“Doesn’t this mean they’ll need to negotiate their own treaty with Ghasts separately?” asked Sykes. “They could end up with less than they have now. Plus, they’ll lack the protection of being within the Confederation.”
“Every rebellion is two-thirds hope and one-third action, Ensign. Throw off the yoke and pray it all works out nicely in the end.”
“You don’t sound sympathetic,” rumbled Commander Adams.
“I represent humanity first and the Space Corps second,” smiled Talley. “I can understand why they have chosen to act in this way. Whether or not I agree with them is something I will keep to myself.”
“I hope it doesn’t come to violence,” said Ensign Banks. “I have cousins on Liventor.”
Talley tried to hide his surprise. The crew and soldiers onboard had been carefully vetted to ensure they had no ties with either of the two planets. Somehow Banks had slipped through. Talley was saved from having to respond by an interruption from Ensign Alice Chambers.
“And I have family on Atlantis!” she said angrily. Chambers was usually reserved and she’d said nothing while Talley gave details of the recent invasion. It looked as though she wasn’t able to contain herself any longer.
“There were few civilian casualties…” he started. The look on her face stopped Talley mid-sentence and he realised he should have been far more circumspect – for some reason the thought that his crew might have family on Atlantis hadn’t even occurred. “Military?” he asked.
She nodded, a tear running down her cheek. “Teklo station.”
The four main military installations had been effectively wiped out during the Vraxar attack, with few survivors. Whoever Chambers had there, it was likely they were dead.
“I have access to the records,” said Talley softly. He sat at his console. “Who am I looking for?”
“Derrin Chambers. My brother.”
It didn’t take long. “Missing,” he said. “It’ll be weeks until there’s anything like certainty on most of the personnel.”
“Thank you for looking,” she said.
“Do you need time?”
Chambers shook her head. “I’d prefer to remain at my station, sir. It’ll be easier that way.”
“You can speak to me whenever you wish.”
She nodded her head once in acknowledgement.
The conversation was over and the crew turned their attention to the task of keeping the ES Devastator at a state of readiness. Talley ordered the battleship into a slow orbit at an altitude of fifty thousand kilometres. The sensor view of Roban showed the planet’s surface pass by underneath – a semi-tropical paradise which was home to over a billion people.
The rebel fleet shadowed them, keeping in a loose formation only two thousand kilometres behind – at such a short distance, any engagement would be brutal and resolved in moments. Talley was aware of this and paced amongst his crew, ensuring they were ready to activate the Devastator’s extensive array of offensive and defensive measures immediately. He hoped he was only going through the motions until wiser heads prevailed and the two sides could reach a swift, amicable settlement.
As it transpired, he was caught on the hop an hour or two later by something unexpected.
“Sir,” said Mercer with an admirably straight face. “I’ve just received a message from a group referring to themselves as the Frontier Council. You’ve been invited to dinner.”
“Will they be joining us here on the ES Devastator?”
“No, sir. You’re asked to visit them on the surface in five hours.”
Talley raised an eyebrow. “They’re getting bold.”
“They’re waiting for a response, sir. What should I tell them?”
“Any indication what’s on the menu?”
“No, sir.”
He sighed and ran a palm across his military-short grey hair. “Tell them I accept the invitation. I will, of course, bring a small entourage.”
“I’ve let them know,” said Mercer. “They’ve sent through details of your destination.”
Talley wasn’t particularly interested in where he’d been invited - what did interest him was the verbal sparring he’d be required to participate in once he got there. He didn’t relish the idea one little bit.
“Here’s where you’re going, Admiral, sir! I’ve got you an image feed,” said Mercer. “Looks nice!”
“It’s a bit prettier than a standard government building,” admitted Talley, looking at the sensor image of a huge, four-storey white-walled rectangular construction set within several acres of cultivated gardens. He’d half expected to see a carbon copy of the grey, concrete administration blocks which housed officials across the Confederation. For some reason, the sight of the building on Roban was an indication of how much the people here wanted to forge their own path.
Lieutenant Poole had something to say and was blunt enough that he didn’t bother waiting. “Sir, you cannot commit yourself to this venture. What if they take you prisoner?”
“There is no benefit for them in doing so, Lieutenant. Therefore, I must treat this as exactly what it is – a meeting with some of the most important people behind the second biggest crisis the Confederation has faced in many years.”
“No pressure, then, huh?” said Ensign Sykes, leaning back in her seat and stretching luxuriously. Sykes was dark-haired, dark-eyed and with an attitude that drifted towards insolence. Talley smiled thinly and didn’t respond.
“The trip will take you a couple of hours from leaving the bridge to arriving, sir,” said Ensign Banks, trying to be proactive.
“Thank you.”
Little happened during the next three hours. The ES Devastator circled the planet and six rebel warships followed. The Frontier warships occasionally attempted an intrusive scan of the battleship’s weapons systems or engines, which the crew were able to fend off without effort. In truth, the rebels could likely access the design plans and specifications for the Devastator’s most recent refit, so these probing scans were only for show – they could easily find out the battleship’s capabilities.
There was one important detail they wouldn’t find, any mention of which was purposely redacted from the usual records - the ES Devastator still carried its Obsidiar core, and a much more potent one than that on the Rampage. Talley had no plans to tap into it, but it was comforting to know it was there if needed.
With time to spare, Talley read through his queue of messages. Many of them were easily-skipped, whilst a few needed to be read twice. He came across one from his wife, which contained a short video of his daughter’s twelfth birthday party. Megan had been inconsolable to learn her Daddy wouldn’t be there, since he always pulled out the stops to be off duty on her birthdays. Guilt tugged at him.
At last, the time came to leave. Mirrors were in short supply on fleet warships, so Talley checked out his appearance without one. His dark blue admiral’s uniform was pristine – they did something to the material to ensure it remained crease-free and clean even if it was subjected to a direct missile strike. The occupant would be vaporised, but the suit could be handed on to his or her replacement. He smiled inwardly at the thought and ran a hand over one cheek – there were early signs of stubble, even though he’d shaved not six hours before. It would have to do.
“Commander Adams, you have the Devastator until I return. You will not take hostile action under any circumstances, which includes attempts to rescue me if my hosts decide to detain me against my will.”
Adams didn’t need to have everything spelled out. He saluted crisply. “Yes, sir. No hostile action. If events dictate, I’ll take the Devastator to a place of safety.”
Talley nodded. “Good.”
With that, he turned on his heel and walked towards the exit door. The thick alloy blast door opened automatically, letting in a waft of cooler air from the passage outside, along with the usual comforting metallic scent. The equipment on the bridge gave out plenty of heat, ensuring it was always a few degrees wa
rmer than everywhere else on the ship and it was often a relief to get away from it.
The interior of the battleship was relatively compact. The internal rooms and corridors were tucked deep inside the hull and extended for no more than two thousand metres. The vast proportion of the vessel’s bulk was made up from several billion tonnes of the precious metal Gallenium. When the atoms in this material were correctly aligned they could produce power in unbelievable quantities, allowing ships like the Devastator to travel further and much, much faster than anything in the past.
It took less than ten minutes for Talley to reach his destination, his hard-soled boots producing a muted thud against the ultra-dense material of the floors as he walked. The passages were lit in a cool blue-white and they had no decoration whatsoever, the grey metal bearing no paint. He passed several groups of soldiers on the way. There was little for them to do to pass the time, other than hit the gym or watch replays of their favourite films or TV shows.
The rear bay was the largest open space on the battleship. The ceiling was a few metres high and the floor of the bay was a couple of hundred metres along each side. There was no direct access for personnel – each of the four shuttles was boarded through an iris door which led to an airlock and then onto the shuttle by another iris. It cut down on the risks of someone being accidently exposed to the vacuum of space, especially when the shuttles were docking regularly.
Talley’s escort was waiting for him – twenty soldiers stood at attention near to the docking iris for Shuttle One. They were dressed in the latest issue flexible grey polymer spacesuits which covered their entire bodies. The suits had a mirrored visor, which could be slid into place to make them completely airtight, whilst making the occupants look practically identical to each other.
Lieutenant Tom Richards stepped forward, the suit unable to disguise his powerful frame.
“Sir, the men are ready.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. We will depart at once.”
“Yes, sir. Are you expecting any trouble?”
Talley looked at the gathered soldiers. They carried the latest low-recoil plasma repeaters, which had short, thick barrels protruding from a heavy magazine of ammunition, attached to which was an ergonomic handle. The plasma repeaters looked ungainly, but they could burn a hole through most things and were not yet widely-distributed. The troops also had gauss rifles slung over their shoulders and wore grenade belts. They weren’t taking any more chances than those already forced upon them by Talley’s decision to visit the surface.
“I’m not expecting trouble, Lieutenant, however I see you have prepared for it. Let’s go.”
Talley boarded the shuttle. The passenger bay had seating for over a hundred – more if you wanted everyone to stand. The bay was twenty metres long and ten wide, with the same type of blue-white lighting used throughout the Space Corps. The seats were padded, though showing signs of wear and tear. At the rear of the bay was the angular shape of a mobile heavy repeater, floating on its gravity engine and clamped in place. Richards had evidently wanted a little more assurance than just hand-held weapons and the shuttle’s nose-mounted cannon.
Though he wouldn’t be piloting the shuttle, Talley entered the cockpit. There was seating for three, in front of a bank of screens and the controls used for piloting the vessel. He took the furthest seat from the door. A man he recognized as Rank 1 Trooper Lance Andrews entered. The Space Corps persisted with its insistence that rank and file soldiers be known only by their surname during normal address. It was archaic, but any change in the approach didn’t seem likely to come soon.
“Good afternoon, sir. I’ll be your pilot today,” the man said.
“Take us out as soon as you can. I don’t want to be late for dinner.”
Andrews didn’t ask questions. He warmed up the shuttle’s gravity drive and activated the external sensors, to show the Devastator’s docking bay bathed in strobing red lights. The bay door slid smoothly downwards into a gap between the battleship’s armour plates, revealing the blackness of space. A few stars twinkled in the distance, the effect exacerbated on the viewscreen.
“Detaching gravity clamps,” said Andrews.
There was a heavy, metallic thump, alarming to first-time travellers and of no consequence to the experienced. The shuttle pulled away from the bay wall and headed nose-first out of the battleship.
“We’re being followed?” said Andrews. “I’m reading six Space Corps vessels in close proximity.”
“Ignore them. Take us to Roban.”
“Yes, sir.”
The pilot fed power into the engines until they were at full thrust and the shuttle sped away from the Devastator.
“Looks like a nice place,” said Andrews, unable to take his eyes away from the sensor feeds of Roban. “I’ve never been here. Maybe I should come back when the Corps no longer wants me.”
Talley didn’t want to respond, so he remained quiet. He checked the navigational computer – there were twenty minutes to go until they landed. Whatever happened in the next few hours, he was sure it was going to be rather more significant than a plate of Robani partridge in a shallot sauce.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE ES BLACKBIRD was a beautiful craft. It was a smooth, flattened, tapering cylinder which ended in a point. The overall appearance was that of a bullet from an ancient rifle, albeit one that measured twelve hundred metres in length. As it happened, the Blackbird was something close to ancient itself, having seen more than forty years of service. The passing years did nothing to take away the incredible design, though it now possessed an unmistakeable air of age.
“This thing can still fly, right?” asked Pointer, following Blake through the passages leading to the bridge.
“Don’t be fooled by the age. They keep the Blackbird right up to date.”
“Stealth and speed, huh?”
“A winning formula.”
“And a bigger lump of Obsidiar than anything this side of a Hadron battleship?”
Blake smiled to himself. Pointer had clearly been doing some research into the Space Corps fleet. Her near-death experience on the ES Determinant and subsequent encounter with the Vraxar was turning her into a much better officer. And much more agreeable company, spoke a voice in his mind.
“Where did you find that out?” he asked.
“I have my sources,” she said.
“I’m sure.”
They reached the bridge. It was more compact than a Crimson class destroyer, meaning there was little floorspace. Four advanced, compact consoles were arranged across the room – the captain and weapons officer’s were to the fore, with the other two placed to the sides and slightly further back. The air was cool, though not to excess and the greens of the display screens joined with the whites and blues of the ceiling lights. The cockpit of the Blackbird was the strangest mixture of cutting edge and anachronistic – the equipment was the best of the best, but the smell of new technology wasn’t able to disperse the feeling of age.
There were two unfamiliar officers awaiting their arrival.
“Lieutenant Jake Quinn – engines, sir!” said the first. This man was tall, slim and reminded Blake of the now-deceased Commander Cain Brady who had perished on the ES Determinant. The likeness was so strong Blake was sure there must be a family connection.
“Lieutenant Dixie Hawkins – weapons, sir!” said the second. Hawkins was dark-haired, with eyes of slightly different hues. Her skin was smooth, but something told Blake she was older than she looked. She exuded competence.
The rest of the formalities didn’t take long and soon Blake found himself in the grip of a narrow-sided leather chair which creaked softly as if it was oiled only yesterday.
“Lieutenant Quinn – do you have the details of our destination?”
“Yes, sir. The Juniper sent them over just before your shuttle docked.”
“Lieutenant Pointer, let the Juniper know we’re leaving.”
“All done, sir.”
�
�Bring the fission engines to a state of readiness and send us on our way.”
The warmup took only a few seconds – quicker than Blake was expecting. The transition to lightspeed was decidedly rough, inducing nausea and an unpleasant cracking from several of his joints. When the sensation passed, he checked out the status of the life support modules. They were operating at peak efficiency.
“What the hell?” he finally asked.
“First time on the Blackbird, I take it?” said Hawkins with a hint of satisfaction.
“Yes. Haven’t they upgraded the life support units?”
“We’re carrying the best the labs can produce, sir.”
There was only one conclusion to draw from that. “How long until we get to Cheops-A?” he asked.
“Twenty-one hours.” There was definite satisfaction now.
“Fleet Admiral Duggan said it was approximately three days travel. I take it we’re a little faster than average?”
“We have the Space Corps’ first and only Obsidiar drive fitted,” said Quinn. “They dropped it in a few weeks ago.”
“And now we’re faster by far than anything else in the fleet,” added Hawkins. She gave a rasping laugh. “Those transitions sure aren’t nice.”
“Something to get used to,” said Blake. He gave an exaggerated rub of his palms. “Now that you’ve had your fun, let me have mine by telling you where we’re going.”
Five minutes later and Lieutenants Hawkins and Quinn were sitting in shocked silence. Blake had a little sympathy for them. The top brass had maintained a shroud around the details regarding the Vraxar, hoping to buy themselves some time to make a few decisions without distractions. Their efforts hadn’t even achieved the status of being partially successful and only resulted in continuous, harmful speculation. The Vraxar attack was a very open secret and in Blake’s opinion the time to come clean had passed several days ago.
“The Vraxar want to kill everyone,” he said. “The Space Corps’ primary goal has never been exploration. We’ve always been a defence force and you’ve been called upon to do some defending.”
Inferno Sphere (Obsidiar Fleet Book 2) Page 3
