The Terminal War: A Space Opera Novel (A Carson Mach Adventure)

by A. C. Hadfield

  The light was much darker here, and he had to flick on his helmet light to show the way.

  Broken vines and some thick, wet brown substance littered the floor. “I think the thing’s been crapping in here,” Mach said, his feet squelching through the paste-like substance.

  “Just great,” Adira said. “Why do these damn things never have any manners? It has enough smarts and tech to thaw the ice on an ice planet and kill a Guardian, but not enough sense to shit in a hole.”

  After a few more minutes, they reached the end of the crawl space. It looked out over another science lab of sorts. The back wall of the room, which was also the back wall of the building, had crumbled in, semi-collapsed, creating a random staircase of stone and metal. At the top of this crumbled structure lay a piece of light-gray material: a section of a suit.

  “This way,” Mach said. “He was taken over there.”

  They clambered down from the crawl space and climbed the wedge of debris. Mach inspected the piece of material. It had got snagged on a piece of metal. Spots of blood speckled the edge. They were still wet.

  Before they reached the summit of the hill of wreckage, Kortas spoke. “I know this place,” he said over the comms, the static now turning to a dull hum. “I have seen it… in the Saviors’ minds on occasion.”

  “And I’m guessing they never explained what it was?” Mach said.

  “You assume correctly, Carson Mach. The image was one of the forbidden images… I, to my shame, tried to know more about it once…”

  “And?”

  “You wouldn’t understand,” Kortas said. “But tread carefully. There are things there that we can’t comprehend. I can’t watch you from here. I’d risk…” He let his words trail off as the electronic hum grew louder before the connection was severed, returning silence to Mach’s helmet.

  “What was that all about?” Adira said.

  “Not sure, but I don’t like the sound of it. These so-called Saviors are sounding ever more suspicious. Come on; let’s get over to the other side. We must be far enough now, we’re almost at the edge of the city, and there’s just rock from here. Beringer must be here—”

  A high-pitched scream came over Mach’s comm—from Beringer’s helmet. Mach collapsed to his knees, clasping his hands uselessly against his helmet in a vain attempt at stopping the painful noise.

  Adira reached down for him. “What is it?” she said, her words barely audible under the scream.

  “It’s… Beringer,” Mach said. “It sounds like he’s dying…”

  Getting back to his feet, Mach stepped over the threshold and down into the next room. He glanced around, jaw clenched, ready to attack at the first sight of that damned thing. Adira stepped in front of him, already eager to sweep the room.

  A loud thunderous crack boomed out from somewhere above them. The terrible noise echoed around the entire city. The ceiling exploded inwards.

  Mach yelled for Adira.

  She spun round, looking up.

  The ceiling completely collapsed around her, steel and plastic splintering in, pinning her to the floor. A chunk of ice the size of a hover-car soon followed, sending shards of ice flying about the room. Mach crouched and turned his back. The ice struck him hard, knocking him to his knees.

  Adira screamed in pain, an echo of Beringer’s.

  “Mach! I’m trapped!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  A huge red disturbance had registered on the edge of the scanner. Babcock knew it couldn’t be anything other than the Axis grand fleet as the Intrepid continued to follow the pair of horan scout ships.

  Lassea, Sanchez, and Nigel peered at the main viewscreen, waiting to catch a first glimpse of the enemy formation. Babcock had already briefed Tulula and Squid Three to stop what they were doing and concentrate on decrypting every current signal. Both had returned to the bridge and worked at the comms system to his left.

  Distant twinkling lights appeared in a dark area of space. Only a handful at first, but it quickly became clear they were heading toward three large clusters positioned in a defensive ring: the classic Axis staging strategy while waiting for other ships to arrive. Destroyers surrounded three capital ships. There were possibly a hundred enemy units in total.

  A trickle of sweat ran down Babcock’s back. He maintained a calm exterior and decided they could get no closer than five klicks, and even that was pushing it. Small red lights from fighter drones buzzed around the edge of the clusters. They would lock their weapons on the Intrepid and escort the ship inside the defensive ring once they got within seven klicks.

  “We’ve got something,” Tulula said.

  Squid Three chirped.

  Babcock rushed over to the comms system and peered at the data. The messages were only partially decrypted, but it was obvious they were Axis ship-to-ship continuity checks. The horans and lacterns constantly pinged each other to test the stability of their communication channels.

  “Fifteen klicks away,” Lassea said.

  “Engage retro thrusters. Slow us down,” Babcock replied.

  They needed as much time as possible to grab information before L-jumping to safety. Sanchez and Nigel returned their focus to their weapons screens.

  Lassea manipulated the holocontrols, and the Intrepid let out a short deep puff. The ship continued toward the fleet at a slower pace.

  More decrypted data streamed across the comms system. Most were standard messages between horan captains discussing their next moves. One mentioned a neutral vestan-built vessel coming in under escort. They planned to commandeer the Intrepid and use it as an Axis shock-ship.

  Shock-ships made up the vanguard of the fleet, used for suicidal runs into the Commonwealth defenses. Babcock wouldn’t allow that to happen.

  A capital ship sent out a repeated broadcast on a generic lactern channel. None of the energy readings on the scanner matched the signature of lactern cruisers, and it was unlikely they’d be cloaked in a staging area. The realization hit Babcock that this would be one of the biggest fleets ever assembled against the Commonwealth if the current numbers were only a partially assembled group.

  Tulula jabbed her bony black finger against the screen. “I think we’ve got a location.”

  Babcock peered down at two identical sets of coordinates in horan form. He translated the symbols to Salus Common on his smart-screen, input the result onto a galactic map, and transferred the image to one of the bridge’s overhead displays.

  Sanchez squinted at the dark image. “What’s the target?”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Babcock said. “Unless they’re heading for another staging post in unchartered space.”

  “Why, though?” Lassea said. “It’s not like the horans to be convoluted. There has to be a reason.”

  Babcock glanced back at the main viewscreen. The grand fleet was around ten klicks away. “Ours is not to reason why. Let’s see if Morgan’s on the ansible, and then get the hell out of here before they surround us.”

  “Now you’re talking,” Sanchez said. “Nothing like a pair of horan bolt cutters to focus the mind.”

  Tulula patched the voice-activated ansible link through to speakers on the captain’s chair, and the link beeped to confirm the connection.

  “Fides Prime Government headquarters,” a female fidian said. “Who am I speaking with?”

  “Captain Babcock of the Intrepid. Please put me through to the president’s office.”

  “Do you have an authorization code?”

  Babcock frowned. This must have been a new procedure introduced to stop Morgan’s secretary being bombarded with calls.

  Lassea turned in her chair. “They won’t put you through without one.”

  “My authorization is a hundred axis ships on my main viewscreen,” Babcock said. “I’m sure you understand.”

  No immediate reply came. The channel clicked, and an electronic tone pulsed through the speaker.

  “President Morgan’s office,” a gruff voiced male said.
>
  “This is Captain Babcock. I urgently need to speak with the president.”

  “I’m afraid he’s currently engaged in a meeting.”

  Babcock sighed and wondered how many more people he’d need to bounce around before eventually getting through. “This is a matter of urgent galactic security. I currently have an Axis grand fleet in my sight.”

  “I can transfer you to the Admiralty?”

  “No, and you’ve got less than five minutes before I’m jumping.”

  “Please hold.”

  Both horan scout ships had responded to Lassea’s thrust and slowed. Two small energy readings broke from the closest cluster. Fighter drones were being deployed to beef up the escort as the Intrepid approached the defensive ring.

  “If we don’t get a reply in two minutes,” Babcock said to Lassea, “prepare to jump.”

  *

  Morgan checked the time on his smart-screen. The meeting had been running for two hours and showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. Eight councilors, dressed in blue robes, debated Fides Prime administration issues around an oval-shaped glass table. He sat at the head of it, but his mind focused on the prospect of another war.

  Tralis had informed Morgan about the Axis fleet, but the Admiralty had only agreed to patrol around the Salus Sphere in small groups. The destruction of a vestan orbital on the edge of the frontier wasn’t considered enough for a mass deployment. Space Marshal Brindley naively claimed it could be an exercise. Brindley, like the rest of the senior officers, still had a deep mistrust of vestans and refused to give them any priority over the rest of the Salus Sphere.

  “What do you think, President?” one of the female councilors asked.

  “Sorry, I didn’t catch that last part,” Morgan said.

  “I’ve tabled a motion to outlaw illegal fighting pits. There was an explosion a few days ago there. Probably an argument over gambling debts.”

  “I think we’ve got bigger things to—“

  Morgan’s secretary entered through an opaque door at the end of the room, rushed to his seat and stood to attention in a way only a civilian could. “Sir, Captain Babcock is on the ansible. He says it’s a matter of great urgency.”

  “Please excuse me,” Morgan said to the councilors. He rose from his chair, straightened his jacket, and headed for the door with a mixture of relief and curiosity. Whatever Babcock wanted, he deserved acknowledging for providing an excuse to leave.

  The last sensible update Morgan received on Babcock was about him being tasked to find a mole passing on Commonwealth space movements. The Axis had almost matching strength in terms of big ships. Knowledge of CW movements would give them an edge in any battle.

  A little less sensible was the old scientist’s message about him using the buffer to communicate with commanders. Morgan wasn’t doing anything illegal and had no updates on Mach’s mission. He knew Babcock too well and chose to ignore the plastic threat.

  The secretary directed Morgan back to the reception area outside his office and gestured to the built-in desk console. “You can take the call here, sir.”

  “I’ll take it in my office,” Morgan said, aware that Babcock might start asking questions about Mach. “Make sure nobody enters.”

  Morgan entered his office and sat behind his antique oak desk salvaged by pirates from a ruined airport on Earth. He bought it as soon as he saw it on the Salusnet open market, and could almost feel the excitement of passengers waiting in line while running his hand across the grain. Travel back then was surely more exciting before technology ripped all the fun out of it.

  “Babs,” Morgan said into his speaker, “what’s so urgent?”

  “We’re just about to jump,” Babcock replied with a hint of panic. “I’m sending over the Axis fleet destination coordinates.”

  “Where are they heading?” Morgan asked.

  “Unchartered territory. They’re already staging here.”

  Morgan bolted up in his chair. “How many ships?”

  “I’ve got a visual of at least a hundred. We’re ten klicks away and need to jump.”

  The coordinates scrolled across the screen. Morgan felt a knot in his stomach. The mole could’ve done more damage than he ever imagined. “Give me a minute. I need to check something.”

  “Fighter drones are closing in. We can’t wait any longer.”

  “A minute, that’s all I ask.”

  “Okay, but that’s it.”

  Morgan connected to the secure line to Vesta. He had a dedicated channel to the High Lord, their equivalent of president.

  A green winking light confirmed the connection.

  Nobody answered. Morgan slammed his fist on the table. “Answer the fu—“

  “President Morgan,” High Lord Buktan said in a gravelly voice, “I’m on my bracelet so you’ll have to be brief.”

  “I’m sending over coordinates. Confirm if these are Terminus.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “An Axis fleet is heading to this location. I’ve got a ship waiting to escape and need an immediate answer.”

  Buktan didn’t reply.

  “We need to stop the Axis if they’re after your tech. Is this Terminus?”

  “Yes. How did they find it?”

  “That’s not important. Can you scramble your ships?”

  “It’s a sacred world. No vestan can—“

  “Do you want it crawling with horans?” Morgan interrupted. “Because that’s what’ll happen if we don’t act immediately.”

  “I’ll order forty-five of our frigates to the area. We need to investigate how this came about. It has deep ramifications for Vesta, and I expect your full cooperation.”

  Morgan groaned and ran his hands through his thick gray hair. “I need to speak with the Admiralty. Tell the head of your fleet to get in touch with Commander Tralis. He’ll be organizing our forces.”

  “I hope we’re in time,” Buktan said. “For all of our sakes.”

  “Agreed. I’ve got an idea how to stall their fleet. Out.”

  Morgan immediately switched back to the ansible link with the Intrepid. “Still alive, Babs?”

  “Both drones have locked on. I hope you’ve got a good reason for putting our lives at risk. We’re jumping in thirty seconds.”

  “I need you to fire on their ships. Cause as much destruction and confusion as you can. After that, head straight for the coordinates you gave me.”

  “Seriously? You’ve finally lost it. May I remind you we’re not officially—”

  “Cut the crap and listen to me,” Morgan said. “Those coordinates are for Terminus. The Axis Combine is heading there to capture vestan intelligence. If you want to save Mach, Adira, and Beringer’s bacon, I suggest you follow my instructions and rescue your crew.”

  “We can head there now without firing,” Babcock said. “They’ll blow us out of space.”

  “We need to stall any moves before our ships arrive. Please, just do this one thing. I’ll double your fee.”

  Babcock sighed down the link. “I’m sure Mach will be pleased if we live to collect.”

  “Thanks, Babs. I knew I could rely on you.”

  Morgan cut the ansible link before receiving a reply. He knew Babcock as a man of logic, and he would ultimately do the right thing. The Admiralty would also have to act. If they left the vestans to be destroyed, and their greatest minds taken by the Axis, the treaty would be destroyed, and the Salus Sphere would follow.

  *

  Babcock stared at the main viewscreen. Both fighter drones had circled around the back of the Intrepid and kept their weapons locked onto the bridge. A tracking beam registered on the scanner, transmitting from the center of the Axis defensive ring formation as a guide to follow in.

  “Tulula, Nigel,” Babcock said, “can we fire and jump at the same time.”

  The vestan engineer and gunner held a loud conversation in their native tongue. Nigel flailed his arms around whenever making a point.

  Sanc
hez heaved himself from his chair and winced, still clearly suffering from his injuries sustained during their mission in the Noven system. “Just go. Tell Morgan we fired and split. He won’t know.”

  “We’ve got Mach’s location too,” Lassea said. “The sooner we get there and pick him up, the less chance we’ll be around when the Axis show up.”

  Babcock leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers on his chin. Morgan’s attack suggestion made sense if they wanted to throw up a roadblock, enabling the Commonwealth forces to arrive. The grand fleet was definitely closer to Terminus’ coordinates. The Intrepid could comfortably beat any Axis ship with its faster fusion drive, but it all depended on the vestans’ technical conclusion. He wouldn’t fire if they couldn’t simultaneously jump. Anything else would be suicide, and none of the crew signed up for that.

  “We’re being pinged by a horan ship again,” Lassea said.

  Babcock jutted his chin toward the comms screen. They were less than seven klicks away, and the huge enemy formation stretched across a wide area of space directly in front of them. In a matter of moments, they would be in non-maneuverable range of the capital ship’s cannons.

  An image of one of the scaly purple deviants appeared, in the cramped metallic cockpit of one of the drones. “Why have you slowed down?”

  “My humble apologies,” Babcock said. “What would you like us to do?”

  “Increase your speed and follow our beam. Be prepared for boarding.”

  “Whatever you say,” Babcock said and cut the link.

  Tulula and Nigel finished their heated debate. She turned to Babcock. “It’s possible to fire and jump. But it’s dangerous.”

  “As soon as Lassea engages,” Nigel added, “we have one shot on the lasers and cannon. Anything more and the energy will be dragged along with us and rip apart the ship.”

  “One shot’s all I need,” Sanchez said. The big hunter tweaked the orientation of the cannon toward the closest capital ship. “Just say the word.”