Orion sat and waited. Star Watch fleet, consisting of eight Caldurian warships, was now moving through the largest of the safe zones, designated Vanguard’s Breach. Historically, it was the location of Sol system’s—Earth’s—most devastating attack by the Craing Admiral Ot-Mul and his fleet of Dreadnaughts, nearly a decade prior.
Orion had checked and rechecked the approach vector herself. The immense fleet of Vastma-Class warships was indeed heading for Vanguard’s Breach, where Star Watch would make their stand. If unsuccessful there, what remained of the U.S. Fleet, and the accompanying Allied fleet vessels joining them, would make a second stand closer to the Sol System—between the orbital paths of Neptune and Pluto.
Orion spun in her chair to address her acting tactical officer, Lieutenant Thom Price, on loan from the Minian. Orion and Price had some history together. She didn’t particularly like the man, feeling he was overly methodical in his decision-making. But, even more than that, she felt Price was part of the dying breed who considered females inferior. Oh, he’d never own up to it—he was far too politically correct for that.
“Status … Lieutenant?”
Price didn’t acknowledge Orion for several moments. When he did partially turn in his chair—though not enough to make eye contact—he said, “The status, Commander Orion, is the same as it was eight minutes ago. The fleet is making its way through the Oort cloud … the approaching fleet vector is still holding true.”
“Let’s get a logistical segment up on the display,” she said. “I want a visual of what we’re in store for.”
It was subtle, but Orion heard his slow and deliberate exhalation of a long-held breath.
The Parcical’s bridge differed from other Caldurian vessels by having on board both upper and lower three-hundred-and-sixty-degree 3D displays. They gave the impression that the bridge was situated within an immersive, all-encompassing sphere. Those new to service on the Parcical often found this disconcerting. Orion was aware, hearing it second-hand, that Price was one of those unfortunate few.
The logistical segment slid into view—interrupting what had been an amazing, unencumbered view out to open space. Orion, taking in the icon-based feed, realized something was wrong within seconds.
“Commander, we have an incoming communiqué from an approaching Liberty Station shuttle.”
“Go ahead and put the feed up on the display, Seaman Gordon,” Orion said. She watched as another feed segment slid into view.
“Admir—Omni Reynolds!” she said, surprised to see him.
“Hi, Orion! Sorry for the impromptu visit. Have your flight bay provide access to my shuttle. ETA three minutes.”
The feed went black and slid out of view. Well, that was unexpected, Orion thought to herself. Nodding at Seaman Gordon, who went ahead and contacted the flight bay’s duty officer, she went back to studying the logistical display.
The Sahhrain fleet was methodically making its way through the outer Oort cloud, but moving at a much faster clip than seemed prudent. Either that, or they …? She turned back to Price. “The nearest of those ships, can you get a sensor lock yet?”
“Barely, but yes.” A moment later, he actually turned fully around to face her. “They’re using wide-spectrum disrupters.”
Well, that answered that question. The approaching fleet was equipped with plasma cannons, of course, but also rogue-hellion technology—strictly black-market weaponry. Orion, who lived and breathed the art of tactical advantage, was familiar with that fringe science sound-thrower type weapon—derived originally from the burgeoning mining industry. Where space was void of atmosphere, disallowing the progression of sound waves, wide-spectrum disrupters introduced school bus-sized bursts of H2O—good ol’ water. Each burst contained an inner, oxygen-based, atmosphere torpedo. A torpedo packed with highly disruptive bass sound waves—basically a confluence of violent vibrations, along with the total void of the surrounding space, causing a molecular disruption of anything in their path. The approaching fleet was using these wide-spectrum disrupters to make quick work of anything in their path within the Oort cloud.
Whether wielded by the Sahhrain or the Craing, being placed at the wrong end of that weapon was not something Orion could let happen.
Chapter 57
Sol System
Beyond the Kuiper Belt
__________________________
Omni Reynolds arrived onto the Parcical’s bridge with all the fury and fracas of a full-blown hurricane. Flanked by two junior officers, the Omni could be heard barking off orders even before he entered the compartment.
Orion stood and spun to greet the fleet commander. “Welcome aboard, Omni Reynolds.”
He slowed only long enough to point a finger at Lieutenant Thom Price and say, “You … out of here.” He nodded toward Orion. “Gunny … back to Tactical.”
Orion watched Price momentarily hesitate, and then, his feelings obviously bruised, hurry from the bridge with his head down. Orion moved aside as the Omni took over the captain’s chair. In turn, she took Pike’s vacated seat, facing the Omni.
“Gunny, meet Admiral Irene Gleason and Admiral Akimoto.” He gestured for them to take the two junior-command seats, set slightly back from his own.
“Bring us up to speed, Gunny,” he said, taking in both the logistical segment, as well as the still-distorted, long-range imagery of a Vastma-class ship.
Orion wondered to herself, who are they and what’s the purpose for them being here?
“Well, my expectation of having a little time to organize an effective defense has been scrubbed,” Orion said. “As you can see from the logistical feed, the approaching enemy fleet is ahead of schedule. Their ETA for reaching the entrance into the Kuiper Belt, where we’re about to exit, is less than an hour.”
“Good! Why prolong the inevitable?” the Omni asked, wringing his hands together as if washing them beneath a hidden faucet. Realizing what he was doing, he sat back, looking tense with anticipation.
Orion made brief eye contact with the two auxiliary admirals, and said, “I thought we could attempt—one more time—to handle this through diplomatic channels. Since it seems we are now dealing with the Craing, or some faction of the Craing, we believe …”
“Absolutely not! That is exactly what I was afraid of. We need to deal with the incursion of an enemy force into our sovereign space quickly and decisively.” The Omni stared over at her with narrowed eyes.
She had never seen him like this—like a crazed animal on the hunt. “I’m just suggesting, in light of the overwhelming—”
“Enough!” The Omni stood and wiped a palm over the lower half of his face, as though considering something. “What is the present situation with the swarm droids?”
“You mean other than I’m not in favor of using them? And you already know Jason’s thoughts.”
“That’s not what I asked you, damn it!” His face was flushed and his annoyance with her was like nothing she’d witnessed in all the years she’d served under him.
“I did exactly as you ordered. With the help of Granger, and a handful of other geniuses within our fleet, we have come up with a way for the swarm droids to distinguish between human DNA, and the nearly identical Craing hybrid DNA. It took the Parcical’s AI hours to sequence—”
The Omni held up a palm. “Don’t need to know … and don’t fucking care. Tell me about quantities; we’ll need a shitload of those little suckers.”
Orion began to feel sick to her stomach. Clearly, since the Omni was not behaving like his usual self, it must relate to something personal. From bits and pieces Jason shared with her about the Captain Perry Reynolds of years past, when on board the old battleship Montana, his strange behavior today was all about retribution—getting even with this Greco character. The problem was he wasn’t thinking clearly—not considering the long-term ramification of his actions. As Jason once pointed out to her, there was a reason why some horrific weapons—like mustard gas, used during World War I—were eventu
ally outlawed. Limits were imposed on what warring methods could be used, and then only as last resorts. Was now a last resort? Orion wasn’t sure. Before proceeding down this path, they should all be very, very wary.
Looking annoyed, he splayed his palms out before him. “Well?”
“Yes, Omni Reynolds, as you so aptly put it, we’ll need a shitload of those little suckers, but that’s not possible. We have what we have and that’s a limited number of the damn things. In a day or two we’d have plenty, but right now we have enough to infiltrate one warship … maybe.”
She turned back to her board and assessed the status of the enemy. She felt his stare on her back—but ignored it. Ten Vastma-class vessels had emerged from the Oort cloud. Though still millions of miles away, they could traverse the space distancing them in little time. She turned back around and pointed to the logistical feed.
Orion said, “If we’re going to do this … the time has come. I suggest we phase-shift the Parcical to the very edge of the Oort cloud, where the enemy fleet has emerged. Infest them in groups of five or ten.”
Omni Reynolds nodded enthusiastically and smiled back at the two admirals. “I told you she was something, didn’t I? This is what I was talking about!”
Orion watched them as they nodded and smiled, furtively glancing in her direction. She was being measured—assessed. It wasn’t the first time, either. Nary a month went by before another new packet of orders would land on Jason’s desk—promotion requests from Liberty Station. High command desperately wanted her to captain one of the other Caldurian ships. Jason was okay with processing the orders, even supportive of the idea, but she didn’t want any part of it. No, if she was going to stay with the fleet—and that was becoming more and more questionable—she was comfortable in her role as Jason’s second-in-command. She had zero desire to take on the added responsibilities that came with captaining a warship.
“Do it,” the Omni said, retaking his seat.
Orion said, “Helm, phase-shift us to the coordinates I just forwarded to you. Seaman Gordon, communicate to the rest of Star Watch that we’ll be phase-shifting as a group within thirty seconds.”
“Belay that order!” Omni Reynolds barked to Seaman Gordon.
“I’m sorry … am I missing something, Omni?” Orion asked, mystified.
“No need to endanger the rest of Star Watch. We’ll be engaging the enemy ourselves.”
This just keeps getting better and better, Orion thought. She nodded to Ensign Vincent, standing at the helm. “Phase-shift the Parcical when ready, Ensign.”
* * *
Commander Greco waited. Earlier he had been pacing back and forth, but he now stood stationary. Planted behind his communications officer, his legs apart, both arms were folded across his chest. The bridge crew kept their eyes averted—never gazing directly at him—knowing he didn’t like it when they did so.
“I apologize, sir. Receiving long-range, interstellar communiqués, such as these, is often a laborious process. It should only be another few moments.”
Greco didn’t provide any response back.
“Ah … here we go, sir. Connection to the Empress.” He looked up at the forward screen.
Greco made eye contact with her and bowed his head, the most he’d offer up in the way of genuflection. “Empress Gaddy …”
* * *
Empress Gaddy was anything but regal appearing. Now barely into her thirties, she was everything the previous Craing emperors were not. Long, shimmering silk gown attire—now gone. The close-proximity huddle of high priests and their ridiculous cone-shaped headdresses, also gone. Gaddy, sitting cross-legged on a mat of some kind, wore a simple T-shirt and what looked like cut-off jeans. As one of the post-war leaders of the Craing underground, her popularity had reached near fanatic levels by the end of the war. After five years of subdued humiliation, the Craing people were eager to reengage with neighboring star systems. They were ready to shed the restrictive shackles placed on them by the Alliance and enforced by the U.S. Fleet.
When the opportunity arose to assist the Sahhrain—the on again, off again relationship was on better terms than usual—Craing leadership, collectively, jumped at the invitation. Because of the post-war surrender agreement—based on that imposed on the Japanese at the end of World War II—any assistance the Craing offered to the Sahhrain would have to be kept in the strictest confidence.
Gaddy felt a certain bond with several Earth humans, including Captain Jason Reynolds and his ex-wife—former president Nan Reynolds—and also with Ricket, a Craing friend. But putting friendship aside, her loyalty lay with her own kind. Did she want the Craing to return to days of past aggression? No. Did she desire to return her people to a position of respect? Absolutely!
As she looked back at the Craing hybrid—Commander Greco—a shiver ran down her spine. She hated him—hated all hybrids. Neither fully Craing nor human—they were an anomaly. A necessary evil, used to accelerate the return to power of the Craing Empire.
“Commander Greco, I take it you have placed Brakken into custody? That the transfer of power was accomplished with as much respect and decorum as possible, considering the situation?”
Greco pursed his moist lips—almost like making a kissing gesture. Gaddy knew it was only one of his numerous irritating gestures.
“No. Brakken is dead, Empress.”
She waited for him to continue, provide her an explanation. Perhaps he’d taken up arms? Or something unavoidable had occurred? “So what happened? What’s the current situation with the Sahhrain?”
Greco gave a half-shrug and smiled. “Dead … dead … dead. All of them. We’ll be taking things in a different direction from the one planned, from this point on.”
She nodded her head, continuing to stare at the slimy little hybrid. Gaddy wasn’t stupid. She always knew there was the off chance the hybrids would attempt to turn on them. Which was why, decades before, Craing scientists genetically programmed each individual hybrid with a remote kill switch. One that couldn’t be surgically removed, or circumvented in some other clever way.
“The orders were clear, Commander Greco … we demonstrate an overwhelming example of force. And that we did. In fact, far too much carnage was wrought in that engagement—between the U.S. Fleet and the Sahhrain—back in the Dacci system. We’ve now reached the time for negotiation … we’ve proven our strength … and, as a benefit to the humans, we’ve taken their enemy, the Sahhrain, out of the picture. We’re not going to war with the Alliance, Commander Greco. That was never the plan. Stand down. At this point I will contact the Alliance and the U.S. Fleet high command myself.”
“No! We will be continuing on to Earth, Empress. I like it there. The other hybrids like it there. It will be far more of a home to us than the Craing worlds ever were. Look at me … look at all of us. We’ll fit in there just fine.”
She looked at Greco, then at the hybrids sitting behind him, and couldn’t argue the point. “You can’t be serious? You intend to invade Earth?”
“Yes … exactly. That is, once the humans are put in their proper place. Many … if not most will be terminated … I suspect.”
“Greco, you know I can’t allow that to happen.”
“You have no choice,” he said. “Oh, and your hidden kill-switches are no longer active. It seems the Caldurian MediPods were quite effective in dismantling those devices from inside. Thanks to the Sahhrain, we each spent sufficient time within the twenty pilfered MediPods, situated now within our fleet.”
Gaddy had little doubt that what the hybrid-Craing said was true. It took all her will power to appear calm. But truthfully, her heart was nearly racing out of her chest. This very well could be the beginning of the end for Earth. The blue planet barely survived the last war. Oh God, what the Craing—her people—had done. Her mind flashed to the infestation of the molt weevils. About the size of standard clothes dryers, with six octopus-like appendages and formless torsos and heads, molt weevils were crawling dark-brown
creatures with eyes and mouth. Moving lightning-fast, they spit something out to incapacitate their prey—humans—then wrap them up in cocoons. But that wasn’t the end of it. Next, came the peovils. After being cocooned by the molt weevils, locked in suspended sleep states, some humans—a good many, actually—returned to life as peovils, horrific zombie-like beings. From Gaddy’s most recent intel there were still certain areas where pockets of peovils roamed wild and unchecked.
“You don’t want to do this, Greco. You don’t want both the Alliance and the Craing as your enemies.”
He scoffed at that. “The Alliance’s first mistake, after defeating the Craing, was letting you surrender. Personally, I would have leveled the Craing worlds … be done with you once and for all.”
“You don’t see yourself as Craing?” she asked.
“No … of course not …”
Chapter 58
Fringe of the Dacci Star System
150 feet below Endromoline’s surface
The Jumelle
__________________________
Jason watched as the clamshell lid of his MediPod fully opened before sitting up. He examined his chest and upper arms.
“Good as new,” Dira said with a smile. “Now out with you … there’s others I need to put in there.”
He swung his legs over the side and stood up. Dira gave him a peck on the cheek and leaned in closer to his ear. “You won’t be aging another day, hour, or minute in this lifetime. At least, you won’t look like you have.”
He’d forgotten about that—their ever-expanding age gap. He glanced back to the MediPod and gave it an affectionate pat. “I can live with that … thanks!” His eyes leveled on the next MediPod in the line and the hovering anatomical figure rotating slowly above it. “Rizzo?”
Glory for Sea and Space (Star Watch Book 4) Page 32
