by Tim Marquitz
Captain Albion stared at Vance, watching for any hint of deception, but there was nothing. The vice admiral’s eyes held steady, features lax. Why didn’t I know this? Albion glanced at Lyana, and she shrugged. He looked back to the vice admiral as the pieces came together in his head. “You’re expecting an invasion.” It was more a statement than a question.
“We don’t know what we’re expecting, but if the aliens keep testing our borders, it won’t be long before the Covenant issues a kill on sight order for all Xebedon craft, Captain. That includes yours. You can bet your ass those aliens won’t catch us off guard again.”
Albion nodded, agreeing with the sentiment. The Xebedons had come out of nowhere, employing the same tech the Excalibur used to move undetected. They struck hard and fast, laying waste to the planets under the Covenant and nearly wiping out the military before it even started to mobilize. If it hadn’t been for the lucky discovery of the Xebedon home planet, X-EBDN-1, the base of all their operations, the Covenant would have been eradicated.
Albion remembered the world-busters as they streaked toward the Xebedon home world, launched from the last of the Covenant battlecruisers still in operation: The Indomitable, the York, the Harkon—named after Randall’s grandfather—and the Valiant. Hundreds of smaller space crafts huddled around the cruisers, buying time with their lives as the Xebedon army flung their ships at the cruisers.
Then it was all over, X-EBDN-1 becoming a ball of fire and smoke, the planet’s core compromised, collapsing in on itself. Not a heartbeat later, the space around the Covenant fleet was clear, every remaining Xebedon ships having phased out and retreated to points unknown.
Albion had an idea that they were about to learn where all those aliens had run off to.
“Don’t worry, Vance, I’ll be careful,” he told the vice admiral.
“Don’t particularly care what you do, Albion. Just stay out of our way and make sure your carelessness doesn’t get your crew killed. They’re still good soldiers even if you aren’t.”
With that, Vance cut communications, the screen returning to the view outside the Excalibur.
“Brrrr,” Lyana said, pretending to shiver. “Got a little frosty in here. Want me to turn up the heat, Captain?” She stared at him over her shoulder.
“You should probably limit the shit talk to someone who isn’t in control of your paycheck.”
“Yes, sir. Limiting shit talk, sir,” she answered, offering a mock salute.
Albion sighed, not feeling the urge to fire back. What Vance had told him was stuck in his head. He glanced over at Randall. “Why didn’t we know about the Xebedon incursions?”
Randall shrugged. “We’re plugged into all the Covenant channels, sir, but I haven’t heard anything.”
“Are you sure we’re coded into all of them?”
“Far as I know, sir.” Randall went to work on his console, fingers tapping.
Albion watched the kid work. While Vance was right that Marek no longer had access to the briefings, something so important as the return of the Xebedon would have been all over the channels. Unless Covenant Command had suppressed it.
“Scan wider,” he told Randall. “They’re going off-channel with this stuff, and we need to find what frequency they’re running it on.”
Randall nodded without even looking Albion’s direction. It’s what he liked most about the kid. He was panicky, greener than fresh grass, but he was dedicated.
“Want some good news, Cap?” a raspy voice asked over the comms.
“Oh, by all means, Crate. I can use all the good news I can get.”
Lieutenant Alexander Crate was the Excalibur’s engineer. While the entire crew was excellent at their jobs, exemplary even, Crate was in a class of his own. A half-breed, part human, part-Sranth, he saw things in a way no one else did. He was the reason Albion had been able to take command of the Xebedon destroyer later dubbed the Excalibur as it had been pulled from a field of asteroids.
Crate was able to translate the Xebedonian language to a degree and apply their technology in a way that allowed the crew to operate the Excalibur without issue. He spent his days roaming the ship and tinkering with the systems, determining what everything did and creating new tech from its designs. A number of his inventions had already proven quite useful to Albion—he’d re-programmed Ares so the bot could be used safely, as well as adapted the phase concept to a tiny device that could be used to force small objects into phase space—so he let the man do pretty much whatever he wanted to. Crate rarely disappointed him.
“Well, while you and Vice Admiral Vance were discussing tactics, I scanned the horde destroyer we lit up. Sensors picked up ten life forms but, the good news is that I also picked up a half-dozen unshielded plas-stones in the hold.”
Albion glanced at his monitor, only the Indomitable and its support entourage visible. “Well, as interesting as that is, Crate, I’m not sure how you decided it was good news. The horde is gone.”
“Oh, did I forget to mention that I tagged the destroyer before it jumped?”
Lyana chuckled under her breath, Albion watching her back twitch as she held it in.
“You did indeed, Crate.” Albion rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Anything else you’ve forgotten?”
“Not that I recall, sir.”
Albion just shook his head, but Lyana’s restraint crumpled. Her laughter resounded through the bridge. “Patch the tracking information through to Choi.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And, Crate…?”
“Sir?”
“Get back to work.” Albion killed the comms as Lyana laughed on, Randall starting to contract the infectious sound, a smile breaking across his lips.
“You two, cool it,” he said, then gestured to Choi. “Extra rations for keeping your mouth shut. Now go find that destroyer.”
Choi grinned, and the Excalibur shot off at a touch of his finger.
Albion watched the view screen blur as they entered hyperspace, the antics of his motley crew forgotten already at the prospect of plas-stones. Just two would cover the operating costs of the Excalibur for a cycle, maybe longer. The others could be sold to retrofit the Xebedon ship with more humanlike amenities, making their time on the Excalibur, which was pretty much all the time, far more enjoyable.
Three
Sector 024, Allied Space
The Excalibur emerged from hyperspace a short distance from where Crate’s tracker had pinpointed the horde destroyer. It appeared as a green blip on the sensors, but no matter how hard he tried, Captain Albion couldn’t spot it through the view screen. Randall brought up the shields without being told, only further obscuring Albion’s natural field of vision.
“Bring us in behind it, Choi.”
The helmsman complied, and a few moments later, a metallic speck appeared and grew steadily bigger, Albion able to pick out details now. A small grouping of mosquito drones squirmed in its wake, caught up in a trail of debris that clung to the horde ship. Its left side was scorched with black, evidence of the Excalibur’s accuracy, and the front of the craft was damaged, crushed in and venting air into space.
That was all their fault, Albion thought.
The Excalibur drifted closer. “Their weapon systems are down, Captain,” Choi informed him. “Life support at 13%.”
“Phase out,” Albion ordered, feeling the shift happen immediately. “Anyone still alive in that bucket?”
“Six all told, sir,” Randall answered. “Want me to hit it again?”
“Hold your fire, Ensign. Won’t do us any good if we punch another hole in the hull and blow the thing up.” He stared at Lyana’s back until she noticed.
“Yes?”
“Prep for insertion.”
“Oooh, goody. I get to shoot someone.”
“Remind me not to stand in front of you,” Albion told her.
“Will do, Captain.”
“Crate?” he called out.
“Sir.”
“Get Ares ready to go, too.”
“For six scavengers?” Lyana asked, shaking her head.
Crate acknowledged the order, knowing better than to get between Lyana and the captain.
“Just in case I have to put down a rogue commander,” Albion told her. “You never know when one’s going to cross the line.”
“That happened cycles ago, sir,” Choi said, earning a snort from Lyana.
“Just get us linked to the ship, people, and join me below when it’s secure.” Albion clambered out of his seat and stretched, reveling in the tingles that raced along his extremities. They’d been cooped up in the Excalibur way too much lately.
He made his way to the rear of the bridge and entered the transit shaft, a strange kind of short distance transportation device. Though Albion preferred to stretch his legs and walk, there were very few places in the Xebedon craft that were connected that way. It was the shaft or nothing.
Albion chuckled at his phrasing and gritted his teeth against the strange prickling sensation that accompanied the sudden positional shift to the lower deck where the insertion gear was stored. Ares met him there, crouched rigid beside the hatch.
“Captain,” the battle bot offered in a metallic voice free of inflection and, even more appealing to Albion, free of sarcasm.
“Ares.” Albion always marveled at seeing the Xebedon bot, which had been stashed in the Excalibur when they’d taken control. It wasn’t often they had need of his services, but the captain powered him up and took Ares with him as often as possible.
Not remotely humanoid, Ares had been constructed closer to the likeness of the Xebedon. His torso was an oval, very turtle shell-like, about four feet wide and two tall. Spikes jutted out from it, leaving almost none of the shell beneath uncovered. Twelve mechanical legs encircled its frame, allowing the bot to change directions in an instant, and packed without those legs were a variety of weapons ranging from blasters to other, cruder, types of instruments, from blades to drills, and even a saw. Ares had no head, but there was a small, round knot on the front of the shell that Albion had taken to thinking of Ares’s brain, orienting himself to that even if the bot didn’t do so himself.
“You ready?”
“Always,” Ares answered.
Albion grinned. Crate had spent a lot of time picking at Ares’s circuitry and had installed a personality chip to make him more relatable. Crate had done his job almost too well. More often than not, Albion preferred the company of the robot to his crew, though he’d never tell them that.
“Just a few more minutes and we will be, too,” Lyana said as she and Randall emerged from the transit shaft.
He chuckled at their timing and grabbed his gear from his locker.
“We interrupt something?” Lyana asked.
“Just taking a moment to have a grown-up conversation,” Albion answered, grinning. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“You’re right.” She returned his grin and slithered out of her uniform, revealing her lithe frame, her dark skin gleaming under the lights. Only in a sports bra and a pair of panties that couldn’t possibly have been complete given how little material there was, Albion’s eyes trailed her muscular legs and settled on her ass, watching it as she bent over to collect her armored body suit.
Lyana caught himself staring, and he snapped his head sideways, looking away. Too late, he felt his cheeks flush.
“Enjoying yourself,” she asked, her amused grin staring him down.
“Welfare check,” he said, struggling to get his own body suit clear of the drawer. “Part of a captain’s job to make sure his crew is healthy.”
Even Randall chuckled at his bullshit, the ensign’s eyes locked firmly on the case in front of him.
Lyana spun around as she slithered into her suit, making sure her ample chest swayed side to side as she did. “Healthy enough for you, Captain?”
He sighed, watching her out of the corner of his eye, unwilling it miss the show but stubborn enough to not want her to realize he’d actually enjoyed it.
“Just get dressed, Commander. We’ve a mission.”
“To get you laid,” she muttered just loud enough for everyone to hear. Randall swallowed back a laugh, but Albion had to admit she might be right. It had been too long since he’d been with anyone. Not since Mara, his ex-wife.
Frustration welled up inside him at the thought of her, and he turned around to watch Lyana continue getting ready, desperately wanting to dislodge the image of Mara from his mind. Lyana obliged, wiggling a little more than necessary as she armored up, but Albion knew it for what it was. A tease.
While Albion felt handsome, a decent catch—or so his mother used to tell him—he didn’t stand a chance with Lyana no matter how attractive or interesting he might be. Like Marek, she was attracted to women.
The two had spent many a drunken evening together ogling the ladies at the various bars they’d frequented across allied space, both in the service and out. They’d settled into a comfortably antagonistic relationship along the way, Lyana flaunting her flawless figure and Albion whining about it. So far, it had worked out perfectly. But at times like these, Mara’s memory reminding just how alone he’d become, he hated it.
Albion finished suiting up in silence, and Lyana had stopped dancing and gotten to work, apparently realizing one of his moods had come over him. For all her sarcasm, she was a brilliant woman who understood him better than anyone. She knew when to push and when to back off, and he was glad of it. Albion didn’t think he could handle any more of her teasing without losing his temper. He exhaled slowly at the thought, strapping his weapons belt around his waist.
Killing someone would make him feel better.
“Everyone ready?” he asked as he slipped his helmet into place, the hiss of its atmosphere settling emphasizing his words. The other two nodded, and Ares skittered forward, one of its mechanical legs hovering near the hatch’s release switch.
“Let’s go,” Albion said, signaling to Ares. The bot hit the switch and the hatch hummed, and then eased open.
Crate, fully suited already, clanked across the floor as he rushed to catch up. “Wait for me.”
His face gleamed a soft blue through his face shield. Black lines, sharp like tiger stripes, emanated from the sides of his nose and ran across his cheeks. No matter how many time Albion had seen the stripes, his eyes were always drawn to them. They covered Crate’s entire body, larger versions of them running from his spine and, what looked like sergeant’s bars, ran down each arm, arrows forming on the backs of his hands.
His half-breed status dimmed his skin coloring to a soft pastel, whereas full-blooded Sranths were a more of a midnight blue, almost black, shimmers of both reflected in their skin when struck by the light.
Albion acknowledged the engineer’s request. “How about you go first instead?”
Crate tapped Ares on a leg. “Actually, I vote for going second.”
The battle bot didn’t wait for approval, knowing its role. It slipped through the hatch on the floor and clambered down the causeway leading to the horde ship. The causeway locked onto the scavenger hull at a random location deemed weak enough to breach, Ares started in doing just that. Sparks flew inside the short hall, and the crew waited for the bot to sheer through the hull. It only took a moment before a heavy thud signaled Ares was through.
Albion was through the causeway first. As much as he liked to joke with his crew, if they were walking in danger, he would be the one to the lead the way. Well, safely positioned behind Ares because he wasn’t a fool, but he’d be the first human inside.
Ares took a moment to orient himself to the old Covenant ship, and then started off down the corridor. The clatter of rifles at his back his crew was ready. He started after Ares and, after just a few minutes, the bot pausing at random intersections before moving on, he spied the bridge doors. Unlike the exterior of the ship, this portion had remained just as it had been when the Covenant military had used it.
A
res went to the doors and set a leg to the panel beside it. Albion raised a closed fist to stop his crew and waved for them to spread out. They followed orders without question, their weapons at the ready.
Without a doubt, the surviving scavengers would defend their ship to the last. Albion didn’t know what arms they carried, most crudely equipped with plasma bolters and laz-whips, both easily procured for reasonable prices, but Albion wasn’t taking any chances. He pointed to Ares, knowing the bot not only saw him but knew what to do.
Ares hacked the panel and the doors slid open with a hiss. Men shouted inside, but the bot rose on its hind legs and filled the doorway with its frame, taking the first of the gunfire against its armored torso.
“Go,” Albion shouted, and Ares rushed inside. He and the rest of the crew followed.
The scavengers hunkered behind the destroyer’s control consoles and fired with reckless abandon. Dressed in ragtag pieces of armor, likely belonging to half a dozen different suit types, they reminded Captain Albion of growing up in the crowded slums of Galian 4. Had he stayed there and not been pushed by his mother to sign up for the military, he might well have been one of these scavengers they faced down.
He was glad he wasn’t, though, as Ares tore through a console and drove three of his legs through a man’s stomach, ripping each out a different direction. Bits of the scavenger and a whole lot of blood erupted across the deck, and Albion was glad for the helmet that kept the smell from reaching his nose.
A scavenger who’d hunched nearby, screamed and jumped up to run. Lyana took him down with a controlled burst, the scavenger slumping in place, dead, circular scorch marks covering his chest.
Randall blasted yet another scavenger, and Ares skittered across the deck and took out two more, using his blasters in close range, smoking flesh obscuring the view of their wounds, but there was no way to ignore their tortured shrieks as they crumpled into heaps.
