Chapter Nineteen
Morgan ascended the steps toward a defense control room, close to the base of the thirty-meter-tall, light gray pulse cannon.
Seazza followed, ready to take notes. It wouldn’t be necessary. Part of his monthly routine was to inspect the six batteries that ringed the capital city. This was just another notional duty as part of his routine. He had already been around four. The ground crews ran them like a smooth machine and didn’t need his patronage.
Two fidesians and a human, in the sky blue artillery uniforms, rose from their chairs around a console and stood to attention. A red-tinted window ran the full length of the twenty meter room, giving an all-round view of the skyscrapers that dominated the central city, the smaller CWDF base buildings, and the distant dark green mountains.
A sharp chemical odor hung in the air, the standard-issue cleaning fluid CWDF used before any kind of inspection. Morgan wondered if desk jockeys assumed this was the usual smell in the military installations outside their offices. He had served time on battleships and knew different.
The human, a young fresh-faced lieutenant with mousy hair, stiffly saluted. “Battery Two ready for inspection, sir.”
“At ease,” Morgan said and glanced around at the sparkling metal desks, console and his own reflection in the gleaming window. The men relaxed and sat in their chairs, waiting for the vacuous questions. How are things? Are you enjoying it here? How long have you been in the artillery?
They and he knew it was all an act.
Bigger things were at stake. With the Axis forming up for battle and searching for the Atlantis ship, Marshal Kenwright playing down events, and Carson Mach busting out a prisoner from Summanus, the Salus Sphere felt like a big shit sandwich. If events weren’t handled properly, all of them would have to take a bite.
“Anything to report?” Morgan asked.
“We haven’t received a credible threat since the exclusion zone was set up around Fides Prime,” the lieutenant said.
Morgan frowned. “Exclusion zone?”
That was a procedure only taken when they expected an attack. It made no sense; Morgan hadn’t received anything on his smart-screen.
“We received the command call,” the lieutenant said and bowed his head. “I can’t believe Orbital Twenty-Two has gone.”
“Excuse me?” Morgan asked. He refreshed his smart-screen and had no notifications. “When did this happen?”
“Fifteen minutes ago. I thought you…”
Morgan felt anger surge inside for two reasons. They had lost more lives and it wasn’t hard to guess the source. Secondly, all operational units and staff officers were supposed to receive the command call notifications. It wasn’t hard to work out that the marshal had had him removed from the distribution list after his last dressing down.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” he said to the artillerymen and gently grabbed Seazza by the elbow. She took the hint and followed him back to the stairwell.
“Did you receive any messages about this?” Morgan said, keeping his voice low. His cheeks burned from the humiliation of being told about the situation by a junior officer. Kenwright and his staff didn’t even have the courtesy to make him aware of the move.
“I’m not part of the command call,” Seazza said in her matter-of-fact way, maintaining her best political poker face. “I presume you were taken off to concentrate your efforts on the search for the Atlantis ship.”
Resisting the urge to punch the internal wall, Morgan bit his lip and took a deep breath. He selected Ops on his screen and raised it.
“Ops, Captain Paterson speaking,” came the reply above the noise of loud conversations.
“This is Admiral Morgan. Please update me on what happened to Orbital Twenty-Two.”
“It was just like before, Admiral,” the captain replied after a brief pause. “A wormhole appeared, a ship came through and blasted the station before we lost all trace of it.”
“The same design as the one that destroyed Orbital Forty?” Morgan asked.
“Exactly. We had a fighter doing a sweep at the time. It recorded a feed. I’ll send it through to you now.”
“I want all the information you have. Wormhole coordinates, last tracked location of the enemy ship and energy readings. Do you understand, Captain?”
“Perfectly, Admiral. Will that be all?”
“Can you give me an update on the Axis frontier movements?”
“I’m sorry. I’m not authorized to do that, Admiral. Outside of the marshal, we’re only to provide officers updates on their allotted tasks. The order came down this morning.”
Morgan clenched his fist and moved the screen closer to his mouth. “I need an overall picture to figure out if the Atlantis ship is working in conjunction with the horans.”
“We don’t have an established connection,” the captain said, his voice becoming increasingly wobbly. “You saw it yourself, Admiral. The horans are searching for the ship too.”
“I’ll be over in twenty minutes.”
“The operations center has gone to lockdown. Sorry, Admiral, you’ll have to speak with the marshal if you want access.”
“Thank you for the information. Out.”
There was little point continuing to put a young officer under pressure for doing his job. Morgan had been in the situation before, caught between a direct order against a high-level protocol. It wasn’t much fun. They all had the same goal. To keep the Salus Sphere safe.
Senior officers in the CWDF all had different ways of doing things. The mentality stretched back to the Century War. A lot of the old sweats believed the strategy that helped them to victory remained true to this day. They didn’t factor in the Atlantis ship punching holes in the frontier’s defensive ring or the growing technical edge the vestans provided the horans.
With two orbital stations down, and hundreds of lives lost, the Salus Sphere had two weak points to plug with capital ships, and many citizens in mourning. The situation was becoming increasingly critical. Kenwright’s reactionary strategy of putting out fires wasn’t going to work.
Morgan sighed and looked at Seazza. “Did you hear all of that?”
“Your best opportunity to make a difference is to capture the Atlantis ship. If war is coming, your team’s success could prove the difference between success and failure.”
“That’s my point,” Morgan said, trying not to show his exasperation at the situation. “I’ve been blocked from joining the fight and have limited resources for a mission that could mean the difference between defeat and victory. Even if we destroy the ship, it will mean we lose no more stations, which will make things much harder for the Axis.”
Seazza glanced in either direction and stepped closer. “You haven’t had any official word from the marshal yet. Once you do, I’ll speak to Vice President Orloza and arrange a meeting.”
“He’d have to be blind not to see what’s happening,” Morgan said, feeling a release of tension at the promise of speaking with the senior member of the senate. It wasn’t the correct chain of command, but the risk was worth it, if it meant preserving their territory and lives. “I’m going to the marshal’s residence immediately. Meet me back at my office. We don’t have any time to lose.”
***
Morgan watched the attack on Orbital Twenty-Two on his screen as the transport pod hummed past the empty airfield toward the marshal’s residence. The orange wormhole appeared again. It formed a wide tunnel. The bulky Atlantis ship drifted through, surrounded by crackling lights. It fired six blue bolts at the station, crippling it, before sucking in the wreckage and surrounding debris.
The feed sent a chill down his spine. That kind of destructive power would be difficult to stop, even for capital ship with a capable captain at the helm, but it needed stopping. At the moment, the Atlantis ship was the biggest threat to security.
Mach still hadn’t sent an update. Morgan carried out a generic search on the Salus network to see if his name popped up. He groane
d when the results flashed across his screen. Carson Mach had been added to the Feronia wanted list, for the resource robbery. Morgan knew Mach had his own way of getting things done, but if Kenwright found out, it would torpedo the mission. As things stood, that was their best chance of eradicating the threat.
The pod came to a gentle halt outside the stone gates and its door slid open. The gate guards slapped their hands against their rifles and clicked their heels together. Morgan returned a salute and crunched up the pebble path toward the two front doors.
A junior female fidian officer met him in the entrance hall. “Good morning, Admiral. I don’t have you down for an appointment?”
“I need to see the marshal immediately,” Morgan said, admiring the array of medal ribbons on the right breast of her dark blue shirt.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. He’s holding a meeting with the defense chiefs.”
Morgan shook his head and looked up at the painted mural on the ceiling, depicting a destroyer battle from the war. Both he and Kenwright captained ships during the struggle. “Doesn’t that include me?”
The officer spun and faced a desk, danced her fingers over a holographic keyboard and gazed at the screen. “You are down for a meeting tomorrow morning. I’ll send you out an invite later today.”
Being omitted from the defense meeting was the final straw for Morgan. He’d be sidelined to the point where he had nothing to lose. He turned and headed straight for the meeting room at the end of the glass-paneled corridor.
The junior officer’s boots thudded against the light green marble floor as she followed. “You can’t go in there, Admiral. I’m under strict instructions that they’re not to be disturbed.”
Morgan stopped and looked her in the eye. “Since when do you tell an admiral what to do? I’ve spent twenty-five damned years in the CWDF and fought for my first five. The marshal can do his own dirty work.”
The officer raised her smart-screen. Morgan narrowed his eyes. She lowered her wrist and turned away. He felt no satisfaction about pulling rank, but if he wanted to see the vice president, he needed verbal confirmation about the changes Kenwright had imposed; otherwise it would just come across as speculative whining.
A cool, calm head would be the best way to play this. Morgan took a second to compose himself, knocked on the door and opened it before receiving a response.
Two young captains sat in padded black leather seats on either side of the polished wooden conference table. Kenwright, sitting at the head, glared at Morgan. “What’s the meaning of barging in like this?”
“I heard the news about Orbital Twenty-Two from artillerymen in Battery Two,” Morgan said, making sure he stuck to the facts and kept emotion out of his words. “I’ve seen the feed and it’s obvious that the Atlantis ship has struck again.”
Kenwright glanced at both captains. “Leave us for a minute, would you?”
Both captains stood and left the room. Morgan made sure the door closed behind them and turned to face the marshal. “How many years have we served together, Marshal?”
“Take a seat, Paul,” Kenwright said in a conciliatory tone and gestured to the chair on his left. “We’re heading for war.”
“I think that’s pretty obvious,” Morgan said, remaining at the opposite end of the table. “What isn’t so obvious to me is why I wasn’t told about being taken off the command call and why I’m no longer a defense chief?”
Kenwright groaned and poured himself a glass of water. “We need young blood to win. Like you and me twenty years ago. Bellies full of fire, fearless, and the stamina for a long campaign.”
“You do realize that the Atlantis ship is currently causing the damage, dragging our ships around and creating gaps?”
“Of course I realize. That’s why I’ve put you on the job.”
“With no CWDF resources and a tight budget,” Morgan said and sensed a chance to push for what he wanted. “Let me captain a capital ship and join the hunt for the Atlantis ship. I’ll forgive the disrespect shown to me.”
“That’s completely out of the question. They’re required to keep back the Axis.” The marshal’s face twisted into a scowl. “And who are you to forgive me? Get out of here, and don’t come back until you’ve got some news on your little project. I don’t want to hear about you meddling in the ops center or pressuring junior officers either. Am I making myself clear?”
Morgan saluted. “Yes, Marshal.”
Returning along the corridor, Morgan passed the two young captains, who both gazed at their boots. Kenwright shouted them back in through the open door.
A grin stretched across Morgan’s face. The old goat had finally lost it. Using two captains in his defense meetings, putting a low priority on the very thing that destroyed the two stations, and sidelining one of his most experienced officers in battle. The marshal had spent years getting lazy after the war, whereas Morgan yearned to be active. Now he had his chance. Now he had reason to go higher, to Orloza.
Mach still needed to get in touch and provide an update, before any news of his mission got out, but more importantly, Orloza would see him, and Morgan didn’t feel a shred of guilt about it. The CWDF would not fall due to incompetence.
Chapter Twenty
After two standard days, Mach and his crew on the Jaguar came out of their L-jump. Mach was in the captain’s chair with Adira by his side monitoring the sensor array. So far, no sign of the Atlantis ship signal.
The navigational viewscreen at the front of the bridge switched on the moment the LD engine whined down. They had entered real space-time once more. Mach engaged the damaged Gamma Drive and brought it up to a comfortable thirty-five percent so as not to overload the remaining crystal array.
“Hey, Squid, how are things down there in the drive module?” Mach asked.
“Stable, sir, though I’m afraid the L-jump has somewhat made the vestan design irreparable.”
“The sensors are picking up chatter,” Adira said. She brought the signals up on the main screen and squinted at the waveforms. “Looks like general communications and flight control,” she added.
“So it does,” Mach replied. “This is a rare piece of good news. It means the rumor of the Black Swan having a station out here had more to it than you realized.”
“And that’s good luck? If half of the rumors about this psychotic Laverna reject are true, I doubt she’ll just let us approach without some kind of tithe. Especially given the rarity of this ship.”
“Well, we don’t have much choice at this moment. How much do you know about this woman?” Mach asked, thinking of a way they could perhaps trade for help to repair the ship. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing to spend a few days here; it would give Babcock a chance to scan the area to see if there was any sign of the Atlantis ship.
“And besides,” he said, “who knows, there might be some interesting intel to be had. When we get inside, I want you to come with me.”
“Oh, that’s gracious of you.”
“I’m sorry about last time, but I wanted you back here.”
“Don’t forget, Mach, that your contract is still effectively open.” She gave him a cold look that made him look away.
“I know,” he said with a sigh. “It’s not as if I’ve just forgotten. Someday, whether you close that contract or not, I want to know who took it out regardless of how much it would hurt me. I can’t live not knowing.”
“You’re assuming we’ll survive the Black Swan,” she said and shut the conversation down with, “I’m going to wake Babcock and the others. You can take us into the station—it’s just point three two of an AU away. I’ve marked it on the chart.”
Mach simply nodded as she passed him and headed down the corridor to the berth section amidships. He input the coordinates into the AI-navigator and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes, thinking of their likely next move.
A few moments later Babcock joined Mach in the bridge.
“Sanchez’ snoring is like nothing I
’ve ever heard before,” the old man said. “It rattles through the bulkhead with more noise than the LD.”
“Means he’s resting well. We need him alert.”
“Adira said there’s an orbital here after all.”
“Yeah,” Mach said, bringing a magnified view of it up on the screen.
“Huh,” Babcock said, scratching at his whiskery chin. “Can you enlarge it still further? I want to get a look at the surface detail.”
Mach did as he asked. “What is it?” he asked.
Babcock stood up and approached the viewscreen so he stood just a few meters away from it, the screen swallowing his small form up as though he were an element of the orbital.
“It’s of vestan design,” Babcock said. He raised a bony finger and pointed to an octagonal protrusion from the center of the spinning ring. It reminded Mach of an old-fashioned satellite dish. Around its vast perimeter, hundreds of small cylindrical pods were attached to its edge, giving the station a knurled look from this far out.
“It’s old,” Babcock added. “Looks to be one of their early defense orbitals.”
“So you mean it’s got massive weaponry on it?” Mach said.
“Uh-huh, almost certainly. I think you should send a communication to its owners and be very polite when requesting that we dock.” Babcock turned to face Mach and with a hunched limp, made his way back across the bridge and sat in the copilot’s chair with a groan.
“We’ll need something to trade,” Babcock said, casting an expectant look. “You got anything with you that might be valuable to nonpartisan Axis and Lavernan scum?”
Mach thought for a moment; other than the ship itself, he had nothing he could call valuable per se. But then it came to him… “I’ve got you,” he said, pointing a finger to his old friend.
Babcock sat back in his chair and inclined his head. “Me? You want to trade me? I doubt I’d fetch many eros given my age and condition, and prostitution is out of the question.”
“Hah, no, not you specifically, but what’s in your brain. All those years sitting in your HAB listening in to the Salus Sphere’s every communication… you must have learned a few things that would be useful to people who aren’t exactly the CW’s best buddies.”
Carson Mach 1: The Atlantis Ship Page 14
