by Chris Fox
“This is definitely the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” she said, closing her eyes for a moment. She owed Nolan. He’d given up a promising a career, thanks largely to a mistake she’d made. She had to make this right.
Kathryn opened her eyes, resolved. There were two networks in OFI space. The biggest and best was the Quantum Network, which was controlled by the military. But there was also Quantum Lite, the civilian network. It had less bandwidth, and longer queues, but it was how civilian governments communicated. That network fell under the auspices of OFI but, because it was used by far more people than the military network, it was much more difficult to police. Stories could go viral in an instant.
Kathryn copied the last remaining story about the Ghantan system. She spent several minutes writing a simple computer script, one that would replicate the story and fire it off on a timer. Then she bridged the two networks, and set the script to start firing stories into the Quantum Lite network. Doing so would be considered a breach of security. It would be traced back to her eventually, and she’d be brought up on charges. She might be flushed from the service, or—given what she’d seen of her father lately—might meet an even worse fate.
It didn’t matter. This was the right thing to do. She’d ducked morality when she had a chance to save Nolan, and had watched his career be picked apart because she’d stayed silent. This was a chance to atone, even if Nolan never knew it. At least she’d finally be able to sleep again.
She executed the script and watched the story begin to replicate across both networks. Then she turned the terminal off, smiled, and walked back to her quarters.
42
Here, Kitty Kitty
“I cannot believe we’re doing this,” Nolan said, grabbing the handle set into the CIC’s bulkhead.
“It was your idea,” Captain Dryker countered from the captain’s chair. He was grinning like a madman, his gaze focused on the view screen.
The Johnston had just emerged from the star, a G-class star not unlike Earth’s sun. They were free of the corona, which meant that their sensors were able to scan the system. It also meant that they were visible to anyone in-system who happened to be scanning.
“Sir,” Juliard said, her voice quavering. “I count seventy-three Tigris vessels. At least a third are Leonis Pride, and most of those are warships. They’re primarily concentrated around Tigrana, but there is some traffic to and from the Gate.”
“Excellent,” Dryker said. He smiled grimly. Nolan noted that the captain’s uniform had been pressed, and he had apparently found time to trim his beard. “Scan for the Claw of Tigrana.”
“Yes, sir,” Juliard said. She was silent for several moments. “I’ve located it. They’re here, sir.”
“Open a channel,” Dryker said.
A moment later the view screen changed. It showed the bridge of a Tigris vessel, a view Nolan had never seen before. Its layout roughly mirrored that of the Johnston’s own CIC, and several Tigris stood near various consoles. Their captain was terrifyingly similar to a female lion, so much so that Nolan took a step backward. She stared imperiously at Captain Dryker, and Nolan read murder in those bestial eyes. There was history between the captain and this Tigris, of that Nolan was sure—history that went beyond what had happened in the Purito system.
“Another human might not understand the insult you have offered my race by coming here,” the enemy captain said. She growled low in her throat, and her tail thrashed wildly behind her. Each time she spoke, Nolan could see her two-inch fangs. “You know better, Dryker. You know what you have done, which means you have done it intentionally. Why have you besmirched our honor? Do you crave death so very much? I assure you, you are about to meet her.”
“Hello, Fizgig,” Dryker said, calmly, and gestured to Nolan. “My XO, Commander Nolan, would like a few words.”
Nolan licked his lips, then stepped forward and looked up at Fizgig. “You’ve lost colonies. So have the Primo. So have we. We’ve figured out who’s attacking them. It’s an ancient race. The Void Wraith.”
“The Void Wraith are nothing but a fairy tale,” Fizgig said, her eyes narrowing. “You’ve come all this way to tell stories?”
“We’re broadcasting the data we’ve accumulated on the Void Wraith,” Nolan said, stabbing a button on his tablet. “You don’t trust us, and we can’t blame you for that. But look objectively at the data. We have a common foe, Fizgig.”
“Even were that true, I’m still honor-bound to destroy you. Coming here has ensured your deaths.”
“Maybe,” Dryker said. He gave a cavernous yawn, and the Tigris captain recoiled as if struck. “First you have to catch me, Fizgig. You couldn’t do that back at Purito, and you’re not going to do it here. I’ll even tell you where I’m going. We’re heading to the Ghantan system. I’m broadcasting the location now. If you’re warrior enough, then follow us. Bring your fleet. I promise you’re going to need all the help you can get.”
“You—” Fizgig began, growling low in her throat.
“End transmission,” Captain Dryker ordered. The screen went black, then returned to a view of space. “Lieutenant, is the Tigris fleet’s posture changing?”
“Negative, sir,” Juliard said. She paused, studying her terminal. “It appears that only the Claw of Tigrana is moving to engage us. The rest of the ships aren’t taking the bait.”
“Blast it,” Dryker said, slamming a fist down on the arm of his chair. “Juliard, access the battle footage from Mar Kona.”
“I have it, sir,” Juliard said. The view screen showed the debris field they’d first encountered, the wreckage of the science vessel Revelation.
Lena tensed, her tail thrashing as she studied the screen.
Nolan felt for her. She was seeing the remains of the vessel she’d called home. Who knew how many friends and family she’d lost when it was destroyed?
“Broadcast this footage system-wide,” Dryker said.
“Yes, sir,” Juliard replied. She was silent for several seconds. “It’s been sent, sir. Every vessel in the system can see it, plus the data Commander Nolan sent.”
“That should do it,” Lena said, her voice just above a whisper. “No Tigris will be able to ignore that insult, especially those in the Leonis Pride. You’ve shown that you destroyed one of our science vessels, and you’ve broadcast it in one of our most holy places.”
“Let’s hope it worked,” Dryker said. He turned to Emo. “Get us out of here, Ensign Gaden.”
“Aye, sir,” Emo said. The Johnston began to turn, then headed back into the star’s corona.
“Are we being pursued?” Dryker asked, his voice was tense.
“Negative, sir,” Juliard said. “The Claw of Tigrana is still the only one pursuing us.”
“How is that possible?” Dryker said, rounding on Lena. “I thought you said we’d insulted your entire culture.”
“You have,” Lena said, growling deep in her chest. Her eyes narrowed, and she flexed her claws. “My people will never forgive this. I don’t understand why they aren’t pursuing.”
“The Claw will be here in four minutes,” Juliard called.
“Get us out of here,” Dryker said.
Nolan watched the view screen. It looked like they’d failed, and there was no point in staying any longer. At least one Tigris vessel was following, though that wasn’t going to make any difference unless they received a lot more help from some other quarter.
43
Fizgig's Wrath
Fizgig flexed her claws as she paced back and forth. Her vessel was moving toward the Johnston, but she knew she’d never reach it before it reached the Helios Gate and fled. She supposed it was possible that Dryker was telling the truth about this Ghantan system, that the Johnston would be there waiting for battle—but it seemed unlikely. Captain Dryker was one of the craftiest humans she’d ever met, and he was far too canny to give himself up so easily.
“What are you planning?” she muttered aloud. She was aware of
tails twitching all over the bridge, but her crew wisely remained silent. They could feel her fury. She rounded on Izzy, whose eyes were as wide as saucers. “Is the rest of the fleet moving to join us?”
“No, Mighty Fizgig,” Izzy said, in a small voice. Her tail drooped, and she didn’t make eye contact.
“Open a channel to Admiral Mow,” Fizgig snarled.
The screen flickered, then revealed a cat even older than Fizgig. The admiral’s once-rich fur was now dun and faded, the gold on his cheeks fading to a pale white. He stared impassively at the monitor, meeting Fizgig’s barely contained fury with utter disdain.
“Why isn’t the fleet moving to intercept the humans?” Fizgig demanded. She unsheathed her claws, stalking to the screen so she could stare up at Mow.
“Because I have ordered them not to,” Mow said.
“Why?” Fizgig roared. “Our honor has been stained, again. The humans have come to the holiest of holy places. They have uttered a challenge, a challenge we cannot refuse. We must pursue them, and punish them.”
“And you will do so,” Mow said, licking his paw, then using the paw to smooth the fur behind his neck. “You have been accorded much honor, Fizgig. Are you telling me that you don’t believe you can best these humans?”
“Of course I can best them, but that isn’t the point. This isn’t about a personal matter anymore. This affects all of us. We must respond with overwhelming strength,” she protested. “If we do not, the humans will think us weak.”
“We would accord the humans much honor by sending our fleet. That would show that they matter—and this I will not do. You will deal with them personally. Alone. Hunt them, and do not return unless it is with word of their deaths,” Mow said.
Fizgig watched the admiral. This made no sense. Mow had always been honorable, and would never have retained his position without that kind of concern. Yet here he was advocating something that stained not just his own honor, but that of all Leonis.
“What if the humans aren’t lying about these Void Wraith?” Fizgig asked. She hoped that they were, but a quiet voice in the back of her head wondered. What did Dryker gain by coming here alone? Why would he taunt the Tigris fleet, then broadcast his true location?
“The Void Wraith are a fairy tale for kits,” Mow said, waving a dismissive paw. “The humans still rankle from their defeat in the war, even years later. Perhaps they have tailored an ambush, one that could destroy dozens of our vessels. No, we will not fall for such base treachery. You will deal with this matter alone. It is decided.”
The admiral cut the connection. Fizgig was left fuming. The Claw was still powering toward the star, and it seemed they had no choice but to proceed alone.
“Mighty Fizgig,” Izzy said, again in a small voice. “The Rrrrowlerchan is requesting a channel.”
“On screen,” Fizgig commanded.
“Mighty Fizgig.” Zera, the captain of the Rrrrowlerchan, appeared onscreen. Her orange striped fur rippled with displeasure, and her tail sketched a pattern of frustration behind her. “The fleet has monitored your communication. Admiral Mow has spoken—but this is not right. Honor demands that we destroy the humans. Our entire fleet should pursue.”
“Yet, as you say, the admiral has spoken,” Fizgig said, growling low. “I do not wish this, but I have no choice. I must obey.”
“Hunt well, Mighty Fizgig. Your brethren hunger for blood, and you carry with us the honor of our pride. We wish we could go with you,” Zera said.
Almost, Fizgig considered asking her to disobey the admiral. Almost, Fizgig sought the help of the pride against the wishes of her commander. But doing so would dishonor Mow. It would cause a rift in their ranks, and force her to challenge Mow for command.
No, she couldn’t fracture her people. Not after the losses they’d suffered.
Unity was vital. She disagreed with Mow, but she would do her duty. She would pursue and destroy the humans.
“Zera, I beg a favor,” Fizgig asked, blinking.
“Name it, Mighty One,” Zera said, ears perking up.
“If we fall in battle, gather the fleet and avenge us. I fear that there is a deeper game here. The humans are treacherous, but I have seen this enemy with my own eyes,” Fizgig said. She sat up straighter. “If the humans are telling the truth, the Tigris must unite. Do what you can to ensure that.”
“As you will it, Mighty Fizgig,” Zera said. “Go with the gods, matron. You carry the pride of our race.”
44
Surrender
“Hold position, Ensign Gaden,” Captain Dryker ordered. He could tell by the expressions on the bridge crew that they thought he was crazy. Only Nolan supported him, his unwavering optimism etched on those features. Nolan reminded Dryker so much of himself at that age. He would make one hell of a fleet captain if he survived this, exactly the kind of commander that they’d need in this new war.
War. That word had been the counterpoint of his life, and it was somehow unsurprising that it had come again. For a long time he’d hoped that he would either retire or pass away before seeing it again. Eight long years of peace had passed, but at long last war had come again. A different kind of war, one that might extinguish them all if they couldn’t pull together—and do so quickly.
“Lieutenant Juliard, I’d like a full core dump into a personal storage device,” the captain ordered. “Make sure it contains all sensor data, all footage of the Void Wraith, and everything we’ve recovered from the Primo VI.”
“Yes, sir,” Juliard said, bending over her terminal. Her fingers flew across the screen. “It’s being sent to your PSD now, sir.”
“Excellent. Send a copy to Commander Nolan, and broadcast another over the Quantum Network,” Dryker ordered. If they died here, the data needed to live on. If they survived, he wanted a copy on his person. He had no idea what would happen in the coming battle, but that evidence must survive.
“Captain, I’m detecting a vessel beneath us,” Juliard said.
“On screen,” Dryker ordered.
Juliard punched the image up, and it showed exactly what Dryker expected: the Claw of Tigrana was approaching from below, narrowing the distance between them.
“They’re hailing us, sir,” Juliard said softly.
“Open a channel,” Dryker ordered. He sat back in his chair, and readied himself for the unpleasant encounter.
“Why?” Fizigig growled the moment her golden-furred face filled the view screen.
“Why, what?” Dryker asked, mildly.
“Why did you call us here? Why taunt our fleet, when you know what it would do?”
“My XO told you,” Dryker shot back, meeting her gaze evenly. “There is a greater threat, and that threat is located here, in the Ghantan system. You’ll see it as soon as you reach our altitude. The Void Wraith are here, Fizgig, and they’ll exterminate all of us if we can’t put our differences aside.”
“Your recent actions make that impossible,” Fizgig said, though her expression softened.
Dryker couldn’t exactly ascribe human emotions to a Tigris, but he almost thought he saw regret there.
“Surrender,” she continued, “and I will spare your crew. Your vessel must be destroyed, and your life is forfeit. But your crew will live.”
“Captain, they’re almost within grappling range,” Emo called urgently. “Orders, sir? Should we retreat?”
“Negative,” Dryker said, not breaking eye contact with Fizgig.
Long moments passed as the Tigris approached. Dryker knew it was impossible to run now—but then, he’d never intended to run.
“Very well,” he said. “We surrender.”
Whispers sounded between the bridge crew, but Dryker ignored them. This wasn’t just the right thing to do, it was the only thing that might save them.
“Prepare to be boarded,” Fizgig said, then terminated the connection.
45
Stand Down
Hannan tensed, ready to run even though there was nowhere to ru
n. The Tigris vessel loomed larger on the view screen, then began to fire. Harpoons shot from all four of its banks, each slamming into a different part of the Johnston. The screech of metal echoed around them as the huge tritanium barbs sank into the hull.
There would definitely be no running now.
“Sir, are we sure about this?” Edwards asked, gesturing at the packed shuttle bay. “At the very least, we should be armed.”
All four squads of Marines had gathered here. If the Tigris wanted to slaughter them, they’d meet almost no resistance. Everyone capable of that resistance was gathered here, where they could be easily controlled.
“I have no idea why Captain Dryker is showing his belly to the Tigris, but I’ve served under him for four years,” Hannan said, pitching her voice loudly enough to carry through the whole shuttle bay. “He says we wait here unarmed, so that’s exactly what we’re going to do. I’ve never seen the captain make a mistake, and he’s one of the few survivors from the last Tigris war. Trust him.”
Some of the nervous chatter died away, but not all of it. The 14th fleet was a haven for malcontents, incompetents, and every brand of slacker the fleet had produced. Some of these people were good soldiers, but a lot of them were like the space debris that piled up around habited worlds: utterly worthless, and prone to ruin a perfectly fine re-entry.
“If you say so, sir,” Edwards muttered. He sat heavily on a supply crate.
“This waiting is terrible, but it will be over soon enough,” Hannan said, slapping Edwards on the back.
