Negation Force (Obsidiar Fleet Book 1)

by Anthony James

  Duggan kept his expression fixed, though he was shocked at the extent of Monkton’s knowledge. It was natural for the Council to have contacts within the Space Corps, but the Maximilian was running silent. He trusted the battleship’s captain implicitly. The only alternative source of the leak was unthinkable – it would need someone of Admiral rank to access the flight plan of an off-grid warship.

  “When the Council comes to the correct decision regarding our Obsidiar, what use would it be if none of our fleet was in the vicinity for the shipyard to begin installation?” Duggan responded smoothly.

  “Just make sure you respect our wishes, Fleet Admiral,” said Monkton. “Whichever side our decision may fall.”

  “These are our people. How can there be uncertainty in the outcome?”

  “We have many things to balance,” said Councillor Dawson. “Rest assured we will act in the best wishes of the wider Confederation.”

  “What happens when the Vraxar come for the other seven planets broadcast by the Teskinir?”

  “There is no proof the aliens have those details,” said Kemp. “If they do, the Council expects the Space Corps to be more successful in the defence of those planets than it has been for Atlantis. The military commands fifteen percent of our entire budget – failure will not be accepted.”

  The meeting ended, leaving Duggan numb. He’d always been aware the lead Councillors were ruthless and ambitious, but understanding their behaviour was on this occasion beyond his grasp. He wasn’t certain what plans they had for the Obsidiar, but he was starting to believe they were a higher priority than the lives of the people on Atlantis. Whatever those plans, they would doubtless be designed to bring glory to the Confederation Council as well as its members individually.

  They’re hanging me out to dry, he thought. They don’t want me to fail, but they can’t bring themselves to give me the resources to succeed.

  He needed to get away from it all for a few minutes. Duggan marched across the floor of his office, through the door and out into the carefully-landscaped grounds he had personally ordered be created. It was a warm morning and birds sang in the trees. Space Corps personnel walked here and there, enjoying the sunshine. In spite of the pleasant surroundings, Duggan couldn’t calm down. It seemed increasingly likely he was going to have to sort out the mess with the Vraxar using the Space Corps’ existing resources. In the likely event he failed, he’d be the one blamed. Not for the first time, he cursed the existence of Obsidiar and wished it had never been discovered.

  The worst thing of all was that he didn’t have concrete proof telling him what the Vraxar wanted. Then, it came to him – a memory of a conversation decades ago, with a man whose intellect could encompass an infinite array of plans and possibilities. The now-dead Fleet Admiral Teron, who once told Duggan he believed there was something special about the planet Atlantis – something which meant Obsidiar could be extracted from its core under the right circumstances. Those circumstances were invariably easy to predict – destroy the planet and the right type of spaceship could pick up the Obsidiar as it formed.

  Duggan felt the energy flow out of his body, leaving him completely drained. The more he experienced of the universe and the beings living within it, the more he despised the unending thirst for annihilation he witnessed amongst them.

  Sergeant Eric McKinney and the remaining five men of Squad A picked their way warily across the wasteland of the Tillos base. The exit ramp for Section D was ten minutes back and lost from sight behind a million tonnes of debris. This new area of the base had been particularly badly damaged by enemy missiles and somehow the concrete retained heat from the initial onslaught. In places it was enough to generate warnings on the suit HUDs.

  A short distance away, fires still burned, their anger lessened and their contrast with the sky reduced by the arriving day. McKinney was worried – darkness brought with it a sense of security, albeit an illusory one. The rising sun made him feel exposed and he was beginning to doubt if he could lead his squad to their destination without putting them at an unacceptable level of risk.

  McKinney wasn’t lazy, but like most Tillos personnel he was accustomed to travelling around the base in one of the many pool vehicles. Consequently, when he was forced to use his feet, the size of the base became all the more apparent. He squinted at the range of high hills where he believed the fleet destroyer had come down and his visor HUD provided him with an estimation of the distance: seven thousand metres, with no guarantee the warship wouldn’t be another few thousand metres beyond that.

  “That’s a lot of open ground to cross, Sergeant,” said Bannerman. “I used to spend my free time up in those hills. They’re nice enough to look at, but the Corps pulled down all the trees when they built this base. Now, there’s just lots of grass.”

  Bannerman seemed to have a few ideas of his own – he’d probably have made corporal or higher if he wanted. McKinney paid attention to the man’s words.

  “We’ve got little choice, Soldier.”

  “I know that, Sergeant. Just saying we might have a rough time of it. We’ll be easy pickings if another one of those shuttles comes down. I don’t want to rely on there being any more guardian angels watching over us.”

  McKinney was digesting these words and trying to figure out a better way to complete his objective when he caught sight of movement in his periphery – a wedge-shaped, grey alloy object flew across the skies a few kilometres away. Wherever it was going, it appeared to be in a hurry.

  “Get down!” he yelled through the open channel.

  The squad was already tracking a path close to a ruined building and there was plenty of cover. McKinney got himself behind the burned-out remains of one of the base’s small transport vehicles. It still smouldered and he was grateful his visor filtered out the odours of soot and char.

  “It’s heading towards the destroyer,” said Bannerman.

  “I hope not,” said McKinney.

  He looked into the sky and traced an imaginary path from the craft. There was no doubt about its destination.

  “That little spaceship isn’t big enough to do much against a fleet destroyer – even a crashed one.” said McCall.

  “They must be confident it’s out of action, given what that Bulwark cannon did to their other shuttles,” said Elder.

  “Bannerman, try reaching the destroyer again.”

  “Right you are, Sergeant.”

  McKinney waited, not expecting there to be a change from the previous attempt to reach the crew.

  “I’ve got something!” said Bannerman excitedly. “Military vessel ES Determinant acknowledges our signal. I’m speaking to a Lieutenant Caz Pointer.”

  “What’s their status?”

  Bannerman didn’t respond at once. Whoever he was speaking to they were evidently passing on a lot of information in one go. At last, the soldier got a chance to repeat what he was told and he spat out the words quickly.

  “They’re running on residual power – whatever that is. No weapons, engines or long-range comms. Lieutenant Pointer is patched into the ship’s main comms systems using a spacesuit. The hull has absorbed a lot of heat and they’re expecting to be hit by an orbital strike so they don’t want to stick about for that.”

  “They’re abandoning ship?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “Damnit! Tell them there’s an enemy shuttle heading their way.”

  The wedge-shaped craft vanished from sight at the far end of the base.

  “They’ve seen it, sir.”

  “What are they going to do?”

  “Lieutenant Pointer doesn’t know, sir. She’s waiting to see if the ship’s captain has any ideas.”

  “The captain is alive?”

  “I doubt she’s lying sir and I can hear him talking in the background.”

  McKinney tried hard to think of an intelligent suggestion – something that might help the Determinant’s crew. His brain failed him and even if it had not, it would have been to
o late.

  “The signal is gone. I’ve lost her,” said Bannerman. He pressed the signal booster on the pack and held the button down. “Hang on a minute, there’s something else.”

  “What is it?” asked McKinney.

  Bannerman snorted. “It’s a civilian device. I’ve got no idea how it managed to connect to this pack – we’re meant to be invisible to anything non-military.”

  With his single objective snatched away from him, McKinney was fighting despair. “Who is it?” he asked.

  “Sounds like an old feller, calling himself Jerry Greiner. He’s rambling on about aliens.”

  “Nothing we don’t know – cut him off. We haven’t got time for this.”

  “That’s him gone.” Bannerman covered up the pack and shrugged it onto his shoulders. “Are we sticking with the plan and going for the Determinant, sir?”

  The truth was, McKinney didn’t have any idea what to do next. The enemy had managed to deliver a real sucker punch, he told himself, and always seemed to be several steps ahead. They fooled far better officers than Sergeant Eric McKinney. It’s time to retreat.

  “Let’s get back to the bunker,” he said. “Maybe we’ll sit it out until help gets here.”

  “Or maybe one of the technicians left an access key for the ES Lucid lying around, eh?” said Bannerman jokingly. “Get onboard, press a few buttons and off we go. How hard can it be to fly one of those things, eh?”

  McKinney laughed bitterly. “It took me ten months to get accredited for shuttle flight. It’s another four years on top of that before they let you loose on anything bigger.”

  “I’m sure they spend half of that time in the bar, sir.”

  “We’ll go back,” said McKinney despondently. “In a minute.”

  He rose from cover and watched the sky. For some reason it was important to him that he see the shuttle on its return flight, as if witnessing it would close the loop and allow him to accept it was over for the crew of the Determinant.

  Five minutes went by and the squad became restless. A few of them started muttering that it was time to get moving. Then, it appeared – a black dot against deep blue.

  “There’s that shuttle again,” said McCall. “Going back the way it came. I wonder if they killed the people on the destroyer.”

  “Best not to think about it,” said Garcia. “Poor bastards.”

  “Move out,” said McKinney. His anger spilled over and he kicked at a fist-sized chunk of stone, sending it bouncing away. “We’re going to the bunker. We’ve run out of options.”

  None of the men complained or suggested an alternative. It was clear their morale was low and McKinney couldn’t blame them – the Space Corps had suffered defeat after defeat, without offering anything in the way of significant resistance.

  Before the squad had made it halfway towards the bunker entrance, the unexpected happened - a figure came scrambling out from beneath a canted section of collapsed wall. McKinney spun towards it, his finger resting on the activation trigger of his repeater.

  “Help!” called the figure. It was a man dressed in civilian uniform, his face, hair and clothing covered in dust.

  “Hold fire!” McKinney roared across the open channel. The men were jumpy and it wouldn’t take much for them to accidentally start shooting.

  Under the grime, man had sandy-coloured hair and looked to be in his late twenties. It was no one McKinney recognized, not that he expected to know everyone on the base.

  “Who’s in charge?” the man asked.

  “That’s me. Sergeant McKinney.” As he said the words, McKinney waved his squad towards the rubble where the man had emerged. “Over here!” he ordered.

  “Come quickly! This way!” said the civilian, beckoning frantically.

  There was a gap between the canted wall and the pile of rubble it leaned against. The man went through. McKinney ducked beneath the edge, twisting to avoid the jagged edges of protruding rebar. The rest of his squad came after, unsure what to expect.

  There was an enclosed space – an area beneath the rubble. It was dark and dust floated in the air, suspended in apparent defiance of gravity. There was a woman in here, sitting with her back to a block of stone, her uniform covered in grey dust. Her face was twisted in a grimace and she clutched her ankle.

  “Who are you?” asked McKinney.

  “I’m Larry Keller,” said the man. “This is Lieutenant Cruz. We just got out of the comms hub.”

  McKinney raised his visor so his face was visible. “Lieutenant? You’re hurt.”

  Cruz raised her head. “I got all this way and then I broke my damned ankle crawling through this rubble. It hurts like hell.” She laughed bitterly.

  McKinney reached for the emergency pack at his waist. He pulled it open and unclipped one of the silver-coloured injector tubes held within.

  “Take this,” he said, walking across with his hand outstretched. “Painkiller.”

  She reached out gratefully and accepted the tube. She pressed it to her thigh and activated the switch on top. The injector hissed faintly and Cruz closed her eyes as the anaesthetic flowed through her veins.

  “Thank you…” she studied McKinney’s insignia. “Sergeant.”

  “McKinney, ma’am.”

  “How many are you?”

  “Six of us in this squad, with another fourteen holding position in the underground bunker.”

  She looked drawn and tired. “You’re all that’s left on the whole base?”

  “I can’t tell you. If there are others, they aren’t in any position to repel the Ghasts.”

  “Vraxar, Sergeant. These aren’t Ghasts.”

  “I don’t know who the Vraxar are, ma’am.”

  She smiled. “Alien bastards, Sergeant. That’s all you need to know. Where were you going?”

  “A fleet warship crashed down nearby. We were intending to rescue the crew, but they got captured or killed.”

  “What did you plan to do after that?”

  “The ES Lucid is still active, ma’am. Near enough everything else has stopped working, but the Lucid is online. You can feel its engines when you get close.”

  “It’s a cruiser, isn’t it?”

  “A heavy cruiser, ma’am. Built to take a beating and give back twice as much. At first, I thought the enemy had come to steal it. Now I think they came for something entirely different.”

  Cruz studied him with interest. “Such as?”

  “I don’t know for certain, ma’am. If you insisted on knowing what I think, I’d tell you this is a limited attack force and they’re after something in the Central Command Building. Maybe they’re hoping to find out where all the other Confederation planets are located.”

  She smiled. “Well, Sergeant, I’m glad someone agrees with me. Aside from Larry, that is. There’re data arrays in the CCB. Military stuff as well as coordinates for every asset within the Confederation. There’s probably all sorts of other stuff we really don’t want the Vraxar getting their hands on. We – Larry and I – managed to shut off the processing cores to stop them getting into the live data. That leaves one option open for them.”

  “I don’t know what that option is, ma’am.”

  “They need to remove the data arrays, Sergeant. It’s unlikely they’ll want to stick around here long enough to unravel the contents, so they’ll have to steal them – take them off-world.”

  McKinney put the pieces together. “Can we destroy the arrays?”

  “I hope so. Because if we can’t, it seems likely humanity is going to be much deeper in the shit than it already is.”

  There was something about Lieutenant Maria Cruz that left McKinney feeling calm. He could see at once that she respected people and would treat them accordingly. Even a fool could foresee what she was going to ask and McKinney helped her out.

  “What can I do?” he asked.

  “I have an idea, Sergeant McKinney,” she replied.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Cruz and McKinney
spent a short time talking, with the former giving an outline of what she hoped to achieve. The plan wasn’t the most fully-fleshed one ever devised. McKinney didn’t care – he’d been given a new objective and one which he could tell would have a significant positive impact on the Confederation’s chances of dealing with the Vraxar. Assuming we succeed, he thought.

  For once, the pessimistic voice inside his head didn’t carry much weight. He was absolutely determined to beat the odds. He found himself gripped by a fervour – the same feeling he’d experienced as a young man reading and hearing about tales from the Ghast wars.

  “Corporal Li, Evans, report,” he said, once the talking was done.

  “Wherever the enemy are, it isn’t here, Sergeant,” said Li.

  “Nor here,” said Evans. “We rounded up a couple more technicians. They’re happy to wait it out.”

  “Are any of them able to get the Lucid open?”

  “Wait on, I’ll ask.”

  The asking didn’t take long.

  “No, sir. None of them have the clearance.”

  “Never mind. It might not be important now. Do you have explosive packs with you?”

  “Clifton says he’s carrying enough plasma charges to blow your wife’s chastity belt off, Sergeant,” said Li.

  The unmarried McKinney chuckled. “We won’t need quite that many. Tell him to leave half behind in case the weight slows him down.”

  “Alvey’s got a plasma tube,” said Evans.

  “That’s good enough. I want you to bring your squads across to the Section D entrance. Do it fast and do it now.”

  “Already moving,” said Li.

  “What about the civilians, sir?” asked Evans.

  “Tell them to keep below ground and leave them behind. We’ve got a mission and it’s a dangerous one.”

  “Like a real, proper mission where we get to shoot genuine aliens?” asked Li, his breathing heavy as he ran.

  “Exactly that, Corporal. Real, flesh and metal aliens. Vraxar they’re called.”

  “Just point me in the right direction, Sergeant.”

  McKinney closed out of the channel. “Did you get the details of that, ma’am?” he asked.