Brian casually looked back to the hopper and held up his hand. The gesture had little effect on the beast, which continued to stare at Jason. “You can relieve me only when I say you can relieve me. I am the captain of this vessel. More important, we’re in the midst of a battle here, if you haven’t noticed, and the world doesn’t stop turning just because you’ve decided to drop in for a visit.”
Jason couldn’t believe what he was hearing. What the hell has come over my brother? But Jason knew full well what had happened: He’d become accustomed to captaining the most powerful warship, with the exception of the Minian, in the known universe. Jason knew from firsthand experience how intoxicating wielding such power could be. He also knew Brian was not the man to be positioned anywhere near that kind of controlling power. His actions, right then, demonstrated that Brian hadn’t changed from the two-sided person he’d been back on Halimar, when he played as go-between between the Craing and the Alliance. He was an opportunist, at best, and most likely a traitor.
“Get up and leave the bridge!” Jason’s hands were moving fast—ready to physically extricate Brian from the command chair. The movement of something fast … something green … caught Jason’s attention. The hopper was already in the air, ready to kill—dive on top of Jason and end his life—all in the blink of an eye. That is, if Traveler hadn’t first grabbed the beast around the neck. Now, elevating the hopper eight feet off the deck, Traveler continued to hold it in his viselike grip. Legs flailed, while its arms and razor-sharp claws swiped frantically in the air. Then the hopper was ripping, tearing, at Traveler’s outstretched arm. Blood flowed crimson onto the deck of the bridge. And then came a decisive loud snap. The hopper, limp in Traveler’s grip, was dead. Traveler released his grip, letting the green beast fall in a heap at his feet.
Chapter 31
Brian knelt at the hopper’s side while yelling profanities at Traveler. Traveler ignored him. Incensed, Brian spun and addressed Jason directly. “What right did you have to kill it? Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Brian … that lizard, whatever the hell it was, was a ticking time bomb. You saw it … it was on the verge of attacking … me … your own brother. Truth is, it never should have been allowed on the bridge—or on The Lilly, either, for that matter.”
“You’ll pay for this, Jason. I promise you that.”
“Well, talk like that isn’t going to help.” Jason made eye contact with Billy, who was standing alongside Orion, watching the show.
“Escort my brother off the bridge. If he gives you any trouble, let him cool off in the brig.”
Perkins, entering the bridge, had his head down—concentrating on his virtual notebook. He glanced up just in time to avoid walking into Traveler, and noticed the rhino-warrior’s arm, covered in blood, and the dead hopper, lying in a heap on the deck. “Good God, what happened?”
“Never mind that now … bring me up to speed, XO. Fast!”
* * *
Ot-Mul had been played. Again, Captain Reynolds had gotten the best of him. Two thirds of his fleet—one hundred and fifty thousand plus warships—were marooned ninety-three thousand light-years back, with no easy access to a loop wormhole. It would be a year before they could travel the distance necessary to reach him.
The truth was, his forces still outnumbered the mismatched Allied fleets by nearly two-to-one. With his three remaining battle droids, and his assault-class destroyer, the Assailant, Ot-Mul felt he would easily come away from this battle victorious.
He continued to ponder the strategic aspects of the day ahead. There’d been a few skirmishes so far, but for the most part, vessels both large and small on either side were jockeying for prime positioning—moving assets from one spatial location to another.
“My Lor—Admiral. The small Allied vessel from the Orion system, used to commandeer Dreathlor … well, it is indeed here now. At least, what’s left of that ship. She was destroyed by the Craing-Pri, one of our newer meganaughts.”
“When was this?” Ot-Mul snapped at his second. “And was Reynolds … was he still on board?”
“No organic material was detected. Apparently, they had abandoned ship. There is something else …”
“Well? Spit it out, Captain.”
“It has been confirmed, although undetected by any of our sensors, that The Lilly’s been visually observed nearby. It is assumed Captain Reynolds, and his crew, have reunited with the ship.”
Ot-Mul’s first reaction was a flash of anger—a strong desire to lash out at the fat little captain. Beat him down into his seat cushions. But as the seconds ticked by he calmed himself. Of course Reynolds is back on The Lilly! The war about to rage in space would be more decisive than any in all known history. It deserved to have qualified combatants. When Ot-Mul achieved victory, defeating a worthy opponent like Reynolds would make his victory that much sweeter.
“Captain Gee, I want to know the relative positions of The Lilly and the Minian at all times.”
“With their phase-shift capabilities, Admiral … that will be impossible.”
“No, it’s not, you imbecilic turd. We have fifty thousand warships … fifty thousand eyes, visual points of detection, throughout this small sector of space. If visual contact is all we can count on, then have each and every crewmember keep on the lookout. I want constant updates. Is that understood?”
“Yes, understood, Admiral.”
The captain scurried off and left Ot-Mul free to return to his own thoughts. Soon the most important battle of the century would begin in earnest. He continued to stare at the constantly updating spatial representation displayed on one of the monitors. The closest planetary system was Jhardon. Ot-Mul’s expression turned sour. Turning to his third in command, sitting on the raised platform just past Captain Gee’s vacated seat, he said, “Fleet Captain Shine.”
“Yes, Admiral.”
“I have an important project for you.”
“Now … while we’re still mobilizing, sir?”
Ot-Mul continued to stare at Shine, expressionless.
“Of course, Admiral. What is your command?”
Ot-Mul stood and approached the bank of monitors integrated into the far bulkhead. “Show me Jhardon.”
The largest of the displays changed to a full-screen, live, visual feed of Jhardon in mid-orbit revolution, and showed her half-scorched, blackened side, inflicted during the attack by his Vanguard ships. As the planet turned, her bright emerald-green side began to come into view. Spectacularly beautiful, he thought, looked at from this perspective. Ot-Mul let a smile intrude on his sour face.
“Captain Shine … bring me the princess. Princess Dira Caparri.”
“Dead or alive, my Lord?”
Ot-Mul contemplated the question for several moments. “You will address me as Admiral. I want her alive. Send a convoy of warships … they are not to return without the princess. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Admiral. She will be brought to you by the end of the day.”
* * *
Dira was encouraged by her father’s recent appearance in front of the emergency-held Allied planets’ assembly of magistrates. Fear of the impending battle, one that sealed the fate of virtually every world in their sector, was running rampant. So the king opted to make a personal appearance, instead of a virtual one … another good sign. She was at his side there, clearly fortifying her current role as princess, and her future one, Queen of Jhardon. They’d made the trip to Wormly together, on board the king’s private schooner. It was a barren and ugly planet, three light-years’ distance from Jhardon. Wormly’s capital was host to close to one thousand planetary leaders. King Caparri was the de facto guest of honor—the elder statesman who, more often than not, swayed general consensus to that of his own disposition.
In the end, the trip was one of politics more than anything else. The decision for the Allied worlds to join together, once more, only really ever had one option—there would be no lying low, no hiding from the impending
Drac-Vin invasion. It was to be a unified Allied force, led by a commander from Earth—Admiral Reynolds. By the end of the conference, it had been decided … the Alliance would provide him whatever military support they were capable of delivering.
On return, the royal schooner was less than an hour out from Jhardon. Dira sat across from the king, watching him peruse a stack of reports—all demanding the king’s scrupulous attention. Too soon, such matters would be her responsibility. Do I have what the position demands? She couldn’t imagine she’d ever possess anywhere near the kind of prestige her father held among the other Allied leaders—what’s more, she didn’t want to. She didn’t want any of this life. He was making a terrible mistake, placing such responsibility in her young, inexperienced hands.
Dira’s thoughts turned to her mother. The queen was still gravely ill, lying at death’s door. What would she want for her daughter? And would she want the king to follow through with his plans for Kharmlish—the ancient practice of committing suicide, where king and queen journeyed together into the heavenly worlds? Knowing her mother as well as she did, she couldn’t imagine she’d want that to happen … she was far too practical.
She noticed her father looking at her, and smiled. “Why don’t you put those reports aside for a while. Rest, father.”
“No … there’ll be twice as many added to these tomorrow.” Wearily, he returned her smile. “There’s something else I wanted to speak with you about.” The king placed the stack of reports on the seat next to him. “Jhardon has suffered a terrible fate … its innocence is forever gone. Our planet is no longer the same world and it is time for the monarchy to end. It would be different if you wanted it to continue, but I know you do not. I have been studying the governments of other worlds, including Oricon, Aldermore, and Earth, with their more democratic institutions. Moving forward, I would like your help scripting a new constitution for our people. Will you help me, help Jhardon, with that?”
Dira was momentarily speechless. How … what had changed?
“You are no more suited to govern a planet than I am to being a medical doctor. Come, daughter, sit next to me. We have much to discuss.”
Chapter 32
Jason sipped at his coffee and put it back down on the ready room conference table. The overhead lights were dimmed and he waited for his father to appear on the display. His mind kept returning to Ot-Mul. He was capable of terrible things. Atrocities. If things went sideways, he wondered how that would play out for the ones he truly cared about … his own family.
“Captain, am I disturbing you?”
“No … come on in, Ricket.”
“I’d like to speak with you about the battle droids.”
It took a few seconds for Jason to mentally change gears. “They are a problem. A problem we don’t have a ready answer for.”
“I may have something that will, at least partially, help.”
The display across the table came alive with a live feed of Admiral Reynolds, looking frazzled.
“Hold on, Ricket,” Jason said.
“What’s this I hear about your brother? You threw him off the bridge?” the admiral asked, his expression hard to read.
“I dealt with it,” Jason said.
“Indeed. Not your finest hour … and you killed the hopper?”
“Actually, Traveler did. But the damn thing was on the verge of attacking … attacking me!”
The admiral seemed to be weighing his words. “Truth is, the thing scared the shit out of me,” he said. “Why the creature had such a hard-on for your brother, I never figured out. But throwing your brother off the bridge in the middle of a battle was irresponsible. You owe him an apology.”
“I know. I’m not so sure he’ll want to speak to me any time soon.”
“Anyway … we have far more important things to discuss,” the admiral said.
“Ricket was just about to tell me something he’s come up with concerning the battle droids.”
“Any help you can provide, Ricket, would be greatly appreciated,” the admiral said.
“I was reviewing the Minian’s phase-synthesizer database. I’ve found the manufacturing specifications for the battle droids. I thought they’d been lost, but I was able to recover them.”
“So, we can make our own … fight fire with fire?”
“Yes and no, Admiral. The battle droids are highly technical, complicated Caldurian wonders. To build and manufacture a battle droid, turnout time will take us days, if not a full week. And that’s for one.”
“We’ll be lucky if we have hours before Ot-Mul attacks. He’s got his fleets strategically positioned in such a way that the Alliance will be forced to fend off incursions from multiple flanks. That’s what happens when you face an opponent who literally has twice the number of military assets at his disposal.”
“What I had in mind was something called a MagBot,” Ricket said.
“What is that?” Jason asked.
“It’s a battle droid of sorts … only it’s half the size and has one-tenth the complexity of the full-sized battle droids. It utilizes a cocktail of unique minerals, which are all synthesized within the manufacturing process. The little droids produce incredible magnetic properties. Enough to alter gravitational fields, and bend local spatial properties to the point they’re nearly untouchable. If we can produce enough of these MagBots, we’ll be able to keep Ot-Mul’s battle droids fairly busy.”
“Can they destroy them?” the admiral asked.
“I doubt it. Maybe. But they’d definitely slow them down, while inflicting their own unique hardship on Ot-Mul’s warships. They may be our best short-term solution.”
“How soon can we have them?”
“I have a batch cooking now. I should have thirty of them ready in an hour.”
“That’s excellent, Ricket. Keep me abreast of your progress. But now I need to speak to the captain.”
Ricket nodded at the admiral and Jason and left the ready room.
“That’s somewhat encouraging,” Jason said.
The admiral didn’t answer. He looked as if he were trying to figure out how to say something difficult.
“Just spit it out, Dad. What is it?”
His father looked pained. His eyes had softened and he was clearly wrestling with something. “Jason, there’s really no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it.”
Jason had no idea what was coming, but with the day he’d already been having, he wasn’t looking forward to it.
“Dira’s …”
Surprised, Jason cut him off, “She’s dead, isn’t she? Ot-Mul kept his promise … going after the ones who matter most to me.”
“I honestly don’t know, Jason. She was with her father, on the king’s private schooner. They had time to get off a distress call. Apparently, a small convoy of Craing light cruisers intercepted their ship. Their schooner was no more than ten minutes out from Jhardon’s orbit when they were attacked.”
“What happened to the schooner? Were there bodies … any survivors?”
“The schooner was still in one piece. Drives had been taken out. There was a breach. Thirty-seven dead … no survivors.” The admiral lifted a palm to hold off the next question. “No, Dira and the king were not on board. They were not among the dead.”
Jason’s mind reeled. Ot-Mul would keep her alive—killing her would rob him of the full impact he wanted to impart. He would wait and kill her in front of Jason … that he knew, and that was Jason’s only glimmer of hope: he could possibly save her.
“Son … I’m sorry. I love Dira like a daughter. I was the one who first brought her on board The Lilly. But I need to know you’re going to stay on post … fighting the Drac-Vin is your primary objective. Too many lives are at stake … hell, everything is at stake and none of us can lose sight of that.”
Jason inwardly conceded his father was right. As hard as it would be, he needed to keep his head in the game. Saving Dira meant everything to him, but not at the risk of them l
osing the war. Something else occurred to him. “Dad, he’s going to do everything in his power to grab the kids … hell, he’d go after Nan if she were in this sector.”
Jason didn’t like the way his father’s facial expression suddenly altered. He looked as white as a ghost.
“What the hell is happening? Dad?”
“She insisted. She’s the goddamn president of the United States! You know her better than anyone; you’ve tried telling her no.”
“Insisted on what? You’re not making any damn sense.”
“Right before I contacted you … I … I obliged … I … opened an interchange wormhole for a small convoy. Nan’s come for the kids, Jason … she wants them away from the action. That, and get one-on-one updates on the impending battle situation. Understand, she was never going to be anywhere close to the front line … in and out fast. She’s easily a light-year away—”
“Damn it! When’s the last time you spoke to her? To her convoy?”
The admiral didn’t answer for several beats. “I sent Mollie and Boomer to her convoy via a shuttle. I needed to be back here. I haven’t heard that anything’s gone astray. I’m sure everyone’s fine.”
Jason wasn’t going to underestimate Ot-Mul. He was a sick fuck and revenge meant everything to him. Jason used his NanoCom to hail Orion.
“Gunny, I need you to check on the disposition of a small convoy from Earth. They recently arrived through an interchange wormhole requested by the Minian. Also, there’s a shuttle …”
Jason glanced over to his father.
“The Perilous,” the admiral said.
“The shuttle should have intersected the president’s convoy by now.” The admiral looked worried.
“Give me a few seconds, Cap. Things are heating up on multiple fronts. Looks like the Drac-Vin forces are about to make their move.”
Scrapyard Ship 7: Call to Battle Page 17
