Warrior: Book 2 of The Legacy Fleet Trilogy

by Nick Webb

  It took some time, but finally Isaacson tracked down a colonel that had access to the actual production line. The entire process chain began in the casing production facility and ended with final delivery to storage, or deployment aboard vessels.

  The news was not encouraging. “Yes, sir, I can confirm that eighty-two percent of all devices have already been deployed.”

  “Total number?”

  The colonel lazily glanced at his computer readout. “Nearly nine-hundred thousand, sir. Is there a problem?”

  Isaacson nodded, but he wasn’t sure how much to reveal. Word would surely travel up above the colonel’s head if the vice president were poking around. “Just a potential security vulnerability. Tell me, is there a way to alter a bomb’s containment wave function while deployed?”

  He bunched up his brow. “I suppose so. Each device is linked and addressable by the ship’s central computer. Shouldn’t be a problem to adjust any parameter on any device. Could even do it remotely, I suppose.”

  Good. It might just be possible, then. He made his way up to the surface, but stopped one last time at another level. “Meta-space communications,” he said to the elevator, trusting there was such a comm center in the admin building. The lift started moving right away, opening its doors just a few floors above where he’d been. He found a station manned by a solitary technician, whose eyes widened when she saw who was exiting the elevator.

  “Easy, there. Don’t get up,” said Isaacson, settling into the seat beside the young woman, who looked as if she were about to hyperventilate. Comm techs didn’t often get to hobnob with politicians, he supposed. “What’s your name?”

  “Private first class Pickurel, sir. Can I help you with something?”

  “You can. Look, sweetie, I know this is not protocol, but I have an urgent message I need sent to the Britannia System.”

  “But, sir, I usually only send messages my supervisor gives me—”

  “Good for you, Private. That is excellent security hygiene. But in this case we have a security leak at the highest levels. This message needs to stay between just you and me. Not one word to anyone. You’ll erase the fact it’s been sent and tell no one but the president or myself.”

  He could tell by the look on the kid’s face that she was skeptical. This was not only out of the ordinary, but extraordinarily so. “Look, sweetie, what I’m going to tell you, you need to keep between you and me. And that’s this,” he leaned in close, giving his whisper a note of urgency. “IDF has been compromised by the Swarm. Their spies are everywhere. If this message doesn’t get out to the fleet in the Britannia Sector, we may well lose the war within the week. Now, you don’t want the deaths of billions hanging over your head, do you, sweetie? I know what that’s like, and believe me, kid, it ain’t fun.”

  The private’s eyes grew even wider, but to her credit, she nodded. “What’s the message, sir?”

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  New Dublin, Eyre Sector

  Bridge, ISS Warrior

  Proctor tried to focus. She tried to stay conscious. But she’d lost a lot of blood. Doc Wyatt had said so.

  She propped herself up on the bed in sickbay—she noticed the doctor had put her in one of the beds in a private alcove, but all the other beds in sickbay were empty. Strange. There had been half a dozen wounded in there earlier that morning, and the ship was rumbling all around them. A battle raged outside, she knew. More wounded would be coming.

  And yet the rest of the staff was gone, too. She looked around the room, searching for any other nurse or physician.

  “I sent them out to the peripheral decks. Set up temporary triage centers there—much closer to where we’ll have wounded.”

  Doc Wyatt stepped out of his office with a smile. He was holding a tiny syringe, though she couldn’t get a good view of what it contained. She rubbed her forehead—a smear of anti-bacterial cream and flesh sealant covered the wound, and it itched terribly.

  “Don’t touch it, Commander. Our friends want us all in perfect health.” He held the syringe up to the light and flicked the tip, working the air bubbles out.

  The contents were vaguely green. Swarm matter.

  Someone started pounding at the door, yelling. “Shelby! Shelby!” It sounded like Granger.

  So—he’d figured it out too. Good. If she didn’t make it, at least someone knew what was going on. Someone else knew about Wyatt.

  Doc Wyatt stood over her bed, looking down at her. “The time is coming quickly, Commander. It’s the dawn of a new day for humanity. Our new friends are benevolent and generous and kind.”

  Her eyes flicked from him to the syringe and back to his face. “Does it hurt?”

  Wyatt chuckled. “Of course not! It’s like waking up. I’ve never felt more alive in my life. And now, my life will be much, much longer. That’s the thing about our friends—always learning. Always growing. They discovered long ago how to stave off death in life-forms like us. Not forever, of course, but you will be around for a long, long time.”

  Proctor’s eyes narrowed. The pounding at the doors continued. Wyatt glanced up at them, a look of vague concern passing over his face. “Unfortunately, I won’t be around to enjoy the new world.” He fished around in his pocket with his free hand and extracted a gun.

  She saw his plan now. Infect her. Kill himself. She’d be under Swarm control, Wyatt would be dead, and Granger would think that all was well. The Swarm would infiltrate up to the highest levels of IDF command that way, as Granger and Proctor both were deeply involved in the war effort.

  A loud clang hit the entrance, and she saw something metal protrude from the seam where the sliding doors met. They were trying to force it open.

  “Goodbye, Commander. And hello.” He reached down with the syringe and held the gun to his head.

  Before he could insert it into her arm, she pulled her hand out of her pocket where it had been fingering her own syringe, and jabbed it into his abdomen. With a grunt, she thumbed the entire contents into him, and he jumped backwards in shock.

  “What … what was that?” He stumbled forward toward her, and she rolled off the bed and crouched behind it.

  “Oh, just a vial of … actually, you know what? I’m not going to tell you. Monologuing is more of a super-villain kind of thing.”

  He held his stomach and dropped his own syringe. He screamed. Froth welled up at the corners of his mouth, and he screamed again. He held the gun up and pointed it at her.

  She closed her eyes and bent forward. Gunfire. Multiple shots rang out. Her shoulder exploded in pain, and she instinctively rolled out of the line of fire.

  A thud nearby made her risk a glance beyond the edge of the bed.

  Wyatt had collapsed, still moaning. She glanced up at the doors and, in addition to the metal spike prying the door open slightly she saw a hand poking through, clutching a sidearm, still pointing at Wyatt’s prone, shuddering form. The doctor screamed again.

  “Shelby? You ok?” Granger shouted through the partially open door.

  Proctor leapt up, ignoring the pain in her shoulder, and dashed toward the doctor, snatching his gun where it had fallen. Wyatt was bleeding from the arm, shoulder, and leg where Granger’s bullets had struck him, but he seemed gripped by a pain far worse than bullet wounds.

  “Fine.” Holding her bleeding shoulder, she backed up to the door and released the lock. The metal spike fell to the floor with a clatter and Granger burst through, advancing on Wyatt, gun pointed at his head.

  “No! Sir, stop,” she said.

  “He’s Swarm,” said Granger, cocking the sidearm.

  “Yes, he is. Just … wait.” She didn’t want to say anything out loud yet, not with Wyatt still listening, and capable of communicating her words to the Swarm. He breathed heavily and groaned from her earlier injection—her first attempt at a rudimentary pathogen for the Swarm virus she’d created.

  Proctor yanked a drawer open and searched for a tranquilizer. Finding the right vial, sh
e loaded it into a meta-syringe, bent down, and injected it into Wyatt’s neck. Within moments, the moaning stopped, and the doctor closed his eyes.

  The ship lurched.

  “What did you hit him with?” he asked, astounded. “He had a gun trained on you. He fired, and missed.” Granger pointed to the wall behind her—the shot had gone wide. Apparently Wyatt was in so much pain that he was in no condition to aim.

  “Took him down with science.” She glanced up at him. “Don’t mess with science.” The ship rumbled again. “Look, Tim, I’ll explain later, but they need you up there.”

  He glanced up at her head. “You’re wounded.”

  “Yes. But I’m fine. I can handle him now. On your way back to the bridge order the medical staff back down here—Wyatt said he sent them all over the ship to set up triage centers, probably to get them out of here so he could infect me.”

  He nodded. On the way out the door he glanced down at the unconscious, bleeding form of Doc Wyatt. “Proctor, I’ll say it again.”

  “What’s that?”

  He smirked at her. “I’m glad you’re on our side.”

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  New Dublin, Eyre Sector

  Bridge, ISS Warrior

  The bridge was a scene of mayhem. He’d only been gone for twenty minutes, but even five minutes battling the Swarm was enough to destroy most ships.

  But, like the Constitution, the Warrior was not most ships.

  “Status?” he barked, striding toward the center of the bridge. Lieutenant Diaz looked up, relieved. “Captain Barnes has kept us alive. For now.”

  “How many of us left?”

  Diaz winced. “We’ve lost ten more ships, sir.”

  Ten ships. Ten ships just for this. He’d been throwing ships around left and right for two months, ordering their sacrifice to obliterate the Swarm carriers’ fighter bays and giving the rest of them a fighting chance.

  But this time it felt different. These captains all stayed behind to take the bullet for him. For him. It was stupid, and irresponsible. One ship and one crew—even his ship and his crew—was not worth ten others. But he supposed he’d cultivated this. He was an unbeatable legend. The one who would drive back the Swarm once and for all. At least, that was what he had let his people think. He never made any attempt to squelch the talk. To scuttle the hero-worship. To them, he was essential.

  And now it bit him in the ass. His other captains should not be throwing their ships and crews away just for his life, as grateful as he was to, in fact, still be alive.

  For now, at least.

  “Commander Scott. Please tell me our drive is back?”

  From the mayhem of engineering came Scott’s voice. “Aye, Cap’n. Just came back online now.”

  On the screen the camera showed Barnes’s ship, the ISS Nottingham take a direct hit from a Swarm anti-matter beam, and in the background a Dolmasi ship was pummeling the Eddington. “Signal the fleet. We’re back online. Get out of here.”

  “Aye, sir,” said Ensign Prucha.

  Over the comm Captain Barnes’s voice boomed out. “Good to see you back on your feet, Tim. Now, let’s blow this joint.”

  “See you at Earth,” Granger said. “And thank you, Captain, for sticking around. We owe you one.”

  “Hell, Tim, you would have done the same for us.”

  Would I? He thought it more likely that he would cut his losses in order to fight another day. To win the war, not the battle.

  But he felt more at ease, now. He was sure—almost sure—that he wasn’t controlled by the Swarm anymore. Under their influence? Maybe. Could they track him? Maybe. But controlled? No.

  “Ensign Prince, take us home.”

  A moment later, the view on the screen changed, and a star field replaced the scenes of battle.

  He breathed deep and sat down. Glancing at his hand he realized some blood from Colonel Hanrahan had sprayed onto him, and he rubbed at the dried flecks.

  “Now let’s just hope the rest of them make it.”

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  New Dublin, Eyre Sector

  Bridge, ISS Warrior

  Earth was a welcome sight, but it had come with a high cost. The fleet had rendezvoused, and the stragglers were still coming in, but it was clear—the mission, at least by the numbers, had been disastrous. That was what he knew the admiralty would tell him. Thirty-three ships. Thirty-three ships and crews gone, and all during the space of less than three days on a mission that he’d claimed would take them weeks as they navigated behind enemy lines, striking Swarm worlds and then fading into deep space just as quickly.

  Except Granger knew the truth—the mission was actually a stunning success. He finally knew the location of the Swarm homeworld. He was sure of it.

  He glanced over at Lieutenant Diaz. “Commence repair and recovery operations. Ensign Prince,” he turned to navigation, “get us to Wellington station. We’ll need to restock our supplies and ordnance. Commander Proctor,” he said, looking up at the ceiling, wondering if she was awake.

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “We need to go report to Admiral Zingano. Are you well enough to share your results?”

  “Well enough. And they are what they are. I wish I had more for you, Tim.”

  He shook his head. “You’ve done more than enough already, Shelby. One hell of a scientist, huh? Careful, or Zingano might take the Independence away from you before you even step foot on it, and stick you on a science ship.”

  She chuckled. “We don’t have science vessels anymore, Tim. Remember there’s a war on?”

  “Not for long. I’ll meet him in the shuttle bay and then we’ll come to you. Don’t get up—stay in sickbay.”

  He stood up, ready to turn the bridge back over to Lieutenant Diaz. “See that armed marines are posted at the entrance to sickbay at all times. Doc Wyatt is not to be released from his bed restraints until I say so. Do not believe a word that comes out of his mouth—he’s been stripped of all rank and authority indefinitely. Do not touch him, or go within ten feet of him. Understood?”

  Diaz nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Good. The last thing they needed was more Swarm-infected people running around. Proctor had used some sort of agent that attacked the virus itself, unintentionally releasing poisonous pathogens into Wyatt’s body as a result—causing him incredible pain—but there was no guarantee the doctor was himself again.

  Steps from the door, he was stopped by the comm officer. “Sir?”

  “What is it, Ensign?”

  “I’m receiving a coded transmission from Admiral Zingano’s private channel.”

  “Decode it.”

  Ensign Prucha nodded, and a moment later said, “It’s marked for your eyes only.”

  Granger returned to his chair and swiped his console on, presenting his palm for credentials. The message flashed onto the screen.

  President Avery missing. Keep it to yourself. After resupply meet me at the waypoint.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  New Dublin, Eyre Sector

  Bridge, ISS Warrior

  Ballsy flicked the viewscreen on. They were at Earth, and who knew when they’d come back—their previous mission was supposed to last weeks, not days.

  He didn’t know when he’d get a chance to talk to the kid again. The kid that needed a hero.

  The grandmother’s worn, lined face filled the screen. “Oh, Tyler, I’m so glad you called. Hang on, I’ll go get him.”

  He smiled and her face left the screen. In the background he could hear her corral the little kid. Volz heard his name mentioned, and at that the boy shrieked, and moments later his small face lit up the screen.

  “BALLSY!”

  Volz grinned. When three-year-olds said something, they said it. “Hey Zack Zack, how’s it goin’, little man?”

  “GOOD.”

  He started babbling and showed Volz pictures he’d drawn and explained all the parts in his broken little-kid sentences. Before long he pulle
d something out of his pocket and held it up to the screen.

  “Hey, buddy, you still have it!”

  “YEAAAH!”

  The little toy was chipped at the edges from extensive play, but the model fighter still gleamed impressively in Zack Zack’s hand. “It’s FAST!”

  Volt chuckled. “Yeah, man, sure is. Fast as lightning.”

  “Did you fly today, Ballsy?”

  It still threw him for a loop that the little kid called him by his semi-vulgar callsign, but it made him grin all the same.

  “Not today, little man. But maybe tomorrow. I’ll go fast then, ok?”

  “OK.” Zack held the fighter up as he soared it into the air and made what he supposed were explosive fighter noises. After a moment Zack focused on the screen again, his eyes smoldering, staring at Volz. “Did you find Mommy yet?”

  Volz’s throat caught. “I … I … no, little man. Haven’t found her. I don’t know if I will. But she’s flying fast and fighting hard, buddy.”

  “You’ll find her tomorrow?”

  He struggled to talk. Dammit, why the hell was he doing this? This wasn’t his job. “No, little man. Not tomorrow either.”

  Zack regarded the viewscreen, then made more explosive noises as he raced the fighter off into the air. “Maybe she’s flying too fast. FLY FASTER BALLSY.”

  Volz half chuckled and half cried. “Yeah, kid. I will. Hey, I gotta go, Zack Zack. Are you doing ok? Are you being happy for your grandma?”

  “YEAAAH.”

  He nodded. “Good, buddy. See you later, little man.”

  The kid ran off, and the grandmother’s face filled the screen again. “Thank you so much, Lieutenant Volz. This means so much to him. And to us. He asks to talk to you every single day.”

  He nodded again. “Is he doing ok?”

  She sighed. “As well as can be expected. But he’ll manage. He has to. And you’re an absolute saint for taking him under your wing like this. His … his uncle just died too. On Cadiz Prime. His father’s brother. It’s….” She paused and closed her eyes before forcing a smile. “It’s been rough. But he’s doing well. Thank you.”