Alpha Fleet (Rebel Fleet Series Book 3)

by B. V. Larson

  The key to giving staffers the slip was to keep walking. They could follow, and they could chatter—but under no circumstances would I pause and let them dominate my time. Once you stopped moving, a talented bureaucrat could keep you in his sights for ten minutes or more. With a pasted-on smile and bland comments, I managed to get untangled and out the door.

  To my good fortune, Mia was still awake and in a fine mood.

  “You’re a hero,” she told me. “Everyone says so.”

  “Someone should tell Dr. Abrams.”

  She made a rumbling sound of displeasure. “I heard one of his staffers call him a name recently. They said he was a donkey-dick. Is that accurate?”

  I laughed, and she laughed, and we had a drink together.

  It had been a long, hard day, but I still had enough energy left over for my girlfriend. We made love and slept bare without so much as a sheet on top of us.

  =8=

  I awoke shivering. It was close to dawn, and the temperature in the room had plummeted. That was a problem when living in the mountains: the temperature swings could be brutal.

  Throwing a sheet over Mia, I got up and padded to the bathroom. On the way, I paused in the kitchenette.

  It was base housing, and the base was cramped. An officer’s quarters were usually better than this, but here in the Rockies we had to stack up in what amounted to one-bedroom apartments. At least I wasn’t commuting every day from Colorado Springs.

  I closed the fridge with a slice of sausage in my mouth and a beer in my hand—and that’s when I saw him.

  “Godwin?” I demanded. The slice of sausage hit the tile floor with an audible slap.

  He raised his hands in the universal sign of surrender. His hands were empty—but that didn’t mean much with a being like him.

  Reacting viscerally, I slammed the door of my fridge into his chest. He grunted and staggered back.

  “Shhh…” he said. “You’ll wake up Mia.”

  “I’m going to kill you this time.”

  “Is that the way you thank an ally?” he demanded. “I put it all on the line to come talk to you, to warn you about Fex. Where’s the gratitude?”

  Wearing nothing but boxers, I dragged him out of my apartment and into the hallway. I felt better outside my door.

  “You can’t go sneaking around like this,” I told him. “Humans are territorial. One day, I’ll kill you—maybe by accident.”

  He rubbed at his ribs where I’d slammed him with the fridge door.

  “You certainly are. Your actions today were—unexpected.”

  “Are you here to state your disapproval?” I asked him.

  “Would it matter?”

  “Not to me.”

  “Well,” he said, “the situation has shifted. I counselled you earlier to surrender to Fex. That would have been the prudent course. But that easy exit has closed. You’ll have to take a much more difficult path now.”

  I frowned at him. “How did you get in here, anyway?”

  Godwin shrugged. “Humans built their first primitive transmat only recently,” he said. “Do you really think a race that’s had such technology for centuries couldn’t have improved upon it?”

  “So… you used some kind of personal transmat?”

  “No…” he said. “It’s more complex than that. But please, let’s not get lost in the weeds, as you like to say. Let’s stick to the reason I’m here.”

  I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall. I was still within easy striking distance if he tried anything, but he looked relieved anyway.

  “Reason prevails,” he said, nodding. “It’s never your first choice, but you can be persuaded. In any case, I’m here to give you new instructions.”

  Snorting, I waved for him to continue.

  “When Fex returns with a full fleet, you must surrender,” he said. “There won’t be any second chances at that point. His hand will be forced if you resist.”

  I listened to him with growing concern. “He’s coming back?”

  “Of course. His mission has not yet been completed.”

  “His mission being the subjugation of Earth?”

  “As I stated last time we spoke, that is his goal.”

  My mind raced. For some reason, I’d thought this crisis had been averted—or at least that we’d been given a breather.

  “How long until he comes back?” I asked him.

  “You would call it… a month? Maybe less.”

  “We can’t build a fleet big enough to stop him in a month.”

  Godwin spread his hands and smiled thinly. “No, you can’t. That’s why I’m here. That’s why you must follow my suggestions.”

  “What do you care?” I asked him. “Why do the Nomads want Earth to survive?”

  “Because your breed is unlike the other Rebel Kher. There’s something different about you… We’ve been studying your DNA for several years now, but we’ve yet to reach a firm conclusion. But whatever our researchers discover, the real point is you’ve managed to turn back the Imperial Kher twice now.”

  “Ah,” I said, catching on. “We beat the Imperials, so you want us to be around the next time they come?”

  He laughed quietly at me. “You did not defeat the Imperials. You caused them to retreat and reconsider. That is an amazing feat, but it isn’t victory. Winning the conflict you’re caught up in will take many generations—if it’s possible at all.”

  “Okay, whatever. You were impressed by Earth, so you’re helping us out. You’re playing the long game.”

  “There is no other kind of game for a beaten people to play. We’re outcasts here in your Galaxy, chased from our homeworlds by force and driven into the dark. We live in clustered star groups, places surrounded by nothingness. It’s like living on a lonely handful of islands.”

  “Huh,” I said, thinking about it. “And yet you come and go here with ease. Why not use your transmat tech to invade the Imperials directly and spoil their plans?”

  “Would that it were so easy… They have ways to block us, to keep us out.”

  “But not us. Not Earth. Here, you come and go as you please.”

  Godwin shrugged.

  His attitude kind of pissed me off. I frowned at him.

  “Just what are you, anyway?” I asked him. “I mean underneath, when you aren’t pretending to be human. Do you look like a wasp, or an earthworm or maybe some kind of spider?”

  “My form is as you see it,” he said. “It’s my consciousness that’s been transferred into this body. The current form of my person is relatively unimportant. This shape was chosen to put you at ease.”

  “Huh…” I mused. “That’s really weird. So, is there some other version of Godwin elsewhere? Sleeping, maybe?”

  “No, spare bodies aren’t usually kept alive when remote transmission of consciousness occurs. It simplifies things to dispose of it, then construct another suitable receptacle at the next destination.”

  I squinted at him, frankly amazed. What he was describing was beyond my knowledge. Could these creatures really travel the cosmos by transmitting their minds from one body to another? The more I thought about it, however, the more sense it began to make.

  “That’s how you were able to look like Jones, and now you’re back to being Godwin again, right? You must use the transmat, or something like it.”

  “Precisely. You do realize there’s no such thing as an instant transference of matter, don’t you? Not without a phenomenal usage of power and advanced equipment. What a transmat really does is send a long-distance signal that uses tricks of quantum physics to beat the speed of light. The booth you step into doesn’t really transmit a person, it breaks down a body then another rebuilds a copy of it at a remote location.”

  “That’s horrifying.”

  “Not when you get used to it. To me, it’s no more disturbing than a haircut. That process is also a painless removal of excess body matter, is it not?”

  The more I thought about it, the more u
psetting his revelation became. The people who used the transmats believed they were being transported over a great distance—but it was a lie. They were being disintegrated and reconstituted elsewhere.

  “So… you don’t have a single solid form you call home? Did you ever have one?”

  “Yes, of course,” Godwin said, “but that was long ago. We’re called Nomads, after all. We have no homes—even our bodies are temporary.”

  The very thought of how these aliens lived made my skin crawl—but I forced a smile.

  “That’s terribly interesting,” I told him, “but since you’re in an informative mood, I’d like to know why you’re here. Why do you keep showing up and bothering me in particular?”

  “Among the billions on this planet, very few are worthy of note. You happen to be one of them. My masters hope Earth can cause even greater distraction for the Imperials in the future.”

  I was beginning to catch on. We weren’t expected to win the war with the Imperials—we were expected to irritate them.

  “So…” I said, “the Nomads are plotting something big…”

  Godwin looked startled, but he quickly recovered. “We’re always plotting. We’re always looking for a path, a way to regain a foothold among our home stars again. Is that so wrong?”

  “Not at all. Very understandable. But I’m not sure you’re really an ally from Earth’s point of view.”

  Godwin took a deep breath. “Blake, for the good of your people and mine, you should realize that the stakes in this war are very high. No one is truly your friend. Not even the Rebel Kher who you trust most.”

  I didn’t totally buy his opinion because I knew that some of the Rebel Kher put honor and friendship above death itself—then again, others like Fex shifted loyalties like the wind.

  Would any of them risk their homeworlds for friendship? I wasn’t sure about that.

  Godwin left after having delivered his new “instructions” concerning our next meeting with Fex. I’d assured him I’d pass his wisdom on to the brass, but I didn’t guarantee Earth would surrender—in fact, I told him I rather doubted that we would.

  “Such a waste,” he said, shaking his head.

  Going back into my apartment, I couldn’t sleep the rest of the night.

  Was Godwin right? Was it the right move to surrender our sovereignty and allow Fex to “protect” us? It was hard to know, and a bitter pill to swallow.

  =9=

  As had been so often the case in history, Earth’s governments were slow to open their treasuries without witnessing a direct threat. Over the last several years, frightening ships had come and gone in our home space, but few people had actually died. Some individuals, such as myself, had been abducted and sent into battle among the stars, but even among those few most had returned alive.

  Everything felt different now. Earth had witnessed a space battle. Three huge ships had appeared, approached aggressively, and our tiny vessels had attacked them. We’d driven them off, but no one could now feel comfortable.

  The following weeks were understandably full of frenetic activity. Earth had moved from a slow state of peacetime build-up to fully gearing for war.

  “This is war,” Admiral Vega told a circle of grim-faced officers. “Let there be no mistake about it. They came here, they threatened us, and we defended ourselves. But that wasn’t the end of it. Far from it.”

  He was being dramatic, but I had to agree with him. After a few more doom-laden pronouncements, Vega turned to me.

  “You all know Captain Blake, at least by reputation. He’s our most experienced space fleet officer. He’ll guide you through the rest of this seminar.”

  He passed me by as he left the room, and he gave me a stern look. “If anyone falls asleep, I want them shot.”

  “Yes sir,” I said. “I won’t even give a warning.”

  The officers glanced at one another. A few chuckled, but no one felt certain we were joking. We gave no hint in our expressions.

  Vega left then, and the new trainees were my problem. I’d become an instructor after all, and that ground my teeth for me. Vega had gotten his way.

  But the arrangement wasn’t exactly as Vega had imagined. I wasn’t a permanent prof in some dingy office whiling away the hours. My role was to give three-day, intensive seminars covering tactics and providing detailed information on the enemy. How they thought, how they may be expected to react to various actions—exactly the sort of thing only I’d experienced.

  The compressed format suited me. Each seminar’s attendance was limited to the command staff of a single phase-ship. I spent only a few days with each group. They listened intently, got what they could from me, and then went right back up into space to patrol again. No one was left with the impression we were wasting time.

  The beauty of a real war was that it cleared the minds of the participants. We were all on the same page. We all wanted to survive, to keep the citizens of Earth breathing. Loyalty and respect were at a fevered pitch. I doubted it would last for years—but I also doubted Admiral Fex would take that long to come back to visit us again.

  After talking to each crew about scenarios and watching live action vids with them, my favorite part of the training began. I put them through some scenarios I’d picked up from the Rebel Kher themselves.

  Now, some may think me cruel to place young officers inside a dome-like arena and give them simplistic weaponry. But I knew better. These spacers weren’t just learning how to fight, they were learning to think like the Kher.

  The first round always began with the entire group arranged in a circle. Usually, there were about fifteen of us. The phase-ship crews operated with three groups of bridge crewmen, standing watch in eight hour shifts around the clock. That was an improvement when compared to how we’d run Hammerhead. Due to the ship’s design restrictions, we’d lived with two twelve-hour shifts, and fatigue had set in after weeks in space.

  To kick off each event, I had everyone strip down to a pair of coveralls. Then I handed each person a stick, and I gave them a little speech.

  “All right,” I said, “you’re not on Earth anymore. You’re in the Kher fleet. They operate very differently than we do here at home. Discipline is laxer, more immediate. They don’t fight in a perfect line like we’ve learned to do—not usually.”

  They were all watching me closely. They’d heard about this—but no details. I’d worked hard to keep the whole thing secretive and mysterious. In my opinion, it made the experience more realistic.

  “Only one man or woman is going to step out of this bubble on their own,” I told them, eyeing each one sternly. “Why is that? Because you’re all about to beat hell out of each other once I give the signal.”

  Warily, they eyed one another. That was an early stage, sizing up opponents. It was only natural.

  But there was a certain hesitancy in the group. I recognized it right off. Our troops were used to obeying officers of higher rank. How was an ensign supposed to treat the commander standing next to him in a dogfight?

  “Don’t worry about ranks here. You’re in the Kher fleet now—all of you have to earn your ranks from the bottom. Once we’re past this training, you’ll go back to your prior status, but you’ll be wiser. I’ve got commitments from the senior staff that there will be no hard feelings. No recriminations for what happens here.”

  The oldest man in the group, a commander by rank, nodded when my eyes landed on him. He had a paunch, but there was a hard look in his eye. You could never tell who was the meanest until the action started.

  I nodded back to the commander, and I continued walking around the group. I moved with my eyes cast down, just in case someone decided brain me from behind during my speech. It had never happened yet—but there was always a first time.

  “So, take up your weapons—both hands, now.”

  They lifted their sticks, which had padded tips. The pads were something of a trick, however. The fighting sticks were weighted at the ends. A thin layer of viny
l and foam rubber should stop anyone from being cut badly, but a good hard blow could still knock out teeth or crack a bone.

  “See the floor? How it’s lit up green? That means there’s no fighting allowed. When it goes yellow—ah, there it goes!”

  A few men backed up in alarm. One of them touched his head to the domed surface and cried out, dropping his stick.

  “Hold on!” I shouted. “Yellow is a transition point, a warning. Red means you’re in battle. Also,” I continued, pointing toward the cursing man who’d backed into the curving walls, “the walls are charged. Don’t run into one unless you feel the need for some additional incentive.”

  They looked over their shoulders in alarm. They were breathing hard now, eyes wide.

  “Any questions?” I asked, circling around to my starting point again.

  No one spoke. That was good, because the floor went red at that moment.

  At the same time, our syms began to agitate us. It wasn’t a full-on murderous frenzy they induced, not today. The sensation that swept the group was more like waking up with a hangover on a sunny morning. We were all suddenly feeling itchy and easily angered.

  Most of the troops spread out and paired off across the red deck—clacking together their sticks. One man went down, but he sprang back up again.

  It was a lackluster performance. They were going through the motions without real bloodlust—not yet.

  I stood apart with my stick in my hand, watching with a disapproving glare.

  “Downright embarrassing…” I said. “You want to hold hands and sing instead?”

  The commander had been left alone up until this point, but he was a man who understood the importance of an exercise. He stepped up behind a sparring pair and clocked the man who was facing the other way with his stick.

  We all heard two audible cracks. The first one was the stick hitting an unsuspecting skull, and the second was that same skull hitting the floor—hard.

  A whisper of a smile crept over the old man. Right then and there, I marked him as one of the mean ones. Like I said, you never could tell.