalty to Vadne.”
“Don’t you get lonely?”
Resolute Glory (The War for Terra Book 8) Page 17
