Krif, deciding he would give her thirty seconds of his humoring, folded his thick arms across his chest. “So, what do you propose?”
“Let’s open a channel with the Kafarans and see what they want. Maybe we can stall them long enough for reinforcements to arrive.”
“The carrier Duchess of York and her battle group are two days out at maximum speed. That means one day to get to the jump gate, transit it, and one more day to get to our current position. We can’t stall the enemy for that long.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do we have choice? It’s not like we can just tuck tail and run. The intruder has enough fighters on board that carrier to whittle our defenses down to nothing, not to mention an unknown number of fighters that the Kafaran carrier is holding. We’ve got to do something, and sending out our pilots to be slaughtered is not what we need right now. Let’s buy ourselves some time.”
Regardless of whether he liked it or not, Richard could see her point. “Fine. We’ll listen to what they have to say, but let’s just get one thing straight right here and now, okay? Since this is your idea, and since you are in operational command—as you so often enjoy pointing out—you are going to be the one sticking your pretty little head out. I’m not about to be court-martialed for opening a communications channel with the enemy in a time of war.”
Melissa stepped back, her eyes round with surprise. “Me?”
“Yes you.”
“Based on what? I’m not a military—”
“You’ve had training in negotiations and diplomacy, haven’t you?”
“Yes, of course I have, but—”
“And advanced interrogation skills as well, correct?”
“Yes. All those things, but I—”
“Then you’re perfect. Besides, if I can’t shut you up for more than five seconds, maybe you actually could get the Kafarans to talk to you for two days straight.”
“That’s not funny, Captain,” she said drily.
Krif gave her a sneer. “I wasn’t joking.” He then turned to Commander Hayes. “Caitlin, inform Kestrel that we’re going to open a dialogue with the Kafarans. Then tell him to stand by.”
“He’s already standing by, sir.”
“Then have him stand by again, damn it! Just make sure he’s ready for anything.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you get that, Raven?” Shawn said to the video image of his first officer.
“I got it, but I have no idea what they think they’ll accomplish. It’s not like the Kafarans are known to prattle on about things. They’d just as soon use their cannons to blow us out of the system.”
“I would tend to agree.” He looked from his sensors back to Raven’s image. “We can’t hold this position forever. Those enemy fighters are going to be on us in less than two minutes.”
“Understood.”
On the upper CIC deck of the Rhea, Krif leaned against the railing forward of the holotable that displayed the slowly rotating, double-boulder form of the Kafaran carrier. His gaze was locked on the forward view screen, waiting for the show that was about to commence.
Melissa was standing behind communications officer Lieutenant Clifton, trying to rub the sweat from her palms. She had no idea what she was about to say to the Kafaran captain—assuming that was the being she was to address. She turned nervously to Krif, who only nodded slowly in her direction. She nodded back and licked her lips, then placed a gentle hand on Clifton’s shoulder.
“Okay, Lieutenant.” She breathed in deeply as she hovered near the communications officer’s station. “Open the—”
Her request was interrupted by a shout from Commander Hayes.
“Captain Krif! The Kafaran destroyers are opening fire!”
Out in the void, Shawn watched as green-white beams of energy lanced out from the bow of both Kafaran destroyers simultaneously. As they reached out toward Shawn and the rest of the Unified pilots, he was surprised that his last thoughts were not of his dead wife Sylvia, but were instead focused on the beautiful Melissa Graves. He was saddened by the fact that he would never get to hold her again, to tell her how he actually felt. He hoped that death would come quickly to himself and his fellow pilots. They were a good lot, every one of them. They deserved for it to be quick.
As the beams reached their position, Shawn’s cockpit was awash in the bright, globular fireballs associated with special explosion. His Maelstrom was rocked by multiple shockwaves, each one overlapping the one before it until he nearly lost control of his ship.
Still, in the midst of the chaos, he was amazingly still alive. As the brightness of the explosions tapered off, he was intimately aware that his ship had miraculously gone unscathed. Even more shocking, Raven and Saltori were still on his port and starboard sides as if nothing had happened. He scanned the area, looking for any sign of survivors from the rest of the carrier’s attack wing. What he saw nearly stopped his heart.
As the damage reports flooded in to the Rhea, there was a high-pitched burst of static, followed by an unintelligible string of sounds emanating from the overhead speakers. Just before the Kafarans had opened fire, Clifton had initiated the communications channel with them. Melissa had instinctively gone to cover her ears from the barrage of noises coming from the audio speakers, but before her hands could reach her ears, the pitch of the noises decreased. The voices coming out—if that was indeed what they were—were almost gibberish. She looked down to Clifton, who only raised his eyebrows and looked back to his station.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve heard Kafaran, ma’am,” he said as he tried to adjust the controls.
“Is there anything you can do?”
He switched another series of controls. “I’ll pipe it though the language banks in the computer. Even after all this time, we still don’t know their language much better than we did during the war.”
“What does that mean, exactly?”
Clifton shrugged. “I guess you could say all we have is an introductory course, and almost no conversational skills.” He inputted the commands, feeding the audio stream directly into the ship’s main computer core. “The ship will translate what it can, then throw it up on the big monitor on the forward bulkhead.” He nodded to the large screen at the forefront of the command deck.
“Sensor report coming in now,” Lisa chimed in.
Seconds later, the forward screen flashed a string of glowing white characters across the lower half of its surface.
“REQUEST TRANSFER VIDEO.” The message repeated several times before anyone spoke up.
“What the hell does that mean?” Krif barked.
Melissa, staring at the obtuse message, refused to turn toward him. “I have no idea.”
“Maybe they want us to open a video channel?” Clifton added. “They’re using a compression stream that should be strong enough to support it.”
“Captain?” Melissa asked as she turned to Krif.
“This is your show.”
Melissa faced Clifton. “Try and initiate a video link with the Kafarans.” Melissa had never thought she would utter such words. In truth, they sounded better coming out than they did in her head.
“I’ll see what I can do, ma’am.” Clifton worked frantically at his controls, trying to match the signals from the alien ship. He had heard stories in communications school about this being done before, but had never met anyone who had done it. It was one thing to talk to a friendly ship, but talking to an alien who had entirely different frequency bands and ways of processing information was totally different. When a blurry image began to appear on the big screen, he began to think it wasn’t going to be as difficult as it had seemed at first.
“Looking good, Lieutenant,” Melissa said, placing a hand on the lieutenant’s shoulder as she watched the image come in to focus.
Clifton gave the communications equipment a quizzical look. “It’s almost like they’re broadcasting on our own frequencies. I just need…to clean it up a little.”
Krif turned his attention from Melissa to Commander Hayes. “Let’s have those casualty figures, Commander. I want to be able to shove the name of every one of our dead pilots down the Kafarans’ throat.”
Caitlin gave him a look that told Krif she was puzzled by what she saw. “That’s just it, sir. We sustained no casualties in the last attack.”
“What?” Krif’s face showed his disbelief.
Melissa’s heart soared with the news Shawn was okay, but she didn’t have time to revel in it.
The image on the forward screen went from light to dark and then back again as filter after filter was applied by the Rhea’s computer to clean up the alien transmission. The form on the screen transitioned from a deep magenta to a bright blue, then to a black shadowy figure with a surreal white aura about its form. Clifton sighed heavily, wiped the sweat from his face, and then began performing minute adjustments to the waveguides that brought power to the antennas. “I think…I think this should do it, ma’am.”
With the a final sequence of commands entered into the computer, the wavering image completely faded from the screen, then reappeared as crisp and as clean as if the seated figure was sitting in the same room with her.
There was an audible gasp from every person in the Rhea’s CIC. Melissa swallowed hard, trying desperately not to faint as she heard someone—probably Commander Hayes—breathe out the words ‘Oh, my God.”
Melissa took tentative step forward, grasping the side of the communications console to steady herself as she forced the only word out her mouth that her lips and tongue could articulate.
“Daddy?”
Chapter 11
Admiral William Graves, outfitted in the gray and black accented dress uniform of Sector Command, and standing confidently on the bridge of a Kafaran warship simultaneously shocked and soothed Melissa as she stood there, mouth agape. Her father was alive, and seeming in good health, completely unfazed while the blood enemies of the Unified Collaboration of Systems, the Kafaran officers and crew of the carrier, deftly moved around him. Save for his trademark mustache, his face was clean shaven, and peppered silvery hair was neatly combed back across his scalp. For all outward appearances, he looked exactly as he had the last time Melissa had seen him on Thress, and not at all like a prisoner of war.
“Melissa,” he started with a look of surprise, “it’s good to see you. I had…no idea I would be addressing you. I thought I’d be communicating with Captain Krif.”
Richard stepped down from the upper level of CIC and approached Melissa from behind. He stood over her shoulder, the shock of seeing Graves on the Kafaran ship having rendered him utterly speechless. After a moment, he mustered up a handful of words, though not without difficulty.
“I’m here, Admiral.”
William nodded approvingly. “Very good. That’s as it should be. Tell me, why am I addressing my daughter and not you, Captain?”
Krif was still in shock, evidenced by a stammer that had suddenly gripped his vocal abilities. “Well, sir, we had…no idea it would be you on the other side of the channel. Your daughter…I mean, Agent Graves, has more experience negotiating with enemies of the UCS than I do.”
William again nodded slowly. “I see. Yes. That was a…wise precaution, Captain. Completely understandable. However, the term ‘enemy’ hasn’t been applied to the Kafaran for some time.”
Melissa decided without hesitation that someone needed to say the obvious. “Father, how long have you been a prisoner?”
Graves licked his lips, cast his eyes momentarily to the deck, and then looked back to his daughter. “I’m not a prisoner, my dear.”
Krif moved from behind Melissa to stand at her side. “But they are holding you against your will, correct?”
“Not exactly, Captain. We can discuss it later. I’m afraid that, right now, we don’t have much time. As you’ve seen, the Kafaran destroyers have taken out the enemy’s fighters. Now, I need you—”
Krif was quick to cut him off. “With all due respect, sir, I’m going to need an explanation. You’re telling me that you’re standing on the bridge of a Kafaran heavy carrier, you’re not a prisoner, and they are not holding you against your will?”
Graves shook his head. “The situation is much more complicated than what you are presupposing, Captain. However, I understand that this looks…questionable.”
“Questionable, sir?” Richard spat. “On the contrary, it looks like you’re aiding a known enemy of the UCS. To me, it looks very much like treason!”
Melissa turned quickly to face off against Krif. “Captain Krif! That’s my father over there. He’s one of Sector Command’s most highly decorated officers. How dare you—”
Krif paid her no mind as he kept his eyes locked on the admiral. “I’m waiting for an explanation, sir.”
Graves swept his hands quickly in front of him, as if dismissing Krif’s argument entirely. “We don’t have time for that, Captain. You must listen to me!”
“I’m listening, sir. You’re just not telling me what I want to hear.”
“Damn it, Krif! I thought you would’ve changed in your years, perhaps becoming more receptive in your role as a respected leader. I can see now that I was mistaken.”
“I’m still waiting for an explanation, sir. If you have one, that is. Otherwise, my accusations stand, and will be so noted in my official log.”
“Any explanation I could give you would be useless at this time, Captain.” There was a bustle of movement at William’s side. A chatter of noises could be heard over the Rhea’s speakers, and whatever it was pulled William’s attention from Krif. He nodded several times to an unseen being, then turned his attention back to the view screen. “We’re moving into attack position now. We’ll be in range in less than a minute.”
Krif let out a snort. “Less than a minute? You know as well as I do that your weapons couldn’t touch the Rhea at that range. Besides, the second those beams leave that Kafaran carrier you’ll be charged with defecting to the side of a known enemy.”
“No, you idiot!” William belted, his thick cheeks shaking under the weight of his frustration. “We’re not going to fire on you! We’re going to fire on the Meltranians.”
“The who?” Melissa asked in confusion. “You mean the intruder?”
“Yes,” Graves replied, his voice softening at the sound of his beloved daughter. “They’re called Meltranians. They’re invaders from the far side of Kafaran space. Suffice it to say, they’re big, they’re vicious, and they absolutely do not negotiate. Period! You’ve already lost one destroyer to them, Captain Krif. Don’t be a fool and lose another one, or more. Your pilots are out there right now, in direct line of fire from one of their cruisers. It’s imperative that we attempt to stop them now before reinforcements arrive.”
Krif scoffed at the image. “Assuming for a second that I believe you, what am I supposed to do?”
“Maneuver your ships closer to us.”
“Move my ship closer to a Kafaran carrier?” he asked in disdain. “Have you lost your senses? I’m not coming within a thousand miles of those Kafaran ships, and you can bet your life on that!”
“If you don’t move soon you’ll all be killed!” William’s voice was near frantic. “Please believe me, Captain. You have no other choice in this matter.”
“And what are you going to do, Admiral? What can three Kafaran junk heaps do to that thing? You saw what those…those Meltranians did to the Agincourt.”
From somewhere behind the admiral, Krif and Melissa could hear another series of audible grunts and clicks. Krif may not have known what it was, but Melissa recognized it as the Kafaran language. While she couldn’t make out the words, it was obvious that someone on the Kafaran carrier was displeased with Krif’s remark. Melissa watched as her father held out a calm, steady hand, silencing whichever Kafaran was speaking. Probably the commander of the flotilla, she thought.
William’s eyes bored into Krif’s. “The Kafarans have devised a special shie
lding against the Meltranian weapon, but it only lasts for a few shots. Considering it takes the Meltranian about five minutes to recharge between shots, we may be able to mount an offensive that will, at best, disable the cruiser long enough for you to escape.”
“Shielding?” Krif spat. “What kind?”
“Captain, we don’t have time to discuss technical matters! Get your ships, your crew, and my daughter to safety now or so help me, if the Meltranians don’t kill you, I will!”
There was a fire behind William’s eyes. Richard had seen it more than a few times, often directed at junior officers, and a handful of times when it was focused at himself. Whatever the admiral was planning, he meant business. Regardless, Krif knew there was no way he could escape his current predicament under his own power. With most of the fighter wing destroyed, the carrier was little more than a floating city of unemployed, highly skilled technicians and maintenance workers. It would make an easy target, especially if something were to befall their remaining cover, the destroyer Breckenridge. The carrier Duchess of York and her escorts were two days away. Still, there was a chance Krif might be able to keep his people alive until then, but he knew of only one way to do it.
He would have to destroy everything in the area, starting with the intruder, and including the Kafaran if they got in his way. If, as the admiral was suggesting, the Kafaran were here to help, then it behooved Krif to play along—for the time being. When it came time for him to take drastic measures against them, he knew without hesitation he would take the opportunity to do so, regardless of whether William Graves was aiding them or not.
Krif straightened his uniform before speaking. “What are you proposing, sir?”
William, relieved that Krif was starting to come around, gave a slight smile. “Turn toward our flank and get behind us as quickly as possible. We’ll try to shield you as best we can.”
Second Earth Page 20
