Asbaran Solutions (The Revelations Cycle Book 2)

by Chris Kennedy

  The Pendals looked at each other, but neither said a word.

  “Didn’t you?” Nigel repeated slightly louder.

  “Please keep your voice down,” The pilot said. “You are treading on very dangerous ground.”

  “Why is that?”

  “The fact that we are empaths is a secret known only to a very few outside our race, and we make sure it stays that way.”

  A shiver ran down Nigel’s spine at the way the Pendal made the pronouncement, but he pressed on, “You’re not just empaths, though—you transmitted to Mason. You’re some sort of telepath.”

  “Sometimes I can be heard by those not of our race,” the pilot admitted. “Tortantulas are easiest, just because of the way the Creators put them together.”

  “What does how they’re put together have to do with it?”

  “They have eyes all the way around their heads,” the copilot said. “They are used to processing a number of data streams simultaneously; usually, they don’t notice an additional one.”

  “I have never tried it with a human,” the pilot said; “I didn’t know if Mason would hear me. While it was fortunate he did, it was unfortunate he knew someone had spoken to him; however, I didn’t have time to be subtle.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because having an angry and frustrated Tortantula onboard a spaceship is never a good thing. Zzeldar was beginning to feel betrayed and was about to start breaking things.”

  “Really?”

  “Indeed.”

  Nigel shook his head. “I don’t buy it. You just happened to be here? And then you risk exposing your hidden capabilities to keep Zzeldar from breaking things? It doesn’t add up.” Nigel paused and then asked, “Why are you really here?”

  The Pendals looked at each other again, and Nigel could tell they were communing on what to tell him. After several seconds, the Pendals broke eye contact and the copilot turned in his seat to face Nigel. The eye Nigel could see in the depths of the Pendal’s hood glowed with intensity.

  “Let me tell you a story,” the copilot said. “Our race joined the Union almost 2,000 of your years ago. Like you, we were young and naïve.”

  “Hey! We’re doing pretty well!” Nigel exclaimed. “Sure, our troops got crushed when we first joined the Union, but now we’re winning a whole lot more than we’re losing.”

  “True, you have adapted quite well as a provider of military forces,” the pilot noted, “but you still have only the barest grasp of the political realities of the galaxy. While you might see things and think you understand the plans in motion, you have no comprehension of the plans within the plans that drive the outward manifestations you see. Some races can be very subtle in achieving what they desire. Additionally, while you humans seek quick gain, other races take a much longer view, happy to accept losses today that help them achieve their goals hundreds of years later.”

  “Are you saying that some races are letting us win?”

  “Letting you win? No. Not trying as hard as they could, or employing all of their capabilities? Absolutely. You are being tested, as surely as we are sitting here.”

  “We can plan ahead, too.”

  Both Pendals made noises like steam escaping a boiler, and after a few seconds Nigel realized they were laughing at him. A flush crept up his neck and enveloped his face the longer it went on. “Are you about done?”

  The Pendals stopped laughing. “We are sorry,” the copilot said, “but to call your race short-sighted is one of the galaxy’s greatest understatements. You can barely see beyond your nose, where races like the Besquith see to the galaxy’s end.”

  “Okay, so maybe our race isn’t as mature as some of the others,” Nigel allowed, feeling put out. “What of it?”

  Neither of the aliens said anything for a few seconds, and the silence stretched uncomfortably.

  “I merely speak the truth,” the copilot finally noted. “If it is too uncomfortable for you to hear, we can forget this conversation ever happened.”

  Nigel sat back. No one had made him feel so small since his grandfather, when Nigel had disappointed him in some task. The mercenary shook his head. “No, I’m sorry,” he said. “Please continue.”

  “2,000 years ago, our race was just as naïve,” the copilot started again. “Like you, we thought we were far smarter than we really were. Even though we didn’t intend to divulge the fact we were empaths, somehow the word got out, and we became the focus of several of the mercenary races. They thought we would give them extra capabilities they didn’t have.”

  “They did not understand how much we did not like killing,” the pilot interjected. “The mercenary groups thought they could capture our people and force us to work for them.”

  “Your people?”

  “Yes, they wanted to take over our entire planet and oppress the whole race. The only advantage we had was they didn’t want anyone to find out about us and lose the opportunity we represented, so they jealously guarded our secret even better than we had. When we wiped out the mercenary units involved, no one else was left who knew our secret.”

  “Wiped out? I didn’t think you were any good at killing.”

  “I said we didn’t like it, not that we weren’t good at it. Still, the cost was…significant to us, and we vowed to always keep our central eye on the mercenary races to ensure it didn’t happen again.”

  “Is that why you are here? To watch us?”

  “Several of the original mercenary units that wanted to enslave us were Besquith. We watch them especially closely. We recently received reports they were dealing with the Altar. The fact that the Besquith were interacting with their traditional enemies made us…curious. We wanted to know more about what the Besquith were doing; you just happened to be going our way.”

  “But you watch humans, too?”

  “Are you a mercenary race?”

  “Well, yeah, but we haven’t tried to enslave you.”

  “No…not yet, anyway.”

  “Well, at least as far as the Besquith go, we would seem to have a common enemy. Wouldn’t that make us your friends?”

  “The enemy of my enemy isn’t necessarily my friend, although it may be someone who I can work with. That is the only reason we’re having this conversation; there may come a time where it is necessary for one of us to assist the other. We believe that having established ties ahead of time will help smooth our working relationship if that is needed. I am, however, counting on you to keep this to yourself. It is a secret we believe worth killing for, and for our race, there are none greater.”

  “Will you be coming with us when we reach our transport?”

  “Unfortunately, no. Another ship will be waiting for us at the free trading station.”

  “Really? You set that up with your ‘special ability?’ How far can you transmit?”

  “None of your business. It is also, however, irrelevant to the topic, as arranging transportation was nothing so exotic.” The pilot tapped the instrument panel with one of his right arms. “The radio works very well.”

  “So that’s how I should contact you if I need you? By radio?”

  “Contact us? You don’t contact us. Ever. We’re empaths, though…when you need us, we’ll contact you.”

  Nigel sat back in his chair, shook his head, then looked at the pilot. “Who knew that when we hired you as a pilot, you’d turn out to be some sort of master spy?”

  “In this galaxy, things are rarely what they seem.”

  Captain’s Cabin, Asbaran Ship Annihilation, Approaching the Stargate

  “I went and checked the hold,” Mason reported from the doorway. Nigel waved him in and the soldier took a seat on the desk chair, “and we’ve got a couple of problems.”

  “Yeah?” Nigel asked, sitting up on the bed.

  “Well, first, it looks like the pilots weren’t lying; there are five unmarked canisters down there that could very well be bioweapons. Whatever they are, we don’t want to pull into somewhere with custom
s or an inspection process while they’re still aboard. That’d be bad juju. Personally, I don’t even want to have them onboard.”

  “Agreed. We need to get rid of them before we get back. When we’re done, go talk to the pilots. When we get out of hyperspace, have them swing by the system’s star so we can dump them in. What’s the other problem?”

  “The other problem is similar to the first. There are also two banshee bombs in the hold.”

  “Banshee bombs? I’ve never heard of them. Why are they a problem?”

  “Well, they’re even more illegal than Ensalaran brain slugs. First, they’re built to be used from altitude. Like high altitude.”

  “Above the 10-mile limit.”

  “Exactly. That right there makes them illegal. Banshee bombs are also nuclear weapons.”

  “Nukes aren’t illegal. Bad for business, maybe, but I don’t think they’re illegal. I mean, they’re cheap and easy, right? So why not?”

  “You’re still kind of new, boss, but I’ve got to tell you, it goes way beyond a mere ‘bad for business.’ Most mercs don’t like taking contracts where nukes are involved, or any type of slaughter contract for that matter. You never know when you might be on the receiving end of a slaughter contract, and it’s awfully hard to surrender to an incoming nuclear warhead. Mercs take that kind of shit personal, you know? Mercs generally like to fight, but getting nuked out of existence just ain’t my idea of a fair fight.”

  “Okay, so we don’t use them. Why would the Besquith have them then? If they’re illegal, what would they be doing with them? They can’t use them; someone would notice if nukes started going off.”

  “Maybe…maybe not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That’s the thing about banshee bombs; they aren’t your typical nukes. They’re actually enhanced radiation weapons more like the ancient neutron bombs. Yes, they’re low-yield thermonuclear weapons, but instead of a thick radiation case, they have a case that’s wafer-thin, allowing all the neutrons to escape and radiate the people in the area of effect. The bombs don’t generate anywhere near as much blast. The people die, and the structures remain standing. The victors can move right in shortly thereafter.”

  “For being illegal, you seem to know quite a bit about them.”

  “I took a contract one time where we moved into an area the Besquith had captured. There was an awful lot of radiation in the area, but not the kind that occurs naturally; most was zinc-65. One way you could get that is if you used an enhanced radiation weapon with a shell of neutron-activated zinc-64. The resulting zinc-65 scattered about would be a gamma emitter that was great for area denial. We didn’t have enough evidence to prove they did it, but there have been lots of rumors for a long time that the Besquith have used banshee bombs in the past.”

  “But why would they do that? Wouldn’t the Besquith irradiate themselves?”

  Mason shrugged. “No idea. Apparently, they’re fairly resistant to low levels of radiation.”

  Nigel’s brows knitted. “Wait a minute,” he said after a pause. “A banshee bomb would kill the people and leave the buildings standing?”

  “Yeah, as long as they weren’t really close to the detonation site.”

  “And the Besquith could move in right after?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “And if they were released from greater than 10 miles’ altitude, you wouldn’t have to launch them from overhead; the ground forces might not even know they were under attack until it was too late.”

  “It would certainly be a non-standard attack that might go unnoticed…at least at the start.”

  Nigel snapped his fingers. “That’s it! That’s how those motherfuckers got into Moorhouse. They used banshee bombs on our base, killed our folks, and then moved in with all of their anti-air support. Son of a bitch! All they would have had to do is come up with a decent cover to get them fairly close. The troops would never have expected it.”

  “Bastards!” Mason added, kicking Nigel’s garbage can. The thin metal crumpled under the force of his steel-toed boot. “You’re right, sir, that has to be how they did it. Damn it! Fuck! Oh, if I didn’t want to kill them before, I’m so ready to kill them all now.”

  When Nigel didn’t say anything, Mason looked back at his leader. Nigel seemed lost in thought, his eyes unfocused.

  “What are you thinking?” Mason asked. “Oh, crap, I never thought about it. We’ve got their bombs; we can call them out for using them.”

  “No,” Nigel said, his voice quiet and far away. “No,” he said again, a little louder and stronger. “We will not turn them in. Not only can’t we prove the bombs are theirs, we can’t prove they used them on our base. Knowing what must have happened isn’t the same as proving it did.”

  “Besides,” Nigel continued, his eyes still looking at something Mason couldn’t see, “I don’t want to turn them in. I had a Bedouin nanny who helped raise me, and she taught me the concept of ‘hamasa.’ This is the bravery honor code among the tribes. To have hamasa means you have the willingness to defend your tribe…whatever that takes.”

  Nigel’s eyes regained their focus and he turned to look at Mason. The older soldier could see the fire burning in his eyes. “Hamasa demands that I defend our honor. Hamasa demands that I kill these bastards, who would seek to do harm to my tribe and all that I hold sacred. Hamasa demands that I kill every one of these worthless, honorless sons of bitches. And I’m going to do that! I will not turn them in; I will bring them justice myself!”

  Nigel sprang from the bed, looking back and forth as if for something to take his anger out on…but found nothing. After a few seconds, he took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and his shoulders slumped. He sighed. “I promised myself I wasn’t going to let my anger take hold of me again,” Nigel said; “I promised to be more rational and work through situations, but the Besquith have driven me beyond that. I don’t know how, but I can promise you two things. We are going to get to Moorhouse and, once there, we are going to kill every last one of them.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Captain’s Cabin, Annihilation, Free Trading Station, Grbow III

  “You said you wanted to see me once the Pendals left?”

  “Yeah, thanks for coming by,” Nigel said as Mason walked in. “I thought we needed to have a strategy session.” He showed his senior enlisted to the chair at the desk and then sat on the bed.

  “Sure thing, sir,” Mason replied. “What’s up?”

  “I’ve been thinking and came up with some things that didn’t make sense. I need to run this by someone, but I need you to keep this private.” Mason nodded, and Nigel continued, “What do you know about the Pendals?”

  “Do you mean our pilots or the race in general?”

  “Either. Both.”

  “Well, I haven’t had a lot of dealings with any of them, but I’ve seen them around periodically. They usually keep to themselves, though; I can’t remember seeing them interacting with anyone. That’s kind of weird, I guess, isn’t it? I mean, I’ve seen them at Peepo’s Pit, but I can’t remember them either hiring anyone or being hired. I never thought about it before, but now that I do, I wonder what they were doing there.”

  “Okay, so the race is generally aloof. What do you know about our recent pilots?”

  “Not a whole lot. I can’t think of anything really specific.”

  “Yeah, me either. I don’t think I even know their names.”

  “Now that you mention it, sir, I don’t think I ever heard their names, either. Weird.”

  “You know what’s even weirder? I think the Pendals knew ahead of time there were bioweapons on the ship.”

  “They did? How would they do that?”

  “I don’t know,” Nigel said, “but if you remember, the pilot was the first person to suggest we use the term ‘bioweapon’ as a way to get onto the planet.”

  “That’s right!”

  “And it worked just as
he suggested it would, so it’s obvious the Besquith are using bioweapons.”

  “I would also have to agree with that.”

  “And, he’s the one that suggested we attack the Besquith frigate that had the weapons onboard.”

  “Well, yeah, but we needed a ship to get off the planet, and that was the only one available. Are you suggesting he crashed the transport in order to make us capture that ship?”

  “I don’t know. I was in the cockpit when we crashed, and I don’t think they did it on purpose. That would be a pretty dangerous stunt to crash it just hard enough to break it but not hard enough to kill everyone aboard.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps the crash was just a serendipitous event that gave them the opportunity to do what they already wanted to do. They may have wanted us to search the ship anyway, and the crash gave them the ability to do so. We’ll never know. What I do know is that the pilot didn’t seem to be very surprised when he found the weapons, and even though we were in a hurry to get off the planet, he did a thorough enough pre-flight to find them onboard.”

  “So what do you think that all means?”

  “I don’t know,” Nigel said. “I’ll tell you what, though…I’m looking forward to the next chance I get to talk to one.”

  “I’d rather meet one of them than the Besquith on Moorhouse,” Top replied, handing him a data pad. “Here’s the final list of casualties we took on Bestald. I don’t see any way that we can continue with the original plan. We’re down to only about a platoon of effectives; I’ve gone ahead and reorganized them as such.”

  Nigel took the data pad and scanned the list. He had known that some people were killed in the hangar assault, but he’d had no idea how bad it was. Almost half of the company was dead in just one battle; they were the first people killed under his leadership, and it was all his fault. His desire for retribution and hamasa evaporated like dew in the morning sun. He wasn’t the right person to lead this mission, after all. He was incompetent and going to get everyone else killed when they reached Moorhouse. Obviously, Mason had been right at the start; Nigel wasn’t ready for the leadership role. If his sister’s life wasn’t at stake, he would have dropped out of this mission and started looking for someone else to lead Asbaran Solutions. He had no idea what to do next.