Exodus: Empires at War: Book 7: Counter Strike

by Doug Dandridge

  And the Emperor is the reason you are here in a military hospital, thought Commander Sheila Blackmoore, the psychiatrist assigned to the enlisted woman’s treatment. If the brass had anything to do with it, you would be in prison, awaiting a trial on charges of cowardice in the face of the enemy. Or dereliction of duty, at least.

  “The Emperor wanted you here,” said the Commander in her best calming voice. “He wanted you to get the treatment you needed.”

  “But I don’t need any damned treatment,” screamed the woman, her voice rising high. “Can’t you see that I’m fit for duty.”

  “I see anything but,” said the Commander, crossing her legs and giving her patient a frank gaze. “Right now, your anger is out of control. You are out of control.”

  “I just want to be on a weapon’s station, on board one of his Imperial Majesty’s ships.”

  “Until I certify you as fit for duty, you’re not getting near a weapon’s control board on a fast attack craft, much less a capital ship. And right now, there is no way I can certify you as fit. You have a lot of work ahead of you before that will happen.” The Commander reached for her cup of coffee and took a sip. “So, tell me more about how the Cacas treated you aboard their ship.”

  “I don’t want to tell you about how those damned bastards treated me,” yelled Gorbachev, putting her head in her hands. “I don’t want to think about what they did to me. The only thing I want to think about is what I’m going to do to them.”

  “We need to get past your anger,” said Blackmoore, shaking her head. “And concentrate on your pain.”

  “You want to know about my pain,” shouted Gorbachev, jumping to her, feet, fists clenched, a look of complete madness on her face. “I’ll show you pain.”

  The Master Chief took a step forward, then froze in place. Good thing we put a neural bypass program on her implant, thought the Commander. The program was highly illegal in the freedom loving Empire, allowing control of the subject’s physical movements as it did. It was only legal under the orders of a Medical Doctor, and only as a last ditch restraint for violent patients. And Gorbachev could definitely be called one of those.

  “Back into your chair,” said Blackmoore to the woman, her voice one of the dozen or so that the program was keyed to obey. Gorbachev took a step backward and sat down, her eyes points of raging fury. “Catablast,” said the Commander, the free word that released the patient from total restraint. She had come up with the word herself, something she remembered from her days of playing virtual role playing games. A Catablast had been a terrible beast to fight, as this patient looked like she would be a terrible patient to treat. The hurt just runs too deep, thought the Commander. We may have to try something a little more, drastic.

  There were programs she could put the Master Chief through, virtual reality that would allow the woman to live through her traumatizing memories, and deal with them in a more useful manner than simply going into a rage and wanting to kill something. That’s the only way we’re going to get anywhere, I’m afraid, thought the Commander, calling up her link and sending the medical orders into Gorbachev’s file.

  The only problem with virtual therapy was that it could backfire, putting the patient into a catatonic state. The odds were low as to that happening, but they were there. And if that happened, the only other treatment would be to purge her brain, completely wipe it, and reprogram her with the stored memories that all military personnel were required to record each and every year they were in service. Unfortunately, in the Master Chief’s case, the only memories she had recorded before the trauma were over eighteen months old. And depriving her of that much of her existence would take a court order, by an Imperial Judge, since it was akin to the mind wipe used for some major crimes. It was something a mere physician couldn’t order. And something she would be loath to do even if she could.

  * * *

  SAURON SYSTEM. NOVEMBER 29TH, 1001.

  “Welcome aboard the Genghis Khan, Commander Collier,” said Captain Lauren Hoyt, returning the salute of the lower ranking man, then offering her hand.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” said Scott Collier, feeling a flush of anxiety on meeting his new commanding officer. This was a plumb assignment, the flagship of a Grand Fleet Admiral like Duke Taelis Mgonda. And one of the new hyper VII battleships.

  Khan had just finished her builder’s trials and shakedown. She had missed the battle of Congreeve, but, as the most advanced ship of her type, and due to the damage to the Duke’s previous flagship, had been chosen as his battle headquarters.

  And I’m the new chief engineer, thought the beaming Commander. Khan had her own chief engineer through the trials, but he had been reassigned to Admiral Chan and the Research and Development Board. The only reason Scott could see for his getting the command was prior service as the assistant engineer on a hyper VII battle cruiser.

  “I understand that you have never been on a VII battleship before,” said the Captain with a frown.

  She wonders if I’m capable of handling this assignment, he thought, nodding his head. “I studied all the specs on the ship while on the way here,” said the Commander. “And I am very familiar with VII hyperdrives.”

  “Yes,” said the Captain, in a tone that said she wondered if that were enough. “Well, I assume you will want to check out your department. Ensign Takeo here will show you to your quarters, then to the engineering control section. Your effects will be transferred to your quarters within the hour, and we will be having a get together tonight in the Captain’s mess.”

  Right, thought Collier, hoping he could remember all of that amid everything else that was going on. “And how long until we actually deploy?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine, Commander,” said the Captain. “I guess it depends on when the supernova blows its top. But you should have at least a couple of weeks to get your department organized to your liking. Now, I have duties to see to. So, we will see you tonight at the dinner.”

  The young Asian woman led him to his quarters, which were in the rear central capsule, only fifty meters from the antimatter reactor control room that was also the central control of engineering. He had his own living room, kitchen, and a larger bedroom than he was used to even on a space station. Warships were large, and even after all the mission critical equipment was installed, there was plenty of room for crew comforts. Senior officers had their own quarters. Junior officers shared, two to a central living area, with their own private bedrooms. Senior NCOs had the same arrangement, with the exception of the Chief of the Ship. Junior NCOs shared four to a living area, though that area was larger than that given to junior officers. And on a ship like Khan, even the junior enlisted had a small personal room, eight of them on the central living area.

  And that didn’t even consider all the recreational spaces, gyms, bowling alleys and game courts, virtual reality chambers. Many mess halls serving the standard chow of the Fleet, which was considered very good indeed. Ships had been known to stay on deployment for years at a time, and the Fleet didn’t want the crews going stir crazy.

  For the moment the quarters were completely bare of any personal touches. He had several chests full of mementoes to liven the place up, knick knacks, pictures, a couple of models. And a very lively little dog that had been his companion for the last decade.

  “Let me see engineering, if you please, Ensign,” he told the young officer, who led him out of the room to the nearest lift station.

  The Ensign tried to make small talk on the way, but Collier was too anxious to see his new domain. The lass probably thinks I’m a stuck up ass, he thought as they left the lift at the station right outside the door to the control room.

  A pair of Marines in medium armor stood outside the door, and Scott found himself being scanned before he was allowed in the room.

  “Can’t be too careful these days, sir,” said the Corporal in charge of the team, doing a deep scan of Collier with a needle probe.

  “It was a good idea
even before these shape shifters,” agreed Scott. After all, the chamber beyond this door had control of the matter antimatter reactors of the ship. The wrong hands on the controls, with the proper codes, could blow the sixteen million ton ship out of space.

  “You check out, sir,” said the Corporal, looking at the screen on the probe. “Please key in a code word on this pad,” said the Marine, offering another device to the Commander.

  Collier thought for a moment, then keyed in a word he thought would be easy for him to remember, and difficult for anyone else to guess. The thick door opened, and the Commander walked into his new domain.

  “Chief Engineer on deck,” yelled out Ensign Takeo after they walked through the entry corridor and into the outer control room.

  “At ease,” said Collier, gratified to see that everyone had jumped to attention quickly, but wanting to end the silliness as soon as possible. “We will have a department meeting in fifteen minutes,” he told the assembled crew. “I want to get to meet all of you people, if that won’t be a problem.”

  There was some stifled laughter at that pronouncement, then a question. “Do you want us to bring the off duty shifts here?” asked the Senior Chief on duty.

  “I think we can let them get their rest,” said Collier, anxious to see what would be his baby.

  The next corridor was only twenty meters long, but ten of those meters were through the thick armor that was the last protection for the matter antimatter reactors, both from within and without. And, past another meter thick door, was the engineering control room.

  Collier walked over to the master control panel, looking at the seat that would be his station most of his time aboard. He ran a hand over the board, being careful to not push any of the lit panels. He pushed one that he recognized, and was delighted to see the power meters to the twin reactors come up as a holographic projection. At the moment the graph showed a mere hundred megawatts being generated, enough for a ship sitting at station. The gradations on the graph went up to a hundred pentawatts, a marvelous number, almost unlimited power that would be under his control. Or at least under his control depending on the orders of the Captain.

  It looks like an enormous amount of energy, thought the Engineer, pulling up a holographic schematic of the ship that showed the power couplings heading off to all the major systems. The laser rings, particle beam accelerators, electromagnetic field projectors, the grabbers, all energy hogs which would need to be fed during an action. And, of course, the hyperdrive projectors, the biggest energy hog of them all, and what made the massive ship the speed demon that she was.

  Dismissing one holo, the Engineer called up another, a view of the twin reactors sitting in their cradles, each over three hundred meters tall by two hundred wide. They both had twenty meter thick shells, wrapped in a tight weave of superconducting cables that siphoned off the excess heat. Collier switched the view to the inside of the dormant reactor. Yep, he thought. They’re pretty much all the same. The inside was a mass of magnetic field projectors, heat exchangers, and electrothermodynamic converters.

  And I need to get up to snuff on everything in here, he thought, pulling up more schematics. The Captain may wonder if I’m able to handle the job, and it’s up to me to prove her wrong.

  Chapter Eight

  We make war that we may live in peace. Aristotle

  CONUNDRUM SPACE. NOVEMBER 30TH, 1001.

  Commodore the Duchess Mei Lei called off her attacks while still a day away from the Conundrum System. At first the attacks had resulted in a more than favorable exchange between her forces and those of the enemy, as the disorganized Cacas basically fled the Congreeve system. Then the enemy had become more organized, and she had started losing almost the same tonnage as the foe. The last couple of days, the exchange had started favoring an enemy who had organized and congregated, and had a battle plan of their own to deal with the hit and run hyper VII forces.

  I just can’t send people to their deaths for no good reason, thought the Commodore, looking at the tactical plot that showed the enemy force closing on the hyper VII limit of the Conundrum system. She had no intention of following them into that system. She had a good idea that such would result in the destruction of her force. No, she thought, looking at the forces she still had under her command. The best thing I can do now is form a ring around this system, a light year or two out in normal space, and use my wormhole equipped ships to keep tabs on their comings and goings.

  She knew the Empire still had stealth/attack ships in the system, keeping watch on anything that came and went there. But once the enemy ships were more than a couple of light months away from the hyper barrier, the spy ships couldn’t track them. Maybe some of the ships should be picketed out two light years, and some more at five, she thought. That way they would be able to keep tabs of any movements that went around the system as well.

  “Send those orders through the wormhole com,” she told her Flag Com Officer once she had finished putting them into the record. “I’ll be in my cabin if any coms come through that I need to respond to.”

  The Com Officer acknowledged, then went to work on her board, while the Commodore walked out of the flag bridge. It was a short walk to her cabin, only twenty meters of hallway. The Marine guards saluted her as she approached the door. She still thought it ridiculous to have Marines guarding her quarters, but regulations called for such, and, after the incident on the Donut, orders had come down that regulations were to be obeyed to the letter as far as security was concerned.

  Satin waited for her, sitting up within a meter of the door, as if he had known she was coming. “My good boy,” said Mei, leaning over and petting the cat, eliciting a deep purr. “Miss me.”

  The cat meowed, a sweet sound to the ears of the woman. Mei smiled at the beast that had shared so much of her shipboard life, then walked into her kitchen to grab a snack. The cat ate first, of course, fresh gourmet fish that she had stored in her cabinets. Like most good pet owners the care of her animal came before her own hunger. The cat attacked the fish while she made herself a sandwich.

  I have a steward for this, she thought as she put roast beef, turkey and Swiss cheese on the multigrain bread, then spread some hot mustard on it. But she liked taking care of small details like this herself. It calmed her, and after the stress of over a week of action, she needed the calming.

  Sitting on her couch with her sandwich and a cup of tea before her, she turned to the holo to see what the news feeds were saying about the war. Not that she expected any more accuracy than was usual, but she wanted to get a handle on the opinions of the crowd. The latest report came up, the talking heads discussing the battle of Congreeve, and what it would mean to the Empire.

  And as usual, they are making guesses that have no basis I reality. But at least they are giving Sean the credit he deserves.

  Satin jumped up on the couch beside her, rubbing against her leg as he eyed the sandwich. “No you don’t, you little shit,” said Mei, grabbing the sandwich from its plate before the feline could get any ideas. She took a bite, savoring the mix of flavors, which to her commoner palate was as tasty as any of the meals her cook made for her.

  “I have an incoming com for you, ma’am,” came a call over her link. “It’s Admiral Mgonda.”

  Christ. You would think they would give me a moment to eat. “Put him through,” she said, placing the remains of her sandwich on the table. The cat started heading for it, and she put a hand out to shoo him away.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting on your special moment,” said Grand Fleet Admiral Duke Taelis Mgonda with a smile.

  “Your Grace,” stuttered Mei. “Admiral. I was just taking a break to get some food.”

  “And getting a little down time,” said the smiling man. “Quite alright, Admiral. After all, your force has been continually engaged for almost a week after the battle ended for the rest of us. I think all of your crews could do with a break. Unfortunately, we still have need of you and your ships to be our fro
nt line.”

  “Yes, sir. And we will do our best to keep tabs on the enemy for you. Can I expect any relief?”

  “No, Admiral. You cannot. You will remain on picket until such time as the offensive commences. I’m sorry, but there it is.”

  Admiral, thought Mei, her eyes widening as what the other man had called her finally penetrated her consciousness. “You called me Admiral?”

  “You, Duchess, are from this moment forward promoted to the rank of rear admiral,” said the man who wore six stars on his collar. “Based on your performance in the last operation, and the needs of the Empire for someone of higher rank to command the scout force.”

  “And Admiral Montgomery?”

  “She is being bumped up to full Admiral,” said the Duke, referring to the four star rank. “We’re moving her to command of a battle group and turning her loose behind enemy lines. So battle fleet needs a new scout force commander, and you are it.”

  “I thought that was a three star rank,” said Mei, frowning, not because she wanted an additional promotion, but because that was normally the way things were.

  “Soon enough, Admiral. We have to get you through some temporal hoops before you can get that rank. But I see it in your future.”

  “Sir. I did not mean to ask…”

  “I know you didn’t. But the fact is, you are an exceptional leader, and one we can’t afford to waste commanding a small scouting force. But for now it will have to be two stars, though you will command the authority of a vice admiral.”

  “Thank you, Admiral,” said Mei, bowing her head. “I will try to live up to your expectations.”

  “That is not all I am calling you about,” said the Admiral, looking out of the holo at the cat that had jumped back on the couch. “That’s just like the one the Emperor has.”