by Neal Jones
Seven days later, as the T'Shrak sailed back to the alien gateway at maximum speed, her cargo holds filled to the brim with artifacts and samples, Nejra was writing the last paragraph of his report. It would be another nine days before their arrival at homeworld, but Nejra could already hear the Senate's words of praise. His last speech would be long forgotten, and his next assignment, should the Jha'Drok government grant him his request, would mean even greater glory for him and the Emperium. Although Chiann would not be happy about it. She would never say so directly, of course, but the disappointment would be evident in her eyes. But this opportunity was too lucrative to pass up. Chiann would understand.
That night, Nejra had no trouble falling asleep.
( 4 )
Galactic Standard Date: 38-22523.02
(Earth Date: March 27, 2666)
The forward viewscreen of the ECS Tokyo displayed an expansive starscape, white fireflies pinned to a field of ebony. It was a view which would have normally calmed Commander Marcus Gabriel, who was resisting the urge to pace. The level of tension on the bridge was palpable, with every officer sitting or standing at their respective station with rigid spines and fingers poised just above their consoles, ready to strike.
Gabriel turned to the tactical station. "Any sign of them yet?"
"Negative, sir," Lieutenant Owens replied.
"They’re out there," Captain Bryson said calmly. "They’re waiting for us to make the first move." He was sitting in his command chair as one would sit in an easy chair to watch a sporting match. His hands were folded in his lap, and his expression was calm, almost stoic.
"Well, are we?" Gabriel asked.
"That depends on your father. When he gives the signal, we move. But not before then."
Gabriel took another deep breath and turned his gaze to the forward viewscreen. The Tokyo was one of twenty-two EarthCorps starships which were part of a larger Federation fleet amassed in tactical formation on the border of the Rigana star system. The system was currently under the control of the Chrisarii Alliance and the Federation fleet, under the command of Fleet Admiral Robert Gabriel, was about to storm the castle. Gabriel's ship was the ECS Britaine.
The war between the Chrisarii empire and the Federation had been raging for almost eight years, and there was still no end in sight. But the Draathma Parliament, the council of senators who served as the governing body of the Interstellar Federation of Peace, was hoping that this offensive would turn the tide of the war which, thus far, had not been in their favor. Rigana-Seven, the only habitable planet in this system, was a key source of triinium ore, the fuel needed to power a stardrive reactor core. If successfully captured, the Chrisarii fleet in the Breyonn sector would be forced to fall back to the Qett system to get their ore supply.
Gabriel fidgeted nervously in his chair. He had accepted this assignment to the Tokyo three years ago and, along with it, a promotion. The first officer had seen more than his share of battles during the war - some of them hand to hand - but what terrified him the most was that he was now second in command of the entire crew. If something should happen to Bryson, Gabriel would have to take the center seat, and that scared him more than anything. Yes, he had passed the Executive Rank Exam with high marks, but a holovid simulation was one thing. Real battle with real lives at stake was another. As he watched Bryson out of the corner of his eye, Gabriel felt the familiar sensation of envy creep over him. How could the captain be so relaxed, so calm, when they were about to plunge head first onto a battlefield? It was one of the many things about Kyle Bryson that Gabriel found perplexing, and try as he might, he couldn't stop his index finger from rapidly tapping a soft rhythm on the armrest.
Bryson glanced at his first officer and murmured softly, "Feeling restless?"
Gabriel looked sheepish. "Yes. A little," he whispered back. "I don’t like playing the waiting game."
"If you plan on getting a command of your own someday, you'd better get used to it."
"Captain!" It was Owens. "I’m getting a signal from the Britaine. Attack formation delta!"
"Red alert!" the captain ordered. "Deflector screens and weapons systems on line!"
"How many ships are there?" Gabriel asked.
Owens quickly glanced over his readouts. "Two hundred and fifty-two ships have de-cloaked."
"Good. We have them outnumbered two to one," Gabriel muttered.
"Don’t get too confident yet," the captain warned him. "The fight’s just started. Helm, bring us about! Prepare to engage disruptors! Launch Alpha, Beta and Charlie hornets!"
No sooner was the order given than the ship was violently rocked by oncoming disruptor fire from the Chrisarii warships. From the underbelly of the Tokyo, several launch doors slid aside and the hornets – small, one-man attack ships – sailed from their bays like the cloud of insects for which they had been named.
"Return fire! Evasive maneuvers, helm!" Gabriel had to shout to be heard over the cacophony of alarms which were bleating their various warnings all over the bridge.
It seemed as though everyone was yelling at once.
"Evasive maneuvers, aye!"
"Direct hit to forward navigational array! Deflector screens holding at eighty-two percent..."
"Engineering, more power to weapons systems..."
"Hornet fleets launched! Heading for lead warship..."
"EPS conduits ruptured on decks four, five and seven! Engineering respond..."
"Engineering here. Repair teams are on the way..."
"Medical teams to deck four! Severe casualties..."
"Deflector screens down to seventy percent! Direct hit to their rear engines! Damage is minimal..."
All of the shouting blurred together in Gabriel’s ears as he struggled to give orders of his own. From behind him there was a thunderous explosion, and he turned his head in time to see Owens flying through the air. He landed on the floor of the bridge near the science station. There wasn't time to see if he was all right. Gabriel leaped up and took over tactical while another crewman managed to retrieve an extinguisher and put out the fire before it got very far.
Bryson wiped the sweat from his brow and shouted, "Helm, maintain course! We have to make it to Rigana-seven before we sustain too much damage!"
"We’re almost there!" Ensign Joseph Bergman, the Tokyo’s navigator, gripped his console as the deck lurched violently beneath him. On the forward viewscreen, the weapons fire of the Alliance warships and the Federation heavy cruisers created a spectacular fireworks show. Gabriel gripped the sides of the tactical console and prayed that Ensign Bergman, having just been promoted to the position of helmsman three weeks earlier, knew what he was doing as the man piloted the small starship through the enemy offensive.
Directly ahead, a Kauramide dreadnought filled the main viewer, its disruptors blazing. Once more, the deck rocked violently beneath Gabriel’s feet as he targeted the Tokyo’s disruptors at the oncoming ship. Aiming for the stardrive section – which held the primary reactor core – he sent up another prayer that the new weapons modulations, upgraded hours before the attack by Lieutenant Owens, would do their job.
They did. The twin beams of deadly phased energy slammed into the shielding around the reactor core, burning it away in seconds and striking the hull itself. The warship exploded in a blaze of fire, plasma and debris, which bounced harmlessly off the Tokyo's shields. The ship sailed through the aftermath, clearing the battlefield in a matter of minutes.
"We've made it through their offensive, captain," Bergman crowed.
"Status report!" Bryson ordered.
Gabriel spoke up. "No sign of pursuit from the Alliance. Deflectors holding at forty-one percent, weapons systems still on line. Thirty-two casualties, nineteen fatalities."
"Did any other ships make it through?"
Gabriel glanced down at his console and nodded affirmation. "Three DrayH’M battlecruisers, two Murdohn fighters and four of our own - the Lincoln, Denmark, Cortez and the Starbound."
"Tell them to follow us," Bryson ordered. "Continue on present course and speed to Rigana-Seven. ETA?"
"One hour, twenty minutes," Bergman replied.
Now that there was a lull in the action, Gabriel motioned for another officer to take over tactical. He walked over to Owens where a medic was in the process of closing his eyes. The back of Owen’s head was embedded with shrapnel from the console that had exploded behind him. Gabriel helped the nurse draw a sheet over the officer’s body, then returned to his seat at Bryson's right.
Leaning over, Bryson murmured, "When this is over, we’ll have a memorial service in the arboretum."
Gabriel nodded, fixing his gaze on the viewscreen, too shaken and numb to give a verbal reply. In the three years that he had been aboard the Tokyo, Jerrold Owens had been one of the first officer's closest friends. The two men shared a common interest in card games, and had arranged several poker tournaments for the crew. Owens was a sharp and seasoned player, and on only three occasions had Gabriel won. The tactical officer told him once that he always knew when Gabriel was bluffing, but refused to say how. Gabriel swallowed the lump in his throat as he began mentally composing the letter that he would later write to Jerrold's wife.
( 5 )
"We’re within visual range of Rigana-Seven."
Bergman’s statement roused Gabriel from his reverie. He had been thinking of his father and the battle that was probably still raging at the border.
The captain stood. "On screen."
Bryson’s order was immediately obeyed by the new tactical officer, Lieutenant Patrick. During the journey to Rigana-Seven, the crew had removed the bodies of their fallen comrades from the bridge and repaired much of the damage that had been caused in the previous battle. On the forward viewscreen the planet appeared, surrounded by three dreadnoughts and one small outpost. It didn’t appear to be much of a defense, and Gabriel said so.
"They could have reinforcements on the surface that we aren’t able to detect," Patrick suggested. "There’s a photonic shield in place around the planet, supported by an extensive satellite network, and my sensors can’t penetrate it."
"All stop," Bryson ordered. "Have they detected us yet?"
"Negative. We’re outside their sensor range. But they are prepared. Their deflector screens and weapons systems are on line."
"Is our cloaking shield operational?"
"Affirmative. As are the other ships in our fleet."
"Good." Bryson sat, tugging on the front of his uniform jacket to straighten it. "Signal attack formation theta, but tell the fleet to wait for my command. Have the Lincoln, the Cortez and the Murdohn fighters circle around to the other side of the planet. I want no surprises."
"Aye, sir."
Patrick relayed the orders, and a tense silence fell once more. As before, Gabriel couldn't still his restless fingers. It seemed as if an hour passed before Patrick spoke again.
"Cortez reports no other ships in our immediate vicinity, nor have long range scans detected any."
"Looks like the Chrisarii put most of the planet's defense force into their armada at the border," Lieutenant Decev observed from her post at the science station. Her husband, Lieutenant Commander Paul Decev, was the Tokyo's chief engineer.
"So it would seem," Bryson agreed. "Tell the Murdohn to target the station. Everyone else target the dreadnoughts. Red alert! All weapons and deflectors on line! Fire at will!"
The battle was over almost as soon as it began. The dreadnoughts put up a brave fight, but they were outnumbered two to one. The station's defenses were a little more difficult to bring down, but as soon as the warships were destroyed, the firepower of all ten Federation ships was too much for the station's deflectors. The shields crumpled under the onslaught, collapsing like cardboard in a compactor. But before Bryson could transport assault teams onto the station, it exploded.
"Report!" the captain barked, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the sudden brilliance that washed over the bridge.
"Unknown," Patrick replied, pulling up a readout. "It could have been a self-destruct sequence initiated by the Chrisarii, or one of our own torpedoes." He paused as he accessed a second readout. "The photonic shield has dropped. Sensors show only one outpost on the surface."
"Tactical display," Bryson said, rising and walking to a point just behind Bergman's chair.
The view on the forward screen shifted and a topographical grid appeared, simulating the planet's surface. A large valley surrounded by a chain of mountains. In the center of the valley was the outpost, a massive complex of squat, square buildings with a defense perimeter made of forcefields and guard towers.
"Four hundred and fifty-two bio-signs. Only three hundred and seventeen are Chrisarii. The rest are grouped inside this building." Patrick highlighted one of the structures at the center of the compound.
"Can we disable their defenses from orbit?" Bryson asked.
The tactical officer nodded. "A level five EM burst from our deflector array should be enough to knock out their power systems."
"Do it. Signal the Lincoln and the Denmark to stand by with assault troops."
( 6 )
The prisoners huddled in their barracks, clustered in small groups on the floor between the bunk beds. Their faces were streaked with dirt and grime, their clothes tattered and frayed. Several were weeping, and a few begged for mercy. Some were coughing, spitting up phlegm mixed with blood. This was an unfortunate side effect of working in the mines. Only a third of the prisoners were human. The rest were an even mix of other Federation species, and all had been captured from one battlefield or another during the last few years. To look at them now, one would find it difficult to believe that they had once been officers or infantry serving aboard starships. All were malnourished, and many were suffering from the respiratory disease which was caused by the fumes of the triinium ore that the Chrisarii had forced them to mine every day.
As his gaze swept over them, Kralin Saveck, a Chrisarii lieutenant assigned to the regiment that guarded the barracks, felt nothing but pleasure. He was finally allowed to do something which, until this point, had been forbidden by his superior officers. The mines were crucial to the war effort, thus the killing of any able-bodied and/or somewhat healthy prisoners was strictly prohibited. Any Chrisarii officer who was caught violating this regulation was immediately executed.
But now, with the orbital station and the warships destroyed, defeat was imminent. Colonel Vilcra, commanding officer of the outpost, had ordered the execution of the prisoners. Following this, all officers were to commit suicide in accordance with Chrisarii honor. To be captured alive by the enemy was to completely forfeit one's honor and thus forfeit one's place in the Hall of Warriors, in the eternal city of El'Sha'Lor.
Lieutenant Saveck was more than happy to comply with the first directive.
Two dozen officers were standing on either side of Saveck, forming a line which blocked the primary entrance to the barracks. Another dozen were on the opposite side of the room, blocking the secondary entrance. Saveck's finger twitched beside the trigger of his rifle as he listened for the command from Major Tallis. He focused his weapon on the face of a human female. She wept like a child, and Saveck's revulsion for her curled his face into a snarl. A true warrior faced his enemy without flinching, showing no sign of weakness. A true warrior would be proud to die for his empire, for his honor. To weep was the ultimate sign of cowardice, and when Tallis' voice gave the command, Saveck grinned with fury as he pulled the trigger. A barrage of disruptor bolts reigned upon the prisoners, a hailstorm of deadly suns. The bursts of phased energy seared flesh, burning away the skin and clothes, carving up muscle, arteries, veins and tissue. In a matter of moments, nothing was left but charred heaps of ash and bone. It was now time to carry out the second directive.
The lights went out.
A second thunderstorm of suns lit up the dark as Saveck fell to the ground and rolled behind the closest bunk. His fellow warriors were dead, a
nd the room was dark once more. The lieutenant waited a few moments, listening to silence, waiting for someone else to stir. When he was certain that everyone dead, he laid down his rifle and stepped outside.
It was after dusk, and the central courtyard should have been lit by the spotlights from the guard towers. But since main power was off line, the only light was coming from a portable beacon which the Federation soldiers had brought with them. There was shouting from all corners of the compound, and Saveck was quickly surrounded.
"On your knees! Now! Get down! Hands behind your head!"
Saveck obeyed, unable to see his captor's face because of the glare of the beacon. His wrists were handcuffed, and he was yanked to his feet and dragged to the center of the yard. From the other buildings, out of the deep shadows created by the beacon, more Federation soldiers emerged, some hauling Chrisarii prisoners among them.
"This is it, sir. The rest are all dead."
The officer in command was a human. The name patch on the right breast of his uniform said 'Gabriel', and his rank showed him to be a commander. He looked at the prisoners, and Saveck looked around as well. There was less than fifty of his fellow soldiers standing beside him, and one of them was Lieutenant Vi'Sar. This didn't surprise Kralin. Alikk Vi'Sar had been transferred to Rigana-Seven less than a year ago, but he had quickly shown a thirst for blood and vengeance that surprised even the most seasoned veterans among his superiors. He had chosen to live for the same reason as Kralin.
"The prisoners were all dead," a female EarthCorps officer told Gabriel. Her name patch labeled her as 'Decev'.
The commander didn't respond, but as he looked at the Chrisarii once more, Saveck could see the rage in the human's eyes. Their eyes always betrayed their emotions. He turned away at last, barking an order to his soldiers.
"Get them out of here!"
