by Jim Rudnick
“My Duke—here is your war room,” she said ,and she opened the door and allowed him to go in.
“War room it is,” he said to himself, as he walked in just a couple of steps. On his left were wall-to-wall, ceiling-to-floor view-screens all with various displays. Some he saw were pointed at the Neen navy yards and others at the big landing port in the capital just a few miles away. Three of the screens were just black, waiting to be told what to show. In front of him was a single seat at a semi-circular desk with a whole row of parallel monitors, all black he saw as he walked to stand behind the only seat. There was the standard console and keyboard too, and he knew that if any room in the palace had AI access, this one sure did.
Helena pulled out the chair and had him sit. She said quite politely to AI, “This is the Duke d’Avigdor. Validate him and then follow his commands.”
He grinned at her. ”I couldn’t have even gotten into the room if AI didn’t know who I was,” he said.
She nodded. “I will go—you can do up your mission from here, and then let me know later how it all worked out. Or maybe the aliens walking down the palace hallways will,” she said with a bit of humor.
He nodded and a faint smile followed her out of the room as she closed the door behind her.
“Time,” he said, and he instructed AI to follow his directions. “Screens across the top, all showing views of the alien intruder ship of Ghayth. I want to see all the ships there in wide display.”
Immediately, the seven ships surrounding the intruder ship came on-screen, along with the Wilson, the Ghayth space station.
First were the Coventry and Crimson I, then the Crimson II and the Whitney, and then the Newton and the Crimson III. In front of the Wilson sat the Defiant with Captain Magnusson and the marines.
“We’re in place,” he said to himself.
It had taken a whole bunch of favors to get to this point. It had taken several EYES ONLY from various friends here on the RIM to not be there in person.
Admiral McQueen had stated that he’d pull the three RIM Navy ships if the duke was present in person. No equivocations and no excuses.
Admiral Higgins had shouted the same thing at him, totally disregarding any kind of respect for a Royal. He’d resign as soon as he heard that the duke showed up.
The Baroness had said, as nicely as possible, that perhaps the Defiant might need to come back to Neres for service and take the marines with it.
And lastly, his wife. Helena had listened to him rant and rave about being hogtied—even though he was now a duke—and not being right there in the middle of the upcoming mission. She had nodded. She had waited for him to finish.
He recalled her words from last night. “I agree with your friends. Do NOT even think of going. Do it from here. That is, sit with all the controls right here at hand and manage the firefight—if there is one—from here.” She had turned then to leave him alone, and he had just stared at her as she had left their salon.
Last night, he had stood there and tried to come up with a reason why he had to be with the others above Ghayth. There were none.
He sagged. Today, he was going to, for the first time, miss the action on a personal level.
“Duke’s job ...” he said to himself, and now as he sat in the war room at the helm of the mission, he knew they were all right. He had to rise to the position and this was a part of it.
He looked at the second row of displays and said, “AI, put the seven captains on the screen for me, and notify them that I’m here and it’s T-minus five minutes so that they can notify their crews and the marines.”
The faces of his task force captains appeared, and they all checked in.
“Put Bram on-screen as well, please.”
Bram’s face appeared and he grinned at his duke. “All quiet here on the Wilson, Your Grace. And I get not a single stray thought from the Praix. Master Adepts they may well be, but nada from them so far,” he said, and he grinned back at Tanner.
Seven captains, Bram, and one more to add, Tanner thought. “AI, also put Major Stal up there too, please, you’ll find him on the Defiant.”
Alver’s smile appeared in moments and he fully saluted his Task Force commander. “Ready, willing, and able,” he said.
“Must ask, Alver, what caliber did they find for you?”
“The .454 Casull—ain’t been made in five centuries, and she’s got huge stopping power. Them alien birds are big ones, so we figure we’re fine, Your Grace,” he said and smiled.
“AI, I want to see platoon leaders too—not them but their body cams—on display, and show via captions where they are so I know,” he said. And moments later, six new displays appeared below the bank holding Alver. The marine body cams showed quiet calm marines sitting in their cargo bay. All lined up and seated. All ready to be commanded. All ready for whatever was to come.
Tanner looked at the countdown. One minute forty seconds left. He noted the positions and gave his war room AI instructions about what to show and follow at zero time.
He looked back again at the display of the ships around the Praix and watched the time count down. At exactly zero, he keyed in to talk to the seven captains and gave them the orders they knew were coming.
“This is task force commander, Duke d’Avigdor. You are all go for Stage One—engage the enemy,” he said firmly.
He’d planned this down to the minute. He had no idea if this would work. There were dominoes that needed to fall, and knock over others—or else the whole alien intruder mission was moot.
When the captains received the engage signal, the first six ships began to move. The three RIM Navy ships all began to move away from the Praix ship. Slowly, and in sync, the Coventry, the Newton, and the Whitney moved back and back even more. The Praix ship sent out a quick ultra-bright teal ray that quickly locked on the three ships as they began to move, and then the ray disappeared.
The aliens knew that the RIM Navy ships were underway. The three Caliphate ships, instead of moving back, drew in closer to the intruder ship. They came within ten miles of the Praix ship, then eight miles, as Tanner noted on his screens sidebar. No ultra-bright teal ray shone out from the Praix ship.
Now the Caliphate ships were six miles away. No ultra-bright teal ray came from the Praix ship.
The Caliphate ships closed to five miles with the force field just a mile ahead, and still no ultra-bright teal ray.
At four miles away, the ships were about to touch the force field. Tanner knew this was the crux of the whole mission. The Crimson I and Crimson II stopped at just less than four miles from the Praix ship, but the Crimson III went on. Still, no ultra-bright teal ray emitted from the intruder ship.
At the edge of the force field, nothing happened, and Tanner could breathe again. The Crimson III went on closer and closer until it stopped just off the huge disk that sat in the center of the mile-long Praix intruder ship.
It now lay within the alien force field. The red metal Xithricite hull plating made the ship invisible to the Praix technology. They couldn’t see it. And their force fields therefore could not stop the ships.
Tanner made a quick comment to the war room AI to have him give the possibility of Xithricite missiles a looksee later.
As the Crimson III nestled into the area just beside the wide-open Praix ship landing bay, Tanner once again went back to his captains.
“As you can see, we’re in. No force field can stop a red metal ship. So, it’s time for our marines,” he said.
“Captain Magnusson. Go to Stage Two, Captain—and once on target, hold that position for your marines no matter what.”
The Defiant moved off from its mission start location, in front of the Wilson, to arrow right in at speed toward that landing bay on the Praix ship.
It, like the Caliphate Xithricite-clad ships, passed right through the force field, and the Praix didn’t even notice.
At the landing bay, the Defiant jockeyed a bit to swing first to port to avoid something, and th
en it set down inside the landing bay. The relay from the Defiant began screaming with klaxons blaring and lights flashing.
“They know we’re knocking now ...” Alver said, and he and his marines poured down the landing ramp of the Defiant. The camera switched to show his body cam along with the body cams of his platoon leaders as they ran down the ramp before the Defiant had even set down on its shuttle landing tripods.
#####
The Praix captain was busy up in the atrium, gliding and enjoying the streams around him that helped him think he was flying over one of his favorite planets—the one with the bright green foliage and the smaller pink tall, tall palms. He wished he could just fly here forever, but alas not so much more than five minutes later, he received a mind message from the engineering flock leader.
“Something is going on down in the big landing bay. Something has landed therein and the ship’s AI is screaming with security cautions.”
“Impossible,” he said to himself. “Nothing can get through the Wisp’s force field. Nothing. Nothing could actually land in the Wisp’s landing bay.”
As he fluttered out of the direct flow of air to descend, he sent out a mind reach to the landing bay area, looking for whatever was there.
There was no registration of any kind of intruder. There was no measure—that he could find—of anyone there.
“Stupid AI,” he said to himself.
He sent out a mind message to the security flock leader. Seems she was here somewhere in the atrium, maybe still way up there, he thought. He passed along his own directions to her. “Go to the landing bay. Take some security officers, and when the situation has been looked at, let him know.”
Easy and on point, he thought. Now ... back to those beautiful pink palms ...
#####
Alver took point inside the starboard side of the landing bay that was almost four hundred feet wide, and he noted the two platoon leaders were properly positioned. One platoon had split and half stood here beside him while the other half was over on the far side. Both groups were plastered against the interior walls of the bay, outward from the two very tall corridors with their wide, fifty-foot high doorways. The remaining platoon was picketed around the Defiant, the only craft in the bay.
“No other ships, noted. No one here also, noted. No evidence of any kind of unloading or loading equipment either. And from here inside, we see that the bay also has the same kind of force field that was used to protect the ship itself. Hence,” Alver added, “it was no problem with the Defiant entering the ship. They just do not see us. But as those klaxons are still wailing, they know something is up down here. We await their entry, Duke,” he finished off.
Tanner grunted. Yes, blaring klaxons meant someone was on their way.
He sent his last message to Alver. “Caution, Major ... and stay on Stage Three!”
Alver must have agreed, as an okay sign done with his left hand was jammed in front of his body cam.
Moments later, Tanner heard Alver’s commands to the two platoons.
“Troops, power belts on. Safeties off on your sidearms. Meet all aliens with respect, but remember, rules of engagement state that we are here to enforce the RIM Confederacy Constitution. Meet force with force, and we want no casualties—on our side at least,” he finished off. With a big grin, he yelled out, “Oorah, marines,” and all of the marines in the landing bay yelled it back.
And they waited.
By the countdown timer on his console, it took more than twenty minutes of the klaxons blaring for anything to happen in the landing bay.
Alver first saw the Praix appear across the bay. Five of them were flying but with little wing action, he noted. A huge influx of air rushing into the bay accompanied them.
Yes, they were tall, and yes, they were what he’d have to call ugly too. They had bald heads and feathers that were shiny but looked somehow like tired leaves on a plant that needed water. They had what he’d call some kind of forearm and digits that he supposed they used when they needed to manually do things. The feet, which were big and heavily scaled, had talons that were six inches long. But their heads—with no feathered foliage—were big. Those heads held brains he was sure were probably the base of all their powers.
He watched carefully as the five of them looked down from a hundred feet up, and they hovered there for a full minute.
“Sending out news, I’d bet,” Tanner said, “of intruders on board.”
The klaxons ended. The lights stopped flashing, and yet the Praix hung there above the marines and the Defiant.
Alver grinned and stepped forward, marching toward the center of the space below them, and waved up at the Praix. After waving to them, he just stood there, looking up. “First contact,” he said to himself. At least he was trying.
While no one was ever sure, the Praix above them may have gotten a message from elsewhere on the ship, but for some reason, the five alighted just twenty feet from Alver, their wings folding up neatly as their talons folded up as well and they faced him. Their faces, Tanner could see, passed along no evidence of any kind of emotion or meaning or any kind of communication.
Alver nodded to them and said, “We hate to have invited ourselves in, but we are from the RIM Confederacy, and your ship is in our space. So we need to know—what is it you desire?”
The Praix just looked at him. There was again no facial changes. Their beaks did look a bit tucked in, Tanner thought.
“I get a read now,” Bram said from aboard the Wilson. “They’re just sending back what they see—us—to their captain, I think—if the word is captain.”
Tanner nodded. Makes sense, he thought.
The Praix stood and just watched, as Bram added more. “There appears to be a huge backlash going on—from the little that I can see—the Praix in the bay are not being believed by the rest of them on the ship—oh, I see exactly seventy-one minds. No more or less,” he added.
Seventy-one against billions ... should be an easy one, eh? Tanner thought.
The Praix in the middle of the five in front of Alver took three steps toward the marine and stopped. He appeared to be trying to make some kind of communication, but that was not to be, as a shot rang out.
Captain Magnusson yelled, “Got him, Alver” and moved toward the Praix who was now writhing on the landing bay deck. Magnusson had obviously snuck out of the Defiant, and he had closed the distance to be within thirty feet of the grouping.
“Shit,” Alver said, and then he yelled, “Medic” and moved toward the downed alien, to try to help.
“Shit,” Tanner said, copying Alver. “Task force, be ready for anything.”
At that point, thirty more Praix suddenly flew into the landing bay, and all hell broke loose.
“Well, shit,” Bram added. “They want revenge, Duke,” he said suddenly.
As the new group split in two, from well above, some kind of a laser shone down on the marines who’d taken what little cover there was. As the Praix lasers hit the marines, the power belts protected them. The return fire from the marines was loud and swift.
The .454 Casulls spoke out loud, and each time a marine shot, a Praix fell from the sky. In less than a minute, the landing bay deck took another corpse, and they were all dead except for the original one hit by Magnusson.
Tanner was fit to be tied. “Alver, take Captain Magnusson into custody, he’ll face a court martial for this. Check your men and their power belts. There’s still about the same number of Praix on that ship. We’ll want to find them, round them up—”
“Your Grace—the whole ship knows what just happened. The Praix, like we Issians, use mind reading to talk to each other. They know that every single one here—except for the one that Magnusson shot—is dead. They have no sense of real regret, but they also reach consensus in moments—all linked like that,” he said.
He gripped his brow for a second and then looked at his duke. “They are all coming to the bay—but from what I see, they are prepared to capitulate.
They are walking—this is a sign that they have surrendered, I take it, so this might take a moment. May I go over to help with that, Duke?”
Tanner nodded and instructed the captain of the Crimson I to go back to the Wilson, pick up Bram, and take him directly to the Praix ship. That took almost ten minutes, and when Bram arrived, he waited as they all did for the Praix to show up.
And they did. Walking, and in single file, they entered the landing bay and formed up in rows, a few more than thirty of them.
One Praix took the lead position, and he turned to Bram to make his needs known. As he communicated via mind message, Bram spoke the message out loud.
“We, the Praix, bow to your superior technology. You are our masters. You also have already enslaved the Issians, we now learn. We will do as you please.” The Praix opened his wings and did what some thought later was a Praix bow of surrender.
Bram nodded to the Praix, and everyone waited for the task force commander to speak.
“Thank the Praix. Remind him of what happened here and how it was not our wish to begin our relationship in this manner. That we will hold our own officer, who took this action upon himself, accountable for the loss of the Praix who lie here today. Thank him for their patience, having arrived months ago, and awaiting the decision from the Issians. And lastly, we offer them to follow their own traditions to allow them to handle their dead in their own manner.”
He sat back and watched as Bram turned to the Praix captain and transferred his message. He watched for more than three more hours as Alver and his marines mopped up. They carefully moved the Praix dead to a room off the bay, where they were instantly frozen and preserved for later traditional cremation, which the Praix had told Bram.
He signed off on the suggestion from Bram to ask the Master Adept to put together a team of Issians to come to Ghayth to handle the Praix problem. He was the one who’d asked Bram—and Bram had just whistled with his awe at trying to work out all the details of the integration of these aliens into the RIM Confederacy ... at least that’s how he saw it.
