Frontier's End: A Seth Donovan Novel

by Jim C. Wilson

  “Oh, you’re going to do your best to force me to clone my kidneys again, are you? I’ll have you know, I have a new bio-filter!”

  “You’re going to need it!” she said, dragging my grandfather up the ladder well to the mess deck above. The pair left the hold, as Crege tossed me a practice blade from the armoury.

  I handed my new lurzak to Renthal and hefted the dull metal that Crege had given me.

  “Back to these old things, huh?”

  “Warrior wasn’t going to let you spar with new blade. Just finished healing from last time we fought together.”

  I raised my blade in salute, which Crege reciprocated. “Rules?” I said, the corner of my mouth rising.

  “No tricks, no tech,” said Kekkin, standing off to the side, “Just meat and steel.”

  We began to circle each other. I could already feel the adrenaline flowing through my body, or was that the booze? All I knew was that it had been a long time since Crege and I had fought, and I found that I relished the opportunity. I’d had a lot of experience since last we crossed blades and planned to give it my all. I knew that to do anything less would be taken as an insult to my friend.

  “Watch footing, human,” barked Kekkin. I turned my head slightly to give him a look, I hadn’t figured on him giving me lessons. I shouldn’t have done that.

  Crege lashed out with lightning speed, almost slapping my blade out of my grasp. I’d learnt long ago to hold my blade just right, so that such a move would only deflect my angle rather than free the grip from my hand. Even so, I had to back pedal fast as Crege followed through with a spinning double kick aimed directly at my head. My first instinct had been to activate my Spatial Translation Paradigm and teleport behind him but caught myself before I could do so. Another distraction, which cost me more ground as Crege continued his offence.

  We reached the edge of the space that had been cleared for us, and still, Crege pressed the advantage. He was slightly slower than he used to be, though. I managed to deflect or evade all his attacks and when he paused to catch his breath I made my move. Borrowing a move I’d seen Artemis perform, I snapped out with my left foot, causing Crege to pull back sharply. I followed through by using my momentum to bring my blade down hard across his guard, pushing him back even more. Unbalanced, he tried to regain his footing, but I spun and kicked him in the head with the tip of my boot.

  He fell backwards and I moved in for the ‘kill’, but Crege wasn’t done yet. He kicked up as I approached, flipping up onto his feet nimbly and causing me to halt my dash towards him. We cross blades for several minutes, playing through various forms and stances in classic lurzak fighting styles, neither giving the other an opening.

  “Look not to your opponent’s blade,” said Kekkin, “Eyes on the body instead.”

  A sharp upward slash opened my guard long enough for Crege to thrust his blade through, but I pulled my body backwards and rolled out of reach. As I rose on one knee I caught his downward stroke, then caught his knee with my cybernetic arm as he tried to knee my face. I pushed hard on his leg, and he stumbled back. I sprang straight at him, slashing left and right with my blade.

  When I was close, I dropped my shoulder and barged into him. Once more he fell back, this time onto some crates. Renthal almost caught him and helped him stand. I waited while he rose, panting heavily. He gave me a nod and I was glad to see his breathing also as heavy as my own.

  “Kitrak fights well, today,” he said, “Lur shirtan-zak has trained you well.”

  Kekkin nodded to Crege. “Without yendag-zak as his foundation, would be as fortress built on sand.”

  “You done?” I said, stretching my sword arm.

  He thought about it, then nodded. “Warrior accepts honoured defeat. Know what I need to train on now. Next time, will not be so easy.”

  I smiled and took his offered forearm in my grip. “Don’t sweat it. I’ve beaten even Kekkin here.”

  Crege’s eyes bulged, his beak opened and closed a few times before he spoke. “H...how?”

  “I cheated!” I said, eliciting a round of laughter.

  38.

  Commanding a warship was a completely different experience than being the Captain of a freighter, such as the Dreaming. For one, I was rarely directly involved in anything the ship did. All I had to do was plan a course of action and then give the command to do so. Martine, my First Officer, was invaluable in ensuring that my will was enacted by the crew. There were many more moving parts, metaphorically, than the Dreaming when it came to ship-borne actions.

  I found that sitting on the bridge for hours became an exercise in tedium. There was simply nothing for me to do, besides watch. The watch keepers kept to themselves, reporting in to their own superiors, who then fed the information to Martine and I. Since everything was going according to plan, we were only manoeuvring, after all, there was very little change in our status beside our location. On the Dreaming, we simply would have stood down from the command module and had free time.

  My furlough in the hold of the Dreaming, along with a bout of exercise, took up a few hours. I toured the engineering spaces with Chief Gannerson and then inspected the Jump Drives with Professor Gaston. I noted with approval the extra guard detail on the compartment housing the machine.

  The final three hours before we were due to launch the Dreaming were the worst – I could find nothing to do to pass the time that was not a blatant dereliction of duty. So, I sat in my chair on the bridge and studied the Restitution’s systems. I figured it would come in handy.

  I already had a decent familiarisation of most of the ship, I had had a hand in her refit designs, but I needed to memorise the details – details such as exact firing arcs, rates of fire, acceleration profiles, redundant systems, power levels, shield strengths and output capacity of the manufactories for the various munitions we could launch from the missile battery. I studied the drone pilot performance logs, flagging those who lagged in ability during the simulations for extra sim time. I ran ‘what if’ scenarios on my command console, seeing what would happen if we lost certain capabilities. I got so engrossed in this information that when the time came to launch the Dreaming, I was startled by Martine’s call from the operations deck below.

  “Captain Cooper advises the Dreaming is prepped and ready for launch, commander!” she called up.

  I shook myself free of the holographic displays cocooning my seat and stood. I noted the bridge view screens held a countdown to launch. “How are the marines?”

  “First Sgt. Kekkin reports that all pax are embarked and secured for launch, sir.”

  “Very well. Get me the hangar deck control officer on the comms.”

  She gestured to the communications station, and within seconds the enlisted gave her a thumbs up.

  “She’s on your chair, sir.”

  I sat down and thumbed a control on my armrest. “How’s the deck look, Lieutenant?” I said.

  “Clear and ready for launch, sir. Is there anything you need?” said the young officer on the line. I could tell she was nervous, I realised I probably wasn’t helping by contacting her directly. I needed to avoid micromanaging. Taking a backseat was hard for me to do.

  “Ah…no. Just wanted to wish you all good luck. Is there any way to give me a live feed from the hangar deck for the launch up on my command chair?”

  “I can send a link directly to your overlay, sir, if that would be better?”

  “Oh, yes. Please do. Thank you, Lieutenant!”

  “My pleasure, sir. Don’t worry, she’s in good hands.”

  A link displayed in my overlay, opening it revealed a boxed window showing footage from the hangar cameras. As I watched the last of the deck hands unhooking cables and piping from the Dreaming, another indicator flashed on my overlay – the battlenet connection.

  Command MSG MT0.2.47: Kekkin here. The command suite link is solid. Want to test visuals?

  You can access a configuration menu from the battlenet app, I texted back, switc
h off the timestamp info for your messages. They get annoying real fast.

  Command MSG MT0.3.04: Roger wilco, Commander.

  How are the troops?

  Green, but disciplined. Will be warriors soon.

  Is Geko up to his usual horseplay?

  No, sir. Horseplay leads to med bay. You sure it was a good idea to promote that boy? It does no good for morale when the First Sergeant thumps Corporal. Felt better when he was Private.

  I laughed out loud. Yes, Kekkin. He deserved it. We’ve all had some adjusting to do. I’m headed over to the command suite.

  I got up and moved to the back of the command deck to the glossy black table. As I approached, Rego looked up from his seat at the foot of it. The holographics sprang to life, still configured to show local space.

  “Rego, switch us over to the marine…er…view. Please.”

  “Which mode? Spacial, Individual or Squad View?”

  “Er…want to run me through them again?

  He nodded, flicking a control on the panel before him. The view changed, showing a three-dimensional image of one camera’s view of the aft cargo hold in the Dreaming. An icon showed me it was Kekkin’s feed, pacing before the assembled marines as they lashed themselves into crash harnesses.

  “This is the Individual mode,” said Rego, “you can switch between marines sequentially, or by selecting from that pop-up list to your left. You can also display multiple views as a set of tiles. Up to twelve views at once.”

  The view changed to a low resolution, isometric view of the hold, which over the next few seconds grew in focus and detail. I could see everyone seated around the compartment outlined in a light green wireframe.

  “This is Spacial mode. It takes collated lidar images from all nearby marines and gives you a disconnected, holistic display of the surrounding area. It takes a few seconds to get precise details, the lidar imagery on the VD-I suits is not as good as Valenvaard says it is, but it serves its purpose well enough. The last mode is similar, but two-dimensional and places the position of squad members…”

  The image shifted to a top-down view of the deck, with the different squads highlighted in different colours.

  “I think I like the Spacial mode best,” I said, “Let’s use that for now.”

  Imagery is good, Kekkin. I’m switching it back to local space. I want no splats today. Good luck.

  No promises. Ur kah lem, kitrak.

  I glanced behind me at the countdown. Two minutes left.

  “Comms!” I called, “Open a channel to the Dreaming of Atmosphere, please.”

  The reply came up from the deck below, a crisp report that the Dreaming was online. I pressed a control before me.

  “How’s the crew, Max?”

  “That’s not how a fellow Captain is meant to greet another while on separate ships,” she said. I could practically hear the smile on her face.

  “I’m not a Captain, I’m a Commander.”

  “You’re still a cheeky bugger, that’s for sure. We’re good here, Donny. You sure we can’t convince you to jump ship and join us?”

  “I wish I could, Max. I’m needed up here. How’s the stealth module? Is Tac connected to the sensor nexus?”

  “We’re all good, Donny. We know what we’re doing.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. I just…”

  “It’s okay, lad. We’ll be fine. Crege just told me to tell you to stop bothering us and launch us already. You better do it, or he’ll just fly out of here whether you’re ready or not.”

  “Ha-ha, all right. We’re all good to go up here. I’ll leave you to Hangar Control.”

  I switched off the comms channel and blew the air out of my lungs. It was out of my hands now. I glanced over at Hieron, sitting next to Reza’k off to the starboard side of the command deck. He gave me a slight nod.

  “Comms!” I called again, “Keep all external channels on priority. I want to know the moment the Dreaming tries to communicate.”

  I leant over the command suite table, my hands disappearing into the holographic depiction of Barris Doon’s tenth moon – a barren, lifeless ball of rock. When Martine called up that the Dreaming had launched, I brought the display into focus around her, watching her pull away from the Restitution. When it was a thousand kilometres from us, I watched as Max engaged the stealth module and closed off all emission ports. The image grew spurious, eventually winking out altogether.

  “Sensors!” I called out, “I want one station monitoring for the Dreaming at all times. Let me know the moment that stealth module fails.”

  Hieron cleared his throat. I glanced over at him again. “Be careful you don’t paint her with your active sensors,” he said, “If I saw a ship coming at me looking in another direction I’d get curious to see what they were looking for.”

  I winced, refraining from slapping my own forehead. “Belay that, sensors! Omni-directional sensors only – nothing directed.”

  Hieron nodded sagely.

  “Helm!” I called, “Begin first orbital manoeuvre.”

  The helmsman repeated the order, turning the ship to catch the gravity well of the moon. We would complete a full orbit of the moon, giving Max and Kekkin enough time to complete their missions. When we had finished the first orbit, we would slingshot to Eovan and gain speed. If Kekkin failed to report success before we left the orbit of our current planetoid, we’d abort and complete a second orbit.

  To complicate matters, we had to contend with the fact that battlenet subspace communications had a limited range. The Dreaming would need to lay several buoys as it rounded Eovan, but we could not risk the Xerxes picking up anything nearby. The Dreaming would act as the last buoy, relaying the battlenet to us.

  There still remained a risk of detection, but we needed to know whether to proceed with our strike. We simply could not defend against the kind of firepower the Xerxes’ railgun could bring to bear.

  With the current phase of our plan well underway, I returned to my command chair. The ship began to vibrate as we increased our acceleration, using the small moon’s gravity to our advantage. I knew that Gannerson would be sweating it as much as I was, although for very different reasons.

  I had seven and a half long hours to wait before we were due to hear from the battlenet.

  39.

  I swam in the warm sea of data motes once more, a languid, peaceful stroke. My gaze drifted to the dark sky above, relishing the peaceful twinkle of stars, devoid of the ominous Eye of Ar’od Dar. Was this really my subconscious? Was this some warning my nanites were trying to communicate to me? These dreams always held some meaning, I was convinced they were more than mere dreams.

  What senses I could control I bent to seeing what this dream was trying to tell me. A futile effort. I frolicked with data creatures and dived in sparkling reefs of nanites and nothingness. Then abruptly, all was gone.

  I awoke with a start, my head slipping from my upraised palm. “What happened?” I said, startled.

  “Nothing, yet,” said Hieron, “You drifted off a few hours ago. We figured you were exhausted.”

  “I was. Am.”

  “When was the last time you had a decent sleep?”

  I grunted. “Been too busy. Couple days at least.”

  “Since Barris Doon?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You need your rest, lad. No good to anyone if you’re half awake.”

  I looked around the command deck. “How long do we have left?”

  “About forty-five minutes. The others are due back on duty any time now.”

  “Have you rested?” I asked.

  “Don’t need it. I had that biological need removed several decades ago. The marvels of modern bio-augmentation.”

  “Did I miss anything?”

  “Nope. Watch shift changed about four hours ago. Both watches will be back on duty in fifteen. Ms Lenser is up, just grabbing a meal from the wardroom.”

  The mention of food made my stomach growl. I’d not only been avoiding
sleep but skipping meals, too. As I debated getting up for a quick dash to the officer’s mess, Martine stepped onto the Command Deck, a hot meal on a plate in her hands. My mouth instantly watered. When she saw my face, she burst out laughing.

  “I figured you’d be hungry,” she said, “Had the autochef spit out some bacon and eggs for you.”

  “If I wasn’t already betrothed, I’d marry you right now.”

  “Tsk-tsk,” she chided, “You’re a little young for my tastes.”

  “Well, now…” started Hieron, instantly perking up.

  Martine laughed again. “And entirely the wrong gender. Sorry, Hieron.”

  I graciously accepted the offered plate, eagerly gulping down several mouthfuls. Martine stepped back in mock surprise.

  “Careful! I almost lost a hand!”

  “Mam mungry. Morry,” I said between chews.

  In moments I had the plate clean, dabbing the last of the yoke with a corner of toast. I was wiping my mouth clean as the other watch keepers began filing into the operations deck below.

  “Thanks, Martine. You’re a woman after my own heart.”

  “I figured if I didn’t feed you, you’d skip another meal. You should really look after yourself. I bet if Zoe was here she’d be cross with you.”

  “You’re right. I’m just used to other people reminding me of the basics.”

  She looked thoughtful. “I can organise for a steward to be assigned to you?”

  “A steward? What, like a butler?”

  “No. More like a personal assistant. They’ll make sure you have clean uniforms, that your laundry gets done, your meals brought to you. They’ll bring you coffee.”

  I instantly began salivating again. The thought of coffee and food tends to trigger the parts of my brain that are more lizard than man.

  “That does sound useful…”

  Martine gestured towards the ladder well leading down to the operation deck, and a young enlisted crewman came up, a steaming mug in his hands.

  “This is Crewman Glenris,” said Martine, “He was one of the wounded that you rescued from Ambrose Station. He practically begged to join the crew but had no trade skills or combat aptitude. He was originally assigned to janitorial duties, but when we procured those Plastoid Industries Utility synthetics last month that kind of made him obsolete. He’s a good worker, so didn’t seem right to put him out of a job.”