“Let the games begin …” Jason said, adjusting the position of the stick. Masses of information streamed into his mind—information he’d acquired through the hours of HyperLearning spent within a MediPod. Within this realm, the BFM program would push the pilot to the limit … his understanding of the mathematics of pursuit within a three-dimensional arena, where different angles of approach equated to different rates of closure. He needed to use this geometry now—to not only get within firing range, where the Pacesetter’s weapons could be used, but also to avoid common mistakes, such as overshooting, which consisted of flying in front of the opponent, called a “wingline overshoot,” or crossing the enemy’s flightpath, called a “flightpath overshoot.”
The three bogies separated and the Pacesetter was almost upon them. In space, at the incredible speeds vessels could achieve there, virtually all flying was managed via the onboard AI. That’s not to say all pilots simply sat back and let the advanced computer do the fighting for them. What Jason had come to understand was this was a melding of man and technology that was almost supernatural—the way one would anticipate the actions of the other. Jason had come to learn that not all AIs were the same. This Pacesetter’s artificial intelligence had seemed to become one with his own thoughts … his own intent.
“Incoming!”
Jason saw the crisscrossing vector lines on the display—each constantly altering to the relative positions of the three enemy crafts, each of which had fired off two fusion micro-missiles. He searched his mind for a solution and quickly came to the realization it wasn’t a part of any past HyperLearning session.
“Any suggestions, AI?”
Jason reflexively jerked back in his seat as one of the Caldurian fighters crossed mere yards in front of the canopy. “You ballsy shit!” Jason said aloud. He banked right in pursuit of the fighter as his fingers moved to the trigger. The Pacesetter’s primary plasma gun came alive with rapid-fire bolts of energy. The virtual display showed he was actually gaining on the smaller craft … but it also showed he now had six micro-missiles quickly closing in on his ass. He pulled the stick back and then to the right and felt the crushing G-forces against his chest as the Pacesetter initiated a backwards loop. “You’re going to have to do a better job compensating for those Gs, AI.”
“Yes, Captain. I’ve already modified settings.”
Jason pulled up a new menu on his HUD and made a quick scan of his available munitions. “Ah … there we go. Old school.” He deployed the rail gun and selected rail gun munitions, with tracking explosive rounds.
The trick was to instigate enough quick maneuvers to get in behind the missiles, while still evading the three fighters. They were firing their own plasma weapons now and over the past thirty seconds Jason saw that his shields were dropping—fast.
“Shields are at twenty percent, Captain.”
“Yep … see that.”
He rolled the Pacesetter into a forward roll, and then back out into a backward figure eight. The superior speed of the Pacesetter put her in behind two of the Caldurian fighters and he let loose with the rail gun. In a flash, both fighters exploded, leaving fragments behind no larger than a pencil’s eraser.
He banked and banked again. He saw the six missiles out through his canopy, moving in the opposite direction. He didn’t need to get in behind them. As she’d done many times before, the AI was anticipating his commands.
“Acquiring lock.”
The Pacesetter’s turret-mounted rail gun spun, firing backward at close to a forty-five degree angle in the direction of the now-tightly-clustered grouping of missiles. Out of visual sight, Jason watched as the missile icons faded away, one by one, on the virtual display. Unfortunately, within that same fraction of a second, the one remaining Caldurian fighter was upon him. Close range plasma fire took the Pacesetter’s shields down to five percent … two … zero.
“You have been destroyed. Simulation complete,” the AI said, without a trace of sympathy. Jason let out a deep breath, allowing the tension in his shoulders to unwind. He was being hailed.
“Go for Captain.”
“So if you’re done fucking around, you might want to get your ass back here … we’re all waiting for you.”
“Aye, Admiral. I’m on my way.”
Chapter 10
Jason entered the admiral’s ready room and took a seat in the one remaining chair at the far end of the table. With a quick glance around the room, he nodded to the others. The admiral was seated directly across from him, at the other end of the table; to his right was his brother, Brian; next to him was Perkins, then Bristol, Billy, Gunny, and the Caldurian, Granger. On the other side of the table was young Captain Curtis Pollard, who’d been promoted to skipper of the Anvil, one of the Craing’s heavy old cruisers. Next to him was Commander Dolm Mo Huck, a representative of the now-collapsed Alliance. And directly to the admiral’s right, surprisingly, sat Secretary of Defense Benjamin Walker.
“Thank you for joining us, Captain,” his father said, making no attempt to hide his annoyance. Jason glanced around and noticed that each of the inset displays in the ready room had active live feeds, showing at least another twenty attendees. Now Jason did feel some guilt at holding things up … especially seeing Nan, the acting president of the United States, looking back at him with obvious irritation.
The other, virtual, attendees were mostly unknown to Jason, but judging by many of their non-human physiologies, it was evident that they also were, for the most part, past Alliance dignitaries and command personnel. Jason took the next few moments to acknowledge each of the virtual attendees. His focus abruptly stopped on the display on the bulkhead directly to his left when he recognized the king. An imposing figure, with wide, muscular shoulders, and wearing some kind of animal hide robe, was King Caparri, whose striking violet skin first caught Jason’s attention. So did the unmistakable female beauty, sitting just slightly behind him. Like the Jhardonian monarch, she was also attired in formal, royal vestments. So striking was Dira’s appearance, Jason realized she’d purposely downplayed her looks while serving on The Lilly. Their eyes met and held—locked on each other for several moments.
The admiral cleared his throat. “I’m going to move things along. We have four key developments or issues we need to address, one by one.”
Jason brought his attention back to the meeting. He consciously willed his heart rate to slow—to concentrate on the words his father was saying.
“Issue number one: The ongoing revolution within the Craing worlds has culminated in what appears to be a fortuitous end; they are becoming an independent and free society that is separating itself from its former Craing dominion warring ways of the past. With the death of the emperor, and the scattering of their remaining high-priest overlords, all the Craing worlds are on the precipice of true change. We have been in direct contact with the interim revolutionary government there and Earth has agreed to further peace discussions.”
“Pssst … they’re sitting ducks,” Bristol interjected. “They’re living in a fantasy world if they think that Ot-Mul, and his Craing forces in space, will allow them to continue.”
The admiral looked irritated at Bristol’s unsolicited comment. “We’ll get to Ot-Mul in a moment. Moving on to issue number two … it’s been confirmed: Both Ricket and Gaddy have been taken prisoner and are confined on something called the Dreathlor prison barge. Unfortunately, from the intel we’ve been able to uncover … the damn thing is impregnable. The vessel has never been breached. No escapes … no successful incursions.” The admiral looked like Jason felt … totally disheartened. His father had spent many a year with Ricket by his side. It was the admiral who had discovered the then-cyborg, buried far beneath the scrapyard, within an ancient, dried-up aquifer. As close as Jason had become to Ricket over the last year, his father was equally close, perhaps even more so.
“There will be no rescue operation. Not with what we’re up against—”
Jason wasn’t sure he was h
earing him correctly. He cut him off, “After what he’s done for you … for all of us … how can you sit there and casually relegate him to a miserable life on a Craing prison barge?”
All eyes were on Jason. He hadn’t realized he’d stood—his fists clenched white in anger.
“Sit down, Captain, and let … me … finish!” the admiral barked, fury smoldering in his eyes. He waited for Jason to sit back down before continuing, “There will be no rescue operation, not with what we’re up against … until … we first deal with the three Craing fleets sitting on the other side of the line. If that is acceptable to you, Captain Reynolds.”
Jason kept his expression neutral and said nothing. It was obviously a rhetorical question, anyway.
“Captain Reynolds, you will put together a plan of attack and assemble your best-of-the-best Special Ops forces to bring about the successful retrieval of both Ricket and Gaddy. When the time comes, if … it comes … be ready to roll.”
“Yes, sir … we’ll be ready,” Jason said, briefly making eye contact with Billy.
“Issue number three: As we can all see by the attendance of many of our past Alliance dignitaries on virtual display, there is an interest in rebuilding the Alliance. If we can make that happen, our fleet of one hundred warships will more than double. It’s a start. By the end of today, we will attempt to ratify a new, unilateral declaration. One that reestablishes our commitment to one another.”
“I don’t mean to throw a wet blanket on such positive talk, Admiral … but what’s different now?” Nan asked, looking mystified. “I’m sorry, but it wasn’t that long ago when Earth was on the brink of destruction at the hands of a Vanguard fleet, when many of the leaders at this same meeting refused to come to our aid.”
“Just as you refused to come to our aid when the Craing set our sister planet ablaze, only days prior to that,” countered the green alien, wearing a black turban. He looked indignant, as he looked left, and then right, in an apparent attempt to garner support from the other live-feed individuals in attendance.
The admiral held up an open hand and nodded in agreement, “Our friend, the esteemed Sultan of Ali Cafrica, makes a valid point … just as you do, Madam President. And this brings us to issue number four: Ot-Mul’s combined forces in space. No longer can we refer to him and his kind as the Craing. He’s the rogue leader of an incredibly powerful, far-reaching military force. Gaddy, in the past, commonly referred to him as the Drac-Vin … the evil one. So, for no better terminology, we’ve designated Ot-Mul’s forces as Drac-Vin. The truth is, we’re not entirely sure how many warships are at his disposal. It could be a hundred thousand … it could be more. What we do know is there’s much contention. Thousands of Craing, sympathetic to the revolution back home, have gone AWOL. No less than two hundred warships have either returned to the Craing worlds or fled away into open space.”
“Where does that leave us with Fleet 9, Fleet 173, and Fleet 25—the five thousand warships sitting on the other side of the line?” Jason asked.
For the first time Jason saw a smile on his father’s face. “For the last ten minutes I’ve been getting NanoCom updates from the Minian’s bridge. I wasn’t going to read too much into this, but indications are … well, quite promising.”
From the looks around the room, and from the live feeds, the admiral knew he’d better get to the point fast. He sat up straighter in his seat and gestured for everyone to look at the display just over his left shoulder. As if on cue, the feed changed to open space. They were looking at a single, painted white Craing light cruiser.
“Okay … a U.S. fleet light cruiser. Big deal,” Bristol said, dismissing the feed with the wave of his hand.
The feed widened to show no less than five hundred ships.
“Um, we don’t have that many warships … not even close,” Jason said, not fully understanding what he was seeing. Then, under closer scrutiny, he realized not all the ships were white. Some were only partially painted, others not at all. The feed changed to another, close-up, view—this one showed a gleaming white Craing destroyer. Everyone around the table leaned forward.
“There’s something wrong with the flag,” Billy said.
Jason counted the bright red stripes of the U.S. flag emblem on the side of the vessel. Sure enough, there were eight red stripes instead of seven. Chuckles erupted around the table.
“Good intentions. But their message to us is anything but subtle. Why it took them two months to convey it is anyone’s guess,” the admiral said.
Jason shrugged. “That’s a hell of a lot of white paint. Probably had to bring it in from somewhere else. Another planet somewhere.” Jason smiled at his father. “Are we to surmise our fleet has increased by five thousand warships?”
“It’s certainly an unconventional way to convey the news.” The admiral raised two fingers to his ear. He raised his other hand at them as he listened. He nodded twice and said, “Understood. Admiral Reynolds out.” He looked around the table, then to the feeds on the displays. “As of three minutes ago, we received an unconditional surrender from the 9th, 173rd, and 25th fleets. Apparently, they wanted there to be no doubt about their intentions.”
Cheers erupted from all around the room. Those on live feeds were just as vocal as those sitting at the table. Jason saw Nan smiling, wiping tears from her eyes.
“All right, settle down, everyone. It’s about time we’ve had some good news. Obviously, we need to sit down with the fleet commanders. Captain Reynolds, assemble a security team and prepare to join me on board their command meganaught.”
Jason sat back and watched as those at the meeting quickly dispersed. So much had changed within a matter of minutes—everyone needed to make new preparations. One by one the live feeds flickered off. The admiral left the compartment, talking to Walker.
Jason eventually stood and stepped away from the table. To his left he noticed one of the display feeds was still active. There, standing alone, was Dira. Her eyes … those incredible, violet eyes, were watching him. A full minute passed—neither spoke—neither moved. The sadness Jason felt was also mirrored on her face.
“I’ve missed you, Jason.”
“Come back … come back to me.”
She shook her head with barely any movement. “I’m needed here. My parents … Jhardon needs me.”
“There’s no way I’m giving up on what we have.”
Her expression changed from one of sadness to cynicism. “I think Nan might have something to say about that, Jason; she’s carrying your child.”
“Listen, you and I weren’t … well, we weren’t together then. Not really. Hell, it was one night. A mistake. It took place over six months ago. Neither Nan nor I have any intention of getting back together again. How could you not know that my heart belongs to you?”
She seemed to take that in and the sadness returned to her face. “Well … then. This truly is a bitter goodbye, isn’t it? I need to go. My life is no longer my own. One week from now I will assume the title of Queen of Jhardon. Nothing can change that. Goodbye, you will always have a special place within my heart, Jason.”
Jason’s mind reeled. He wanted to reach through the display and pull her into his arms—to hold her tight and make everything perfect between them again. She tilted her head and smiled—the kind of sad smile that conveyed all the pain and regret that a person could possibly endure. She turned then and slowly walked away. The display flickered twice and went black.
Chapter 11
Apparently word had quickly spread throughout the remaining Allied worlds that three Craing fleets had been dropped off at Earth’s doorstep, all tied up with a pretty red bow. Jason and his team waited on the flight deck outside the Perilous. The admiral was soon inundated with interstellar communications—it seemed everyone now wanted to be friends. Jason himself had been contacted by a constable, a premier, and an empress when they couldn’t directly reach the admiral.
Moving with haste, the admiral emerged from the DeckPort.<
br />
“Sorry for the delay. Seems we’re the belle of the ball, today.” Jason’s team came to attention and saluted the admiral as he came to a halt at the back of the shuttle.
“Billy, Gunny, Rizzo … good to see you,” the admiral told them.
“You remember Sergeant Toby Jackson, Delta Forces?” Jason asked.
“Yes, good to have you along, Sergeant,” the admiral said, nodding.
Muscular, and over six and a half feet tall, Jackson grinned, revealing a white smile with a gold front tooth. “Good to be here, sir.”
“The rest of the team are on board, Admiral,” Jason said.
The admiral strode up the ramp and acknowledged the five other SEALs, already seated. Jason and Billy, bringing up the rear, sat at the back of the shuttle. Jason used his NanoCom to let Lieutenant Grimes know everyone was on board and they were ready to go.
Once the shuttle was off the deck, had cleared the Minian’s starboard flight port, Jason stood and moved to the seat next to his father. Billy made a face. “Was it something I said?”
“Talk to me about Walker, Dad. What’s he doing here?”
The admiral looked as if he knew the question was coming. “Look … Walker’s not only a politician, he’s also a master strategist. The country’s made mistakes over the last few years … Hell, I’ve made mistakes over the last few years. I’m military. I think like a soldier when sometimes I should be thinking like a politician. Earth is entering a new phase. A phase where strategic alliances will become even more important. Can you think of anyone you’d rather have at the table than Secretary of Defense Walker?”
Jason thought about that for a moment. “No … he’s smart, cunning, and loyal to his country. I’m sure he’ll represent Earth from space with that same tenacity. I guess what I’m getting at … we’ve always had a clear delineation between the two. Now who’ll be in charge of space command?” Jason shrugged. “It’s hard enough taking orders from my father. Will I … will we now be marching to the drum of the president? My ex-wife … or through her proxy, Walker?”
Scrapyard Ship 7: Call to Battle Page 6
