by Brown, Ryk
“Then the jump shuttles will begin landing invasion forces into the city. They will attack the palace from one side, drawing the palace guards’ attention away from the teams dropping into the palace grounds at other locations.”
“A diversion,” Jessica commented.
“Yes, also a psychological weapon, as no one on Takara would believe they could be invaded. However, this presents additional complications,” Tug admitted. “Once the attack begins and they realize their defensive batteries have been disabled, command will recall all ships in the system to return to Takara to provide support.”
“How are spaceships going to be of help to them?” Nathan wondered.
“Each warship carries a contingent of ground forces,” Mister Dumar explained, “most notably the Ghatazhak.”
“Takaran spec-ops,” Jessica reminded them.
“I remember,” Nathan stated, recalling their first interrogation of an imperial prisoner months earlier. “How many troops could one ship put down?”
“At least one hundred,” Dumar told him, “a quarter of which would be members of the Ghatazhak.”
“And our last recon showed there were fifteen ships in the system,” Tug added.
“No way we can hold off fifteen hundred men, sir,” Jessica pointed out, “especially if they’re spec-ops. I don’t care how good the Corinari are.”
“So we need to keep the other ships busy,” Nathan surmised.
“Starting with the ones closest to Takara,” Tug explained, “as they will be the first ones to receive the call. If you are able to disable the ships quickly, one at a time, and jump your way out to engage each one, you might be able to keep them occupied long enough for our ground forces to finish their mission.”
“How long are we talking about?” Nathan wondered.
“Less than an hour, I would imagine,” Tug stated calmly. He knew it was a lot to ask of one ship, even one with a jump drive.
Nathan did not want to show his many concerns about the mission, not in front of his entire command staff. They needed a leader that was confident, one that believed it could be done. “Very well. I will review the mission proposal. I expect that further refinements will be in order, however. I will give all of you my decision in short order. Dismissed.”
Nathan watched calmly as everyone exited the command briefing room, everyone except for Cameron who waited patiently until everyone had left. She signaled the guard at the hatchway to close the hatch before she spoke.
“If he jumps into the palace grounds, he is not getting out alive,” Cameron stated dispassionately, “even if they do accomplish their mission. You do realize that.”
“The thought had occurred to me,” Nathan stated with equal solemnity. “That’s why I’m sending Jessica with him.”
Cameron looked at him for a moment, not quite believing what she was hearing, yet not wanting to react before she considered his words. “You think he’s up to something, don’t you?”
“As much as I believe Tug is willing to give his life for his cause, I don’t believe that’s part of his plan, at least not yet.”
“You think he has another play, something he’s not telling us about.”
“He has to,” Nathan insisted. “You don’t really believe that some nobleman can step up and take control just like that,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Tug has something else up his sleeve.”
“Why isn’t he telling us?” Cameron wondered.
“Because he’s afraid we won’t agree, and he can’t afford to take the chance that we’ll say no.”
“Then why go through with it at all?” Cameron asked.
“His plan doesn’t put us in a position we can’t jump away from. In fact, his plan puts us in less danger than any of them.”
“Uh, fifteen ships, remember?”
“He wants to end the reign of Caius; that much I’m sure of. I’m also sure that, once the ZPED technology is under his control, he will share it with us.”
“How can you be so sure?” Cameron wondered.
“Because Jessica will be keeping an eye on him.” Nathan smiled. “Besides, we’ll have a half dozen FTL KKVs aimed at his ass.”
* * *
“You should have given him better assurances that the nobles will fall in line once Caius is removed from power,” Dumar began.
“I could not,” Tug argued as they continued down the corridor, “not without revealing our true purpose.”
“No man would deny you that which you seek,” Dumar insisted. “It is…”
Tug hushed his friend as several technicians approached, waiting until they had passed before speaking. “If he believes we intend to sacrifice ourselves to accomplish our goal, then he believes he will still be in control of the events that will follow. His only desire is to retrieve the zero-point energy technology so that he can return to his homeworld more quickly. That is where his duty lies, not here defending the oppressed.”
“Then you do not believe him to be honorable?” Dumar wondered, somewhat surprised.
“I believe him to be honorable only in as much as it serves his purpose. He is a man like any other, and a young one at that. He has not seen the decades of war and strife as you and I have done.”
Dumar shook his head. “I fear you may be judging him too harshly.”
“I judge him in the only way I am allowed,” Tug insisted. “I have sacrificed too much to risk losing it all now.”
“But if you shared the truth with him, perhaps he…”
“I cannot take that chance,” Tug insisted sternly. “We will speak of it no further.”
“Of course,” Dumar stated, bowing his head in acquiescence. “My apologies.”
The two of them turned the corner, disappearing from the sight of the others in the main corridor for the moment. Tug stopped, placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder, and turned him to look in his eyes. “With this ship and this alliance, we will finally rid this entire sector of Caius and his tyranny. We will finally set right what we allowed to go wrong all those decades ago. Then Nathan Scott will no longer be of concern.”
Dumar looked in his old friend’s eyes, seeing the same strength and determination that his friend had always possessed, even decades ago when they were young pilots trying to earn their place among the elite cadre of Takaran nobility. “I hope you are correct, my friend.”
* * *
Dexter Soloman entered the foyer of the central bank of Ancot. As he strolled across the marble floors and between the massive ornate columns, he could feel the stares of the guards. He was not dressed in a fashion befitting the most prestigious and powerful financial institution on the surface of Ancot. The Corinairans had given him civilian clothes to wear on his journey home instead of the imperial technician jumpsuit he had worn for the last few months. Not only was the clothing ill-suited for this lavish facility, it was also not of Ancotan style.
Dexter ignored their stares as well as the overly curious glances of the tellers and customers below as he ascended the staircase that swept along one side of the main lobby. As he reached the stairs, he could see that one of the guards below had already started to follow him. It brought a smile to his face.
He made his way down the long hallway and past the numerous thick wooden office doors, each with their golden engraved placards identifying the name and position of each office’s occupant. As he approached the distant end of the hallway, he briefly peered back over his shoulder. His quick glance confirmed what the sudden cessation of the guard’s footsteps on the stairway had already told him; the guard was now following him down the carpeted hallway.
Dexter came to the double doors at the end of the hallway. The placard on the door identified the office as belonging to the ‘Chief Financial Officer and President’ of the bank. He opened the massive door and entered the well anointed office. Its decor was modest, yet it told of the status of its occupant. He approached the receptionist, an attractive, young woman seated perfectly behind the receptio
n desk.
“May I help you, sir?” she asked politely. Dexter could tell she found his attire distasteful.
“I’d like to speak with your boss, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” she answered politely. She was quite sure there was no way he would be allowed to bother the president of the bank, and her finger immediately took its position over the button that would summon security to her room within a moment. “And who shall I say is calling?” she asked, keeping to protocol.
“Tell him Dexter, his son, has returned,” he announced with a smile.
The receptionist’s expression changed from disdain to shock, and her finger pulled away from the button.
Chapter Six
“The final count is forty-four torpedoes,” Cameron reported. “Thirty-two of them carry nuclear warheads, eight of which are variable yield. As of this morning, only twenty-eight of the nukes were ready. The other four are being fitted with torpedo tube adapters today. The remaining twelve torpedoes carry conventional warheads.”
“Those won’t do us much good against a warship,” Nathan commented from behind his desk.
“If their shields are down and we throw several at them in rapid succession, it might.”
“I’m hoping we won’t get that desperate,” Nathan said. “What about missiles?”
“Mister Willard and his crews found a total of eighty-seven missiles. There were another forty or so that were still in the loaders when our fighters took out the Loranoi’s launchers. According to Mister Willard, most of those are either scrap or otherwise too unreliable to utilize. He recommends they all be disposed of as soon as possible for safety’s sake.”
“Any ideas?”
“Bundle them up and attach them to a maneuvering platform, then send them on a slow intercept course to the Darvano sun,” Cameron suggested.
“Whatever way you think is best, Commander. What about rail gun rounds?”
“We’re at about eighty-seven percent right now,” Master Chief Montrose said. “We did find another five hundred thousand point-defense rounds in one of the factories down on Corinair. Either we missed them when we were running up the last loads before the Loranoi arrived, or they were still producing them right up until the planet was attacked and they went offline. Either way, that brings our point-defense load up to about twenty percent capacity.”
“That’s not going to give us more than about ten minutes of protection,” Nathan said. “Did any of the production facilities on Corinair survive?”
“Yes, but their power grid is wiped out in that area.”
“Can we get some portable generators in there or something?”
“They’re working on it, sir,” Master Chief Montrose explained, “but they have so many other priorities down there right now. Even if they dropped everything and concentrated on getting those factories back online, it would still take a couple days before they started producing anything.”
“Yes, of course, Master Chief,” Nathan agreed.
“Tug has his fabricators working around the clock for us,” Cameron added. “He cranked out the last of the gear adapters so that all fighters we’ve captured can launch and recover properly, at least the ones that are configured for deep space combat. We could have him start producing point-defense rounds, but I think it would be better to get all the birds able to launch and recover normally. I don’t think we want to hang around in Takaran orbit launching fighters any longer than we have to.”
“Good thinking,” Nathan told her as he fought back a yawn. “Anything else from the Loranoi that we can use? Energy weapons? Shields?”
“No, sir. She was a missile frigate. She has some rail guns, but they’re not that much better than ours, at least not enough to take the time to integrate them into our systems. However, Mister Willard’s men are pulling them anyway to see if they can mount them on the jump shuttles to give them a way to defend themselves.”
“Is that possible?”
“Yes, but he advised that it could take several weeks to make it work. The guns are automated, and they are controlled from a central targeting system. Senior Chief Taggart thinks he can rig up a simple point-and-shoot sighting system using the systems we employ to remotely control external cameras, but to be honest, that’s probably not going to be worth it either.”
“You’re probably right. Tell Willard to just pull them and box them up for now,” Nathan ordered. “Anything else over there?”
“No, sir, that’s about it as far as weapons are concerned. They do have some interesting medical stuff, though. Doctor Chen and one of the Corinairan doctors are over there checking it out. They’ll bring back anything that looks useful.”
“Good.”
“Mister Willard is also going through the Loranoi’s targeting systems and ECS suite to find a way to improve our own electronic countermeasures systems.”
“That’s good thinking,” Nathan commended. “What about her comm-logs?”
“Jessica’s people are going through them.”
“Good, there might be some useful information in there,” Nathan stated. “How are we doing on ground forces?”
“It’s a good thing that we recovered all those energy weapons from the Ancot garrison,” Cameron admitted. “If we had to go into a ground battle with our own projectile weapons, we’d be in trouble. Jessica reports we’re down to only a few thousand rounds total. As far as personnel, Lieutenant Waddell reports we are up to about a thousand men in total, and between the Corinari armories and the Ancot garrison, we’ve got more than enough weapons. He doesn’t expect many more to report in from the surface. Besides, he’s hesitant to pull everyone from the surface. At this point, he figures anyone who hasn’t reported in is either dead or so involved in rescue operations that they can’t report in. He’s coming up short on officers to lead companies and platoons, however.”
“Then tell him to start promoting people,” Nathan ordered. “While you’re at it, maybe we’d better promote him as well. What’s the next rank in the Corinari?”
“I believe it’s captain.”
“Is he the senior man for the Corinari forces right now, after Major Prechitt?”
“I believe so,” Cameron told him, “but perhaps we should leave this to Major Prechitt to handle.”
“Very well.”
“Captain, comms,” Naralena interrupted over the comm-set.
“Comms, Captain. Go ahead.”
“Sir, we’re receiving a broken transmission from the surface of Corinair. It sounds like they’ve recovered the Prime Minister and several of his staff from the ruins of the command center. They’re saying the Prime Minister wants to speak with you as soon as possible.”
“What’s the delay time from Karuzara to Corinair?” Nathan asked Cameron.
“Eight minutes.”
“Can’t hold a decent conversation that way.”
“You are not going to the surface of Corinair, Captain,” Cameron insisted. “It is still way to chaotic down there.”
“Comms, have Major Prechitt retrieve the Prime Minister and whomever he wishes to bring with him and haul them back here ASAP.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What do you think he wants?” Cameron wondered.
“I’m sure he just wants to ensure that he is in control of things once more,” Nathan said, “at least in the eyes of his people.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Trust me on this one,” Nathan assured her. “I’ve got a lot of experience with politicians.”
* * *
Mister Willard had been on board the Loranoi for more than four days now. In that time, he and his team had scoured every corner of the ship in search of anything and everything that might be of use to the Aurora and the Alliance in general. It had been a difficult job, but as more and more technicians arrived from Corinair, the work load had begun to ease up a bit and had become less hectic.
His most recent task was to go through the Loranoi’s elec
tronic countermeasures system in search of ways to inhibit or even defeat it during battle. So far, other than learning the exact frequencies that the system was using, he had found little of use. Nevertheless, he documented everything he did find, no matter how trivial it seemed, on his data pad for later review.
“That’s odd,” the man nearest him on the Loranoi’s bridge declared.
Willard looked away from his work and the ECS station. There was no one else near the two of them, so Mister Willard assumed that the man was talking to him. “What’s odd?”
“There’s a strange entry in the comm-log, right after Corinair transmitted their statement of independence but before the Aurora attacked.”
“What kind of entry?” Mister Willard asked.
“They transmitted an encrypted burst transmission to Corinair.”
“To where on Corinair?” Mister Willard asked. He had worked as a communications technician on the Yamaro, and he knew that most transmissions from an imperial warship were targeted at a specific location, usually through a laser transmission system.
“To the whole planet,” the technician responded. “It wasn’t even using the laser-comm. It was radio frequency.”
“What? What was in the message? Can you decrypt it?”
“I already did,” the technician told him. “The Loranoi’s captain gave us the encryption codes. It’s an action alert code of some sort. ‘Baka, one-one-seven, Rondall-Corpa five-three-nine, Topa Zeta fourteen ten.’” The technician looked at Mister Willard. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Topa Zeta fourteen ten refers to the time. Fourteen ten is probably the message time stamp.”
“No, the time stamp on the entry is fourteen zero five.”
Willard thought for a moment. “Did you run those codes through the system to see what they mean?”
“I was just doing that,” the technician assured him. “Got it. Baka is used to signify a battle message. It’s supposed to be followed by a number representing a battle plan or a targeting package.”
