Getting from point A to point B therefore, even while cloaked, was by no means a straightforward task. It would require constant adjustments in order to keep the warship inside the approach. Her “envelope,” as it was called in navigational parlance, was right there on the screen, so if Minstrel bumped into the wall, so to speak, everyone on the bridge would see and experience the results first hand.
“All ahead two percent. Report on first turn. Steady as she goes.”
Finn nudged the frigate’s engines ahead just enough to get the vessel underway. The counter spun up to 2.04% then settled back to the exact ordered thrust. Minstrel’s drive field stabilized as the ship slipped into forward motion at five yards per second, gradually accelerating to fifty. On the screen, the vector-animated rectangles began to slip by the view, making it appear as if the ship were flying through them one by one. As each disappeared, it was replaced far in the distance by another tiny rectangle. The series of virtual gates snaked through space towards the distant space station. They all slipped gradually to port as the navigational computer made accommodation for the fact the distant enemy vessels’ motion sensors were exceeding their maximum effective range.
“Half a degree a larboard.”
“Aye, ma’am. Helm responding.”
Minstrel rolled to port, increasing her starboard clearance by sixty yards. She whispered along at 200 yards per second, now almost six miles into her run.
“Status of our cloak.”
“Operating at 97.1% efficiency, ma’am. At least thirty clock seconds beyond maximum acquisition aperture.”
“Very well. Increase to one-tenth engine power. Put us in the pipe.”
The warship leaped forward, its engine power increasing the load on its drive field. The powerful cloak operated perfectly, attenuating the vessel’s drive field to make the starship look more like background noise and an empty spot in space rather than a solid waveform or emissions source. Her pilot went into instinct mode, lightly adjusting the helm controls to treat the now rapidly approaching virtual “gates” like a slalom course.
“Estimated time to intercept.”
“Forty one seconds, ma’am,” the pilot replied.
“Very good.”
Two million miles away, an alarm tone sounded from one of the unidentified vessel’s short-range tracking instruments.
Eight
The Sarn Tarragon-class battlecruiser Krelex lurked quietly at the edge of the Mycenae Ceti system. Its captain, a ruthless and savage Fifth Dragon by the name of Vadac, sat brooding at the conn. The air temperature in the cramped and spartan control center was north of 275 degrees Fahrenheit. Even the metal was radiating excess heat. One might have wondered how the ship’s sophisticated electronics could function in such stifling conditions, but the Sarn had been hard at work building their way towards interstellar travel for thousands of years. They had found numerous ways of taking advantage of the heat they needed to survive and channeling the excess to productive purposes.
It was also a key advantage the Star Empire had over its adversaries. Boarding a Sarn vessel was like walking into an industrial oven. Without heavy environmental protection from a fully-powered suit, a human being would quite literally be roasted alive simply standing on the deck.
At the moment, however, the temperature was the least of Vadac’s concerns. His was a hunter’s civilization. His ancestors literally fought their way out of volcanic caves and eventually came to rule the skies and the stars. His home was a place where the warrior’s code superseded all other concerns. Battle was how a hatchling became a dragon, and more battle was how a dragon rose through many houses to become a Bladebearer, a father of warriors and a captain in the War Emperor’s fleet. Vadac had achieved much in his conquests, but now he had his sights on a significant prize, and his plan to draw out the cursed Alliance dogs was gradually coming together. If he succeeded, his next promotion would make him a warlord.
“Time, from my mark,” Vadac growled.
The second scale behind the conn at the sleek cruiser’s weapons station snarled as he called up the correct screen.
“Nine ektons, fifty-four leetons. No change in aspect.”
The first scale spoke up. “You are reading it wrong, second scale! There was a ship on our scope, and now it is gone! Another careless mistake?”
“Fear not,” Vadac said patiently. “They are using a cloaking device. Exactly what we’ve come to expect from a race of cowards.” Several members of the bridge crew grinned at their captain’s words. On the main screen, a panoramic tactical view of the Rho Theta perimeter was displayed. The position of the Krelex was indicated by the green symbol of the Sarn Empire near the bottom of the screen where the Mycenae system’s perimeter was marked. The Proximan listening post was indicated by a red icon near the top of the screen. Next to it was the battlecruiser’s best approximation of the last known course of DSS Minstrel.
“It is a small ship, sir. Perhaps 20,000 tons. The Emperor’s records indicate it is armed with light direct energy weapons and fast attack missiles. Not a match for an Imperial warship.”
Vadac studied the display, seeing things and measuring courses and distances that weren’t there. After all, that was his job: Expecting the unexpected.
“I do not trust Skywatch, Fifth Dragon,” First Scale Reznaa said quietly. “They are treacherous and they have many weapons.”
“As do we, first scale,” Vadac said. “The Decarchy is ready to introduce a new nightmare into the humans’ dreams, and all their ships and all their marines will be unable to withstand its ultimate power. The World Burner is ours to unleash. First, however, we must cripple the Proximans, and then we will deal with the infestation of our own planets.”
“We will soar together to victory, Fifth Dragon.”
“By wing and by claw, comrade. You have the bridge.” Vadac got to his feet and strode towards the hatch. As the captain passed by, each of the standing Sarn officers performed the imperial salute, crossing their clawed hands over their rock-like armored chests.
Reznaa settled impatiently into the center chair and began studying the tactical display. He saw a different strategic situation, but was confident their new Kraken allies would do exactly what Vadac expected, and that would be the humans’ undoing.
Nine
“When it comes to close-quarters fights, these guys are second only to our own marines. Until Annora clears all our recon guys for action, we’re going to need some backup.”
“So now we know why you chose the scenic route to Kraken space.”
“Got to have my feline fighters if we have to perform daring ground ops, and these guys are unmatched in the art of the back-alley matchup.”
“Reinforcements are always good thinking. That shockwave over Point Sierra wreaked hell on our people,” Moo said quietly. “Equipment too.”
“That’s the other reason I’m bringing in some ringers. Not to mention the fact we have to show the flag for the Prince.”
“Landing parties armed with swords probably isn’t what the tactician ordered, old man.”
“That’s exactly what the Sarn thought when they took out after these guys in First Praetorian,” Hunter said as he tapped the authorization codes into the nearby terminal. “Projectile weapons are always the counter to bladed weapons, until you tangle with his majesty’s finest and learn what a motivated cat can accomplish. They fight with knives too. My buddy gave me my sonic blade when I made captain. Taught me how to use it after a fashion, but I’ll never be as good as they are.”
“Is it true they still have a king?”
“The Proximan Monarchy has been traded back and forth by four major dynasties over the last several centuries. It wasn’t until they developed spaceflight and later the Cantlon-type drive field that they stopped practicing swordcraft on each other long enough to realize they were only two hops off a disputed border with the most aggressive starfaring species in our end of the Reach. They united in short order and rallie
d around the noble with the strongest claim.”
“And which one was that?”
“No idea. I learned a long time ago I will never be able to keep up with the family trees and the order of ascension, so I just pretend like I’m new to it all. The queen mothers and the lord fathers and who’s great aunt is related to whatever the hell is enough to drive you bats. The honorifics alone are enough to make you think you’ve signed up for a graduate course in heraldry.”
“This is like going back in time.”
“They take this stuff seriously, though. Just pretend you’re in an Arthurian storybook with seven foot tall feline humanoids playing all the human parts. And whatever you do, don’t show your teeth.”
“Show my teeth? Why would I–”
“Even when you’re smiling. Remember, the Proximans are all predatory cats. The males consider bared teeth a challenge, and the females will all think you’re making a pass at them. And if it turns out to be the wrong female, we’re going to end up in that situation the hero is always in right before the ‘uh oh’ music and a word from our detergent company sponsor. Understand?” The look on Hunter’s face was about as serious as Moo had seen in a while.
“How can bared teeth be flirting?”
“They like to bite when they’re being affectionate.”
“I’m not going to ask how you know that.”
“Fair enough.”
The marine honor guard stood at the ready as the Proximan assault sloop hovered over the deck and yawed into proper alignment with the embark platforms. The colonel watched carefully, appreciating the compact design of the royal warship. Under Core Alliance protocols, Proximan ships were identified by the designator “His Majesty’s Vessel” and in the case of warships “His Majesty’s Armed Vessel.” This particular craft was rather well defended, it seemed, despite her size and tonnage. She was equipped with both dorsal and ventral guns and at least two visible missile launchers. She appeared to be closer to a group of weapons with a ship mounted on them than the reverse. Moo estimated the sloop was about half the displacement of DSS Minstrel, putting it in roughly the same class as a heavy fleet pinnace. The “HMAV” part was easy enough. Pronouncing the Proximan name for the ship, on the other hand...
Landing lights strobed as the battleship’s internal guidance fields gently nudged the green and gold spacecraft into position and lowered it to the deck. The whine of atmospheric engines began to cycle down. The egress hatch broke seal. The boatswain sounded his pipes.
“His Majesty’s Armed Vessel Bree Saww Yenn, arriving!” the yeoman shouted.
The marines snapped to attention, rifles presented. The officer of the deck saluted as what could only be described as a golden-furred mountain wearing an enormous studded harness, elaborately decorated plate shoulder armor and chain underneath ducked through the hatch and rose to his full height of at least seven feet. At his side was a scabbarded broadsword Hunter estimated was roughly the size of the state of Nebraska. Behind him followed another Proximan warrior. This one had black fur, white eyes and wore a long white cape. Three more warriors followed. Their leader returned the officer of the deck’s salute and strode along the carpet in a lithe, gliding motion. His whiskered snout broke into a broad smile when he spied Captain Hunter.
“You impetuous Jack-driving hound!” he shouted in a basso that Moo was sure could dent concrete. “How the hell are you!?” He stopped suddenly and saluted in a brusque manner that bordered on lampshading. Captain Hunter returned the salute and then placed a fist on his heart. The warrior returned the traditional Proximan military gesture of duty and respect.
“I am better than most, but not as good as some!” Hunter roared. He didn’t quite have the projection of the towering feline knight, but Moo suspected it was the best the captain could muster. “Welcome to Argent! How are the cubs?”
The Proximan leaned close. “Oh, I have so much to complain about,” he said quietly, as if confessing. “I knew my daughters would each be more beautiful than the last, and I have been beset with every courtly young claw in the land. I open the door to feed the basrats and there’s another carefully combed and musked groom stammering at me. I’ve never seen so many flowers and poems in all my days! The giggling almost drove me from my own home! I left Yowshia to deal with it all.”
“I can’t say I envy you, old friend,” Hunter replied with a grin. “Gael Oakshotte, allow me to present my marine ground forces commander. This is Lieutenant Colonel Lucas Moody. Moo, this is Lord-Captain Oakshotte, whose first name I still can’t pronounce without two hits of the hard stuff. Officer and knight commander of His Majesty’s First Blades and Guardian Shield of Burgonet Keep.”
“The honor is mine, Looteenahh Kernol Lookah-Moo!” Oakshotte snapped his fist against his harness in a powerful gesture. Moo mimiced the gesture and almost smiled, but realized the Proximan could probably break him in half, so he stopped himself with an instant to spare. His face twisted into something more like the reaction to stubbing his toe in church.
“Pleased to finally meet the warrior behind the legend, Lord-Captain. And a fine ship you have besides!”
The Proximan looked quite pleased. “Kapeetahn and Kernol, this is Vanguard Officer Lord-Lieutenant Waterford, and his hobelar sgian.” The black-furred officer performed the exact same salute. The other three warriors stood at attention, each bristling with weapons.
“May our blades be one, kapeetah!” Waterford barked. He grabbed Hunter’s arm with a beefy paw and the captain returned the forearm grasp. The iris-less white eyes were almost as unsettling as the explosive voice.
These warriors are definitely not subtle, Moo thought.
Hunter led the party towards the loadlane. “My quartermaster has prepared VIP accommodations for you on deck four. I expect you’ll need some time to store your gear and get acclimated. I’ve asked the galley for their finest steaks and ribs and a case of sunset wine. Join me in the captain’s mess at nineteen hundred.”
“We shall look forward to that!” Oakshotte thundered before slapping Hunter’s back hard enough to crack bones. He and the captain shared a laugh. “Let us feast before glory!”
Ten
Argent had so far not had the privilege of hosting a formal dinner in the captain’s mess, and the forces deployed by Captain Hunter’s head chef were well on their way to making certain their maiden performance would be one for the history books. Aboard a ship of the line, commanding officer’s accommodations and quarters were generally distributed on decks two and three, not far from the ship’s primary galley.
A Skywatch capital ship was generally equipped with no fewer than eight full-service industrial kitchens built into a vertical superstructure extending from deck 18 all the way up to deck two. The topmost galley was the primary, and was under the watchful eye of a Chief Petty Officer whose job was to supervise the 70 personnel in the kitchen itself and the executive crew tasked with serving meals in the captain’s mess and occasionally in the officers’ mess facilities and wardrooms.
On this occasion, the captain’s table was being attended by ten enlisted staff, all dressed in their white on white class A uniforms complete with dinner-style jackets, raptor-emblem cuff links, gloves, black shined shoes and crimson slacks. Being seated at the captain’s table was always considered a privilege aboard any vessel, and Skywatch maintained the same traditions dating back to the wet navies of ancient human worlds.
The service was stainless silver flatware and as close to antique china as a warship could get without creating a safety hazard. Though the plates looked like they were made from the same materials as those of old, the truth was they were constructed of a shatter and impact-resistant ceramic alloy containing a lightweight metal-reinforced latticework. The dishes and cups were almost impossible to break, which also made them serviceable weapons in a pinch. They were pretty much exactly what anyone would expect aboard a battleship. From a formal standpoint, they looked fantastic next to the glassware, which had its own
industrial secrets, and the stainless silver flatware emblazoned with Argent’s designator.
The marines posted at the two major entrances to the captain’s mess were dressed in rarely-seen crimson boatcloaks with sidearms on black belted holsters and shoes and slacks to match. Each wore a white combination cap with a gold Skywatch emblem while armed. All four of the battalion marines were strike sergeants: Two men and two women. They stood at rest when they were not holding one of the heavy walnut doors for a guest.
COB, Master at Arms Mountrath and new Chief Weapons Officer Devin Leach arrived first, each dressed in their formal class A’s. Leach was still trying to get used to the fact there were dining facilities aboard his new ship that competed well with entire engineering decks on the pinnaces he had earned his fleet ratings aboard. His uniform was still sharp-looking, however, with twin gold insignia on each cuff and his ribbons arrayed on his left breast. They weren’t quite a match for the master chief’s display, but then again, the lieutenant had another 16 years of service before he would have the service stripes to catch Buckmaster.
Zony, Annora and Yili arrived next. The doctor had well and truly made the transition to Chief Medical Officer by now. Her formal uniform was like a poster-ready representation of an ideal fleet officer. Her Search and Rescue badge presided over the rest of her ribbons, while twin golden Asclepius insignia decorated her lapels. All three officers still had their wings proudly affixed to their uniforms as well. A moment later Colonel Moody arrived, wearing his own officer’s edition of the marine boatcloak class A.
Then the Proximans arrived. Their idea of a formal uniform was as impressive as their bearing. Plate decorated their shoulders and center-chest, and their ribbons were affixed to the shoulder-braids each warrior wore on his left. Oakshotte’s braid was weighted down with trophy after trophy, some with two and three trailing emblems and sigils. His Lord-Captain’s glyph was proudly displayed on his breastplate, and he was now wearing an intricately designed cape similar to his lieutenant’s. The captain’s was black with interlocking silver and white coats of arms representing the Proximan King and his clan.
Battle Force Page 4
