Supercarrier: The Ixan Prophecies Trilogy Book 1

by Scott Bartlett

  “Not similar at all, Fesky. For starters, there’s a down in ground combat. That’s important to remember.”

  “Down. Yes.” She raised her assault rifle higher, as though to prove to herself she could keep up with Husher and the marines.

  He eyed her grip, which looked odd to him. Did the Winger military even have an equivalent to basic training? Could he expect Fesky to understand basic principles of combat?

  Once enough time had passed for the other squad to at least encounter the enemy, Husher spoke over a two-way channel: “Sitrep, Wahlburg.”

  “Our plan has not survived contact with the enemy, sir.”

  “Can you elaborate?”

  “The Wingers won’t engage us in the hallway. As soon as we made contact they started falling back, and now they’re squatting in the cargo hold taking pot shots whenever they spot movement. On the bright side, we control the intersection you indicated.”

  “Damn it.” He should have anticipated this. In the cargo hold, the intruders could spread out and control the choke point while resupplying from their ship whenever they needed to.

  Keyes wouldn’t want to enter the next system until they’d dealt with the enemy, meaning their efforts to stop the war could get delayed by days.

  By then, it might be too late. “How many corridors feed into that cargo hold?”

  “Just this one.”

  “We need another way in. If we can’t find one, the Wingers are going to control the situation for a while.”

  “We could toss a grenade in there.”

  “We could, but I don’t know what sort of cargo Keyes keeps in there. Could be important, and I don’t feel like taking inventory before fighting the pirates.”

  Wahlburg’s sigh came with a burst of static. “There’s a maintenance corridor that leads to a grate on the right side of the cargo hold. The grate’s just big enough for one person with a sniper rifle to take up position and start picking off Wingers.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

  “Because I’m the best sniper here, meaning I’m the one you’ll send in.”

  “Really? You’re the best?”

  “I’m more than just a pretty face, sir.”

  Chapter 33

  Negotiations

  Bronson raised his hand to hide a smile he couldn’t seem to suppress. Corporal Davies had positioned her marines at the closest intersection to the CIC, no doubt with the intention of using the corners of the merging corridors for cover.

  That would have worked fine, except that Bronson had split up his forces, ordering the other half to attack from the corridor perpendicular to this one. Now Davies stood outnumbered and outflanked.

  He dropped his hand to his side as the opposing marines began to fall back into the short section of corridor directly outside the CIC. Who cares if anyone sees how pleased I am? Once he and the others in Darkstream’s employ had control of the Providence, completing their mission would be a simple matter of flying her back toward Larkspur until they ran into a Winger patrol.

  Bronson would record it from an escape pod as the battered old junk heap finally met her end. Then he’d sell the video to Darkstream, who’d leak it to the media, enraging the public and making them howl for war. He’d always resented getting reassigned here, but it had paid off in the end, hadn’t it? It’ll be a pleasure to watch her go. The reward money won’t hurt, either.

  Over the gunfire and shouting he heard his com beeping, a sound that got louder the longer you failed to answer it. When he removed it from his pocket, it told him Captain Keyes was trying to reach him. He raised the com to his ear, his smile growing wider.

  “I’m not negotiating with you, Keyes. We’ll gain access to the CIC soon enough. It’ll go easier for you if you just let us in.”

  “I didn’t call to negotiate.”

  “You’re surrendering, then?”

  “Negative.”

  Something hissed, and Bronson’s people stopped firing. Gunshots could still be heard from his operatives in the other corridor, but they were muted.

  His smile melted away. “What’s going on?” he said, lowering the com to his side. “Why’d you stop shooting?”

  A hissing sound from behind made him turn around just as the corridor sealed off with a clank.

  Bronson brought the com back to his ear. “What are you playing at, Keyes?”

  “You mentioned negotiating, and I agree with you—I don’t plan to do any of that, as I said. Instead, I’m making you an offer. Take it or leave it. Bring all your guns to the end of the sealed-off corridor closest to Corporal Davies and leave them there on the floor. After that, position yourselves at the opposite end, with your hands up. If you do that, I won’t pump the oxygen from that section until you suffocate.”

  “You wouldn’t, Keyes. Be real. You don’t have the balls.”

  “Is that so?” The captain’s voice grew fainter. “Ensign, tell Engineering to begin the process.”

  Above Bronson’s head, a whooshing noise began and didn’t stop. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he already felt a little light-headed.

  “You’re bluffing, Keyes! You’re not fooling anyone.”

  “I’m very sorry you think that, Bronson. But if you’re willing to gamble away the lives of your fellow traitors like that, it’s your business, not mine.”

  His co-conspirators stood facing him, their expressions varying from confusion to horror. Several of them gripped their weapons with white knuckles.

  “Take your weapons over there and leave them on the floor!” he barked, pointing. “Do it now!”

  “Good move, Bronson,” Keyes said. The transmission terminated.

  Chapter 34

  Tyrannical Dogs

  “Continue suppressive fire to keep their attention on this corridor,” Husher ordered the others over the wide channel. “When Wahlburg causes enough confusion among the pirates he’ll give the signal, and when he does we have to move quickly. Don’t think, just charge into the cargo hold, choose your targets, and shoot. Make sure you head for available cover quickly, to make room for your squadmates coming in after you.”

  He felt a little silly offering guidance to marines who’d had way more training and combat experience than him. But someone had to tell them how to apply that training to this situation. Right now, as their leader, that fell to him, and he couldn’t let his own insecurities get in the way of that.

  Switching to a two-way channel with Fesky, he said, “You sure you really want to do this, Fesk?”

  Through her faceplate, Fesky glared at him. “Yes, human. I practice in the shooting range often.”

  “Very good.”

  The muted sound of sniper fire reached his ears through the speakers in his helmet, and immediately the Wingers’ return fire into the corridor slackened. Panicked shouts echoed down the corridor from the cargo hold. More sniper fire. Louder shouting.

  “All right,” came Wahlburg’s eternally steady voice. “Now’s the time.”

  “Move!” Husher shouted, and his marines charged down the corridor and into the cargo hold with him near their head. Following his own orders, he ran for a metal crate while shooting at a Winger with earthen feathers speckled with black, whose head faced in the direction of Wahlburg’s grate. Its gaze snapped toward Husher as the bullets hit home, and it fell backward into stacks of shoe-box-sized containers, sending them crashing to the floor.

  Fesky charged into the cargo hold too, and the few Wingers facing the corridor hesitated, no doubt shocked to see one of their own fighting with humans. She did not squander the momentary advantage, taking down two of the pirates with controlled bursts before diving behind a long, low container.

  I guess she really has been practicing.

  The battle ended as quickly as it began, with the Winger pirates unable to recover from their sudden disarray. They threw their weapons to the floor, raising their arms and wings into the air.

  Pride swelled in Husher’s chest
at how efficiently the Providence marines had dismantled the enemy while suffering only two casualties themselves—both minor injuries.

  Later, after they’d repressurized the section near the pirates’ point of entry, Husher accompanied the marines as they marched the Winger prisoners to the brig.

  “Tyrannical dogs,” bellowed their leader, Blackwing.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Husher said. “I think we’re being pretty nice to you, considering. Maybe you should have chosen a different career path, pirate.”

  “Fool. We’re more than pirates. We’re revolutionaries, and we’re free to act against humanity as our government cannot.” Some of the Wingers offered half-hearted cheers, but overall they seemed pretty downtrodden.

  “Actually, things have changed, where your government’s concerned. Our species are currently at war with each other.”

  Blackwing clacked his beak. “I’d always hoped I would live to see this day. Soon the other species will join us and end your reign of oppression for good.”

  Husher didn’t have a retort for that. I think you might be right.

  Chapter 35

  Prophecy

  Fesky hovered near the lateral pulldown machine, fiddling with the weight setting as though she intended to use it, even though she wore clothing unsuited to exercise. As always, her modified Fleet uniform felt tight around her shoulders, and she tugged at it while trying not to glance toward the nearest weight bench.

  “I see you there, skydweller,” Ek said between reps. “Why don’t you come speak with me, as you desire?”

  Trying not to let her trepidation show, Fesky stepped around the pulldown machine and stood nearby, unsure what to do with her wings. “Honored One.” She bowed her head.

  “Please. Let us not pretend you feel compelled to pay me the same respect you would other Fins.” Ek lowered the barbell in a slow, controlled motion. She still wore her glimmering black bodysuit, even while working out.

  Fesky’s head snapped up, her gaze locking onto the Fin’s. “You err, Honored One. I have more respect for you.”

  Ek completed the final rep of her set, her gills flaring with the effort. She lowered the bar with a crash and sat up. “You say to a Fin that she has erred?”

  “I do. Fins perceive much, but your awareness of your own perceptiveness can blind you, sometimes. It makes you put too much stock in your own prejudices, leading you to one conclusion to the exclusion of all others.”

  The Honored One stood and studied Fesky for a time. “No other Winger has ever spoken to me this way.”

  Lowering her head reflexively, Fesky still refused to apologize. She knew she was supposed to curb her impulses and behave as a Winger should. But isn’t it years too late for that?

  A black-clad hand came to rest on her wing, and she started.

  “Walk with me,” Ek said.

  “Yes, Honored One.”

  The Fin had no need to change—her suit kept her clean as well as provided the moisture her body needed—and Fesky didn’t come dressed to exercise anyway, so they walked directly out of the gym and into the Providence’s corridors. “You are alone among these humans,” Ek murmured. “Do I err in that perception?”

  “No.” Though Husher has made some token gestures. Which, Fesky hated to admit, she appreciated.

  “You struggle with telling me something. A thing you consider grave and urgent. You have been forbidden to speak it.”

  “The captain ordered me not to spread it to the crew. You aren’t one of the crew.”

  “I have been given quarters in the aft. Will you accompany me there?”

  “Yes.”

  The Providence had no shortage of empty quarters, woefully understaffed as it was. In its glory days, it boasted a marine army, eight flight decks worth of active Condors, and a crew bristling with qualified personnel. Now it limped through space, making do with a crew that Fleet was constantly whittling down, with everyone working overtime regularly.

  Ek’s quarters were modest but accommodating, with a tiny wall desk, an office chair, and even a stool for guests. The narrow bunk hung from chains at the back of the cabin.

  The stool brought Fesky a measure of relief—human chairs did not hold her very well, but a stool let her wings take up what space they needed.

  Ek lowered herself into the office chair, fixing Fesky with an unwavering gaze, her serene face framed by her bodysuit. “Speak.”

  Beak clacking together once, Fesky did. “Have you heard the Ixan Prophecies?”

  “I have read a transcript. Why?”

  “I…I think they’re coming true. I think we’re living them.”

  The Fin’s expression didn’t change.

  No use stopping now. “The Prophecies predicted the human ship crashing into Spire. ‘It will begin with the soulless vessel sinking.’ Soulless, because no one was aboard when it hit. They also reference the Providence visiting the Kaithe: ‘And the juggernaut stands alone, divorced from its peers, beset on all sides. See how it looks to the children for aid. See how they betray it.’” Fesky paused to scrutinize Ek’s unchanging face. “I’m sure I’m interpreting it correctly.”

  “You are not the first to match a series of events with verses from the Prophecies.”

  “But nothing has fit them so well.”

  “And yet the Kaithe have not betrayed us.”

  Fesky felt herself begin to vibrate. Why am I the only one who sees this? “What about the vision the marines spoke of?”

  “That was a test to determine whether the humans were worthy of help. Help that the children did give.”

  “They told us to visit Ochrim. But consider the verse that speaks of a great disruptor, who ‘returns to his old tricks, but mirrored.’ Who better fits that description than the great Ixan himself? He disrupted how war is conducted by giving the humans dark tech.”

  “And how might he disrupt it again? By giving them something even better?”

  “The Prophecies say ‘mirrored.’ That is, reversed. Maybe he’ll give something to humanity’s enemies.”

  Ek smoothed her suit over her tail, which drooped between her mechanical legs. “I do not truck with superstition. Yet I do not say your words are without merit, either.”

  That stilled Fesky’s shaking some. At last. At last, someone listens. “There’s more. The prophecies mention the pirate incursion, too, along with Darkstream’s spies. ‘Two sneaks emerge from the shadows, preening in lockstep, barking hollow words. Both surrender, yet both will turn another coat.’”

  Rising to her mechanical feet, Ek took one of Fesky’s hands, talons nestled in gloved digits. “I think this warrants mention to the captain. As you indicated, I can speak where you cannot.”

  Fesky felt like she could cry. “Thank you, Honored One.” She tried not to think about how the captain would react to her bringing this up again, even indirectly.

  Chapter 36

  Article Fifteen

  Captain Keyes leveled a finger at Ek across the conference room table, his cheeks reddening. “I’ve compensated you for your help identifying the traitors in our midst, and I’ve agreed to pay you for any further services you provide. But I will not be paying you to encourage this dangerous, cultish rhetoric. In fact, if you continue doing it you’ll quickly find yourself in the brig.”

  Fesky clacked her beak. “Captain—”

  “Don’t start with me, Fesky. Your position here has always been precarious; that’s just the nature of it. And it’s a very risky game you’ve started to play, lately.”

  Under the table, Husher gripped the armrests of his chair so tightly it hurt.

  “There may be more to these Prophecies than superstition, Captain,” Ek said, her voice as steady as it ever was. “Perhaps the Ixa have a better understanding of galactic power structures than we’ve traditionally given them credit for.”

  The captain’s fist met the table with enough force to send vibrations into the floor and up Husher’s chair. “One more word on this s
ubject, Fin. Go on. I dare you. One more word.”

  In her infinite wisdom, Ek stayed quiet. Husher lacked that wisdom. He surged to his feet, hands curled tightly at his sides. “Captain, you’re out of line,” he said, his voice wavering with emotion.

  Keyes’s incendiary stare landed on him. “Excuse you, First Lieutenant?”

  “Every decision I’ve seen from you, you’ve made it with barely a moment’s thought. You shoot from the hip at everything that looks like a target. Today, you’ve discarded Fesky’s input without the consideration you know she’s earned.”

  A quiet click from Fesky’s beak, which Husher took for surprise.

  “Wait a second.” Keyes’s glare swept from Husher to Ek. “Something smells fishy. You invited Husher here because you knew he’d oppose me, didn’t you? You’ve mapped the social dynamics on this ship, and now you’re manipulating us all, aren’t you, fish?”

  A gasp escaped Fesky’s beak, and she rose to her feet as well. “Captain, those are ugly words.”

  “Shut up. Both you and Husher have forgotten what it is to be a member of the military, and it’s my job to remind you. I’m invoking Article Fifteen to exercise jurisdiction over you both and impose disciplinary action. Perhaps an application of Fleet protocol will remind you of your place. First Lieutenant Husher, you’re confined to quarters—involuntary separation until you learn to shave and obey me. Fesky, you’re grounded until further notice.”

  The Winger squawked, but said nothing else.

  Eyebrows raised, eyes on fire, Keyes looked at Husher. “Do I need to arrange a marine escort?”

  Husher had not uncurled his fists. “No, sir.” He marched stiffly from the conference room.

  Chapter 37

  Five Minutes

  Pacing his cramped but private officer’s cabin, his anger lasted him a long time.

  Suffering minimal casualties, he’d led two squads to swiftly neutralize the pirate intruders. And this was his reward?

  I was right about him. He’s just like the rest of the Fleet brass. Full of his own power, blinded by it. Absolutely certain he can do no wrong.