Battlegroup (StarFight Series Book 2)

by T. Jackson King

  “Leader of all Soft Skins,” said the English translation of what the large wasp was saying by polarized radio signals. “I am Hunter Prime. We wish a flight path to our new colony world. We fly above our world. You fly above your world. Swarmers and Soft Skins fight no more. Why seek a leader of Swarmers?”

  His father’s fists were clenched and he was grimacing. It was an effort at body language that might affect this wasp leader of the species that called themselves the Swarm, with individual members labeled as a Swarmer. That they had known from listening in on the captives. The fact the top leader of the wasps on one of the giant ships was twice the size of other wasps who rested nearby, that had been unknown until now.

  “You Swarmers attacked my people when we visited your world of Warmth,” his father replied. “You Swarmers attacked again even after my son led his starships away from your world and here to our colony world,” he said, speaking slowly so the English-to-wasp vocabulary in his father’s Communications console had time to convert English to radio pheromone signals. “One of your ships attacked our colony. Now, you return to hurt our colony world. We demand a leader of Swarmers as proof you will not again attack our colony.”

  The three meter long wings of the giant wasp froze a moment, then resumed beating quickly. “What means visit? Intruders your nests were. Our warning device claimed sky light as home to Swarmers. All intruders are attacked. It is way of life.”

  “We did not understand your scent warning,” the admiral said. “We understand it now. We allowed one nest to go to, or visit, the third world. Now it flies to our colony. Will it harm our colony?”

  The red and black stripes on the yellow exoskeleton body of the leader wasp almost glowed, their colors were so deep. The sharp colors of each Swarmer made Jacob wonder if that was why the other wasps in the control room looked at vidcam images filled with swirls of color mixed with clusters of sharp angular marks. In the image of the leader’s room, a nearby wasp twisted its thorax and somehow said something. The leader rose higher above its bench.

  “That nest is led by Support Hunter Seven. It is damaged. No harm to Soft Skin world happens. It flies to watch Soft Skin actions.”

  Jacob marveled at how this species used terms from its flying nature to describe actions for which humans used nautical terms. He glanced aside at the situational on the wallscreen. The wounded wasp ship that moved at five psol was about halfway to Valhalla. While it flew at 33.5 million miles an hour, or 53.9 million kilometers an hour, covering 186 million miles took time even at such a fast speed. Transit time from world three to Valhalla at ten psol normally took almost three hours. At half that speed it would take five and a half hours, one way. It was two hours since they had received the wasp proposal to travel inward to the third world. Their reply had gone out minutes ago. Now, a living wasp leader spoke to the admiral, thanks to Alicia’s basic vocabulary and translation software.

  His father stopped grimacing. Instead he pulled a black-handled knife from his vacsuit’s tool pocket. He held it up. “But your nest could sting the Soft Skins below. Send me a Hunter as proof you will not sting us.”

  Jacob wondered at the difference in speech. They heard fairly simple language from the wasp leader. His father spoke directly but more complexly. Did this wasp hear or smell a simplified version of English?

  “I send you Hunter One. He leads other nest that is like mine. Do you allow our flight inward to third world of this sky light?”

  “Send Hunter One to my son’s spaceship. It is the other . . . nest like mine. It holds four wasps taken from the . . . nest that flies toward our world,” his father said.

  The two large and three small black eyes on the flat yellow face of the giant wasp seemed bright from more than reflection of the white-yellow light that illuminated his control chamber. Its two narrow arms ended in four stick-like fingers. Those stick fingers spread wide.

  “Do Soft Skin families give nests to grown larvae?”

  Jacob blinked. What the hell was this wasp asking?

  “Human starship leaders are chosen for ferocity and for ability, not because they are a leader’s children. My son earned his leadership of the other large starship that is like my . . . home nest. He fought your Hunter One above your colony that flies around the sky light where we first visited.”

  “Soft Skins are confusing. You mature ones use your grown larvae in strange ways.” The wasp who called himself Hunter Prime bent his antennae backward. “If Hunter One comes to you, where does he live? Will you feed him?”

  “Hunter One will be safe. We will feed him. See the images of how our captive Swarmers now live.” The admiral looked aside. “Captain, send him imagery of the wasps in your Forest Room.”

  Jacob nodded. “Communications, send the imagery packet on the same frequency used by the cartoon videos.”

  “Transmitting,” called Osashi.

  His father looked back to his image of the giant wasp leader. “Hunter One will fly to this room where four Swarmers now live. They have made a home in the ground. They control the gravity and light of this room. We feed them often. We bring sweet liquid and soft fruit and small animals to eat.”

  The leader’s stick fingers moved complexly. One narrow arm gestured to another wasp. “Commands sent for Hunter One to travel to your grown larvae’s large nest. Can we fly to our new nest? No biting by Soft Skins?”

  “Once Hunter One arrives, you Swarmers may fly to world three,” the admiral said, glancing aside. Perhaps he saw what Jacob saw, which was the departure of a small craft from the damaged giant ship that now headed toward the battle group ships. But it moved no faster than the other wasp ships. Which now flew at ten psol as the human ships also flew at 10 psol, on a vector track for the seventh planet. “We will not attack your nests so long as you do not attack our nests.”

  “You slow your nests,” the leader wasp said. “That allows Hunter One to reach your larvae’s nest. We continue but fly aside to our colony world.”

  His father licked his lips. “All ships! Maintain Alert Hostile Enemy. But reduce your speed to five percent of lightspeed. Once this Hunter One’s craft enters the Lepanto, resume full speed. We will follow these wasps on a parallel track.” The admiral looked toward the image of the giant wasp. “Hunter Prime, our nests are slowing their flight. Do not pass close to the seventh or sixth worlds of this . . . sky light. We humans control them. Fly in empty space to world three.”

  “Too cold those worlds are for any Swarmer,” the leader wasp replied. “My nest and all Swarmer nests now make new flight path. To third world we fly. This scent cast ends.”

  The image of the wasp leader vanished from Jacob’s wallscreen. It had been an image watched by every captain in the two battle groups, including the Inchon, which was slowly making its way toward the third world. He looked to his father’s image which was now in the center of the wallscreen.

  “This Hunter One will be here in a few minutes,” Jacob said calmly. “Admiral, what do you make of this wasp leader?”

  His father pursed his lips, his manner intent. “If he is anything like you or me, we need to watch him tightly. He excused their attack on the Lepanto and your battle group as a normal response to an intruder. But he said nothing about following us to Kepler 10 and attacking you and the colony. This Swarm is an expansive predator species. Maybe even more so than we humans. They are deadly, both in person and in armed starships. Listen in on what this Hunter One says to the wasp captives. Maybe we’ll hear some word of this Hunter Prime’s future plans.”

  “Admiral, will do.” Jacob looked down. “Chief O’Connor, grab one of your Marines and escort this Hunter One hostage from Hangar Three to the Forest Room. Take him inside, then leave. But listen on your Shinshoni Hard Shell comlinks to whatever he says to the other wasps. The admiral and I will focus on creating a convoy to follow this wasp fleet.”

  The Marine leader looked up. His gray eyes fixed on Jacob. Then he unlocked his seat straps. “Captain, Gunnery S
ergeant Diego and I will escort this high value wasp. I’ll make sure the gravity in the hallways we travel is cut back to a half gee. Diego and I will listen in on whatever they say. That is, assuming our ship AI provides us with a wasp-to-English translation.”

  Jacob looked up. “Melody, monitor the wasp continuously from the moment it arrives in Hangar Three all the way to the Forest Room. And afterwards. If you have to say something to this wasp, use the retrofitted wasp pheromone block we captured. It’s inside the room. And convey to O’Connor and Diego everything all the wasps say, using the personal IDs given them by Lieutenant Branstead.”

  A scratchy whine came from above, then he heard the AI speak.

  “Your orders will be followed, handsome live being who commands my home,” the AI said in a musical tone that was almost flirtatious.

  So weird this AI had become since he’d taken over the ship. But Jacob knew Science had better things to do than to find a fault in its human response modality chip. “Melody, also maintain your watch over the movements of all wasp ships. Alert me or the acting Bridge commander when there is any change in behavior that is different from a direct vector track to this system’s third world.”

  “So you do not wish to hear an alert while you are sexing with your female companion?”

  He winced and did not look at his father’s image. “Wrong. If there is any danger to this ship or to other Earth ships, alert me no matter what I am doing! But also alert the person in temporary command on the Bridge.”

  “As you wish, handsome human of mine.”

  Jacob could not put it off any longer. He looked to the wallscreen and met his father’s gaze. The man’s face looked neutral but he could tell more. A slight crease to one side of his mouth said he was close to smiling. “Admiral, the Lepanto will take charge of this wasp hostage and pay close attention to whatever he says to the other wasps.”

  His father nodded. “Captain Renselaer, remind me to ask Earth Command to run a diagnostic on your ship AI, once we all get back to Earth.” His expression grew somber. “We’re in for two days of long-haul travel into this system, all the while following an alien enemy who could fire on us at any time. Set your shift rotations. See that you and your shift get some sleep and food. No deck will allow more than ten percent of their staff to be out of their vacsuits at any time. That applies to all battle group ships. We cannot relax until this enemy fleet is gone from Kepler 10.”

  “Fleet Admiral Renselaer, will do. We will tend to the hostage wasp and check on what repairs might be needed once we get back to Valhalla.” Jacob paused, thinking quickly about the future steps in this dance with a dangerous enemy. “Admiral, should I peel off a frigate to head for Valhalla so it can keep a watch on the enemy ship, after it arrives?”

  His father frowned. “That’s a good idea. I will send off the Schweinfurt to Valhalla. Its captain will check in with Captain O’Sullivan and hold orbit close to the wasp ship. It will be a further warning to this Hunter Prime to not try any funny stuff with our colony.”

  “Understood. Lepanto out, unless you have further commands?”

  “Nothing more,” his father said firmly. “But keep my Bridge in your neutrino vidcam sharing with your ship and the other ships. Best for us all to be in instant link with each other.”

  Jacob gave his father a thumbs-up gesture. “Will do.”

  “Lepanto,” called a voice from the wallscreen images that he recognized.

  Jacob looked over. It was Rebecca Swanson of the cruiser Chesapeake. Like him and everyone else, she wore her vacsuit and was strapped in. The native of Chicago’s black face held a frown. “Yes, Lieutenant Commander? Can I help you?”

  “More like how I and George can help you,” she said, her tone musing.

  Jacob noticed that all of his battle group ship commanders were paying attention, while the captains who had arrived with his father were speaking to people on their Bridges, ignoring this conversation. “I appreciate your comment. But the Chesapeake, the Hampton Roads and all other StarFight ships are now under the direct command of Fleet Admiral Renselaer.”

  Her expression turned impatient. “Of course. What I mean to say is that George and I think highly of your past practice of rotating our cruisers into the line of fire that aims at our frigates. I want to be sure the Aldertag and the St. Mihiel close out this fight fully intact.”

  In the line of wallscreen images, Sunderland and Lorenz both nodded their heads sharply but said nothing. Mehta, Zhang and Jefferson were watching closely. Each of them gave him a thumbs-up gesture but also said nothing.

  Jacob realized Rebecca was trying to say that, in the midst of whatever formation his father might order in the future, he could count on her and George Wilcox to do just what she had said, no matter what the requirements might be of the new formation order. It was not outright insubordination. Rather, it was an expression of continuing allegiance to him personally from the two cruiser commanders. The destroyer and frigate commanders clearly thought the same.

  “Lieutenant Commander Swanson and Lieutenant Wilcox,” he said, glancing to George’s bulldog face as the man’s deep blue eyes watched him. “I highly appreciate your comments and support for my efforts to allow all of our ships to survive. I continue to rely on you for that support. Lepanto out.”

  “Chesapeake out.”

  “Hampton Roads out,” George said in a low growl.

  He unstrapped and stepped down to the floor of the Bridge. Jacob faced Daisy, still seated in her vacsuit and strapped in.

  “XO, you have the command.”

  She saluted him back. “Change of command accepted. Will you be sleeping?”

  “No. I’ll be back at the Forest Room. Contact me as needed,” Jacob said as he walked to the rear slidedoor, noticing how quiet Carlos and Lori were as they sat in the seats snugged up against the rear wall. Somehow, somewhen, before the fleet got to the third planet, he wanted to have another brainstorm confab with Lori, Alicia, Daisy and anyone else who might give him more insight into these wasps. Analogies to Earth wasps had limits. His gut was telling him there was more to this sudden wasp stopping of combat and request to go to the third planet. But what? He intended to figure it out. Everyone’s life might depend on whether he could outguess an alien ship commander who had been genetically bred to lead.

  Leastwise, that was what Alicia said her monitoring of the captive wasps had led her to believe. The wasp reference to castes meant more than that. Alicia thought each wasp caste was bred to be the best at what they were born to be, whether it be Hunter, Fighter, Worker, Worker Leader or whatever was meant by the Servant caste. That word had appeared just twice in the days of wasp to wasp chatter. What did it mean? And what did the term Hunter Prime mean, when other Hunter wasps were referred to by numbers? He was determined to figure out that answer, and the underlying reason for the sudden peacefulness of the wasps. One thing he knew from bitter experience. Do not trust wasp appearances. Only wasp actions mattered. He was damned certain the current wasp appearance of peacefulness was far from the whole story!

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Hunter Seven turned away from watching the perception imager that had relayed the strange conversation of Hunter Prime with the leader of the Soft Skin nests. The smells sent by the Soft Skins were similar to normal Swarmer scent, but different. The flavor was not the same as what everyone knew on Nest or on any flying nest. But the meaning of Soft Skin scent signals, combined with the simple imagery sent by one of their large nests, was clear. The Swarm could fly inward to the colony world so long as it did not try to bite the Soft Skins. Hunter One had made clear to him that this was a temporary pause in defense of their colony world. Once every Swarmer nest dropped down their larvae Pods with Workers, Fighters and a few Servants to begin the colony, every Swarmer nest would make a new flight path to the Soft Skin world, there to destroy the space-flying Soft Skins, then later the land-bound ones. He was tempted to toss out some particle seeds to fly high above the Soft Skin wor
ld, but Hunter Prime had promised no biting action. So he would fly high above the Soft Skin world, out of reach of the stingers on the Soft Skin globe that had killed most of his earlier seeds. Once the Swarmers left world three and came his way, he would do his best to fight like the Hunter he had been born to be.

  “Stinger Servant, put out Workers on the outside of our hard shell. We must reclaim the use of our middle and head rings of stinger tubes,” he sent in a strong flow of dominance and signal pheromones.

  The young male who had replaced his first Stinger Servant twisted to look his way. “Support Hunter Seven, I obey. But we have limited numbers of Workers. Some have no knowledge of how to work on the outside of our hard shell.”

  He increased his wing flapping until he rose above his bench. “Enough! Every Swarmer has a stinger. Every Swarmer can try to do the job of others now gone. Send them out. Those who survive can train others to do as they learned to do!” he scent cast in a mix of dominance, aggregation and releaser pheromones.

  “As you command,” the Stinger Servant replied, though his dismay was clear to scent.

  Seven did not care. Either his nest would be made better able to fight these terrible Soft Skins, or they would all die. The memory of his earlier desire to lead the colonization of the third world as the leader of all Swarmers was now a pale memory. The Hunter Prime’s scent overwhelmed any plan of a Swarmer who was not a Prime.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Hunter One flew through the strange, square-shaped tubeway through which his escort of hard-shelled Soft Skins now moved. The white-skinned ones did not fly on the jets attached to their movement limbs, unlike what he had seen in the terrible imagery sent his way by Support Hunter Seven. It worried him that fewer than three six-groups of these white-shelled Soft Skins had killed half the Swarmers on Seven’s flying nest. The yellow flames that shot from the right arm of each hard shell was most fearful, although the black rocks that emerged from the left arm were nearly as terrible. Worse yet was the green sky light that emerged from what passed for an abdomen among the Soft Skins. That beam had no limit on its range. He flew slowly and steadily after the deadly female who walked ahead of him, having no doubt her male companion to his rear would envelop him in flame if he made any effort to attack her hard shell. As was clear from deep scratches on it that other Swarmers had tried to do when the female had led one group of intruders into Seven’s nest. These beings might be limited to four limbs and be ground-bound without the aid of their devices. But terrible was their ability to kill, whether singly in the hard shells or as a group on a large flying nest. Ahead, the female in the white hard shell stopped before a rectangle outline in the wall of the strange tubeway. She touched a green patch on the wall. The outline became a piece of metal that slid into the wall, giving access to a white and yellow lighted place. She gestured for him to go through the wall opening. He did as ordered.