Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1: Ochrim at Work
Chapter 2: Battle for Coreopsis
Chapter 3: Low on Hope
Chapter 4: Condescended To
Chapter 5: Piper
Chapter 6: Distress Signal
Chapter 7: Civilized Warfare
Chapter 8: Command Leader Pate
Chapter 9: Desperate Gambit
Chapter 10: Pate Scoffs
Chapter 11: The Cruiser and the Corvette
Chapter 12: Fesky's Warning
Chapter 13: Nearsighted
Chapter 14: Fesky's Choice
Chapter 15: Negotiations
Chapter 16: Ingress
Chapter 17: Traitor
Chapter 18: Flight
Chapter 19: History
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Dedication
TRAITOR
© Scott Bartlett 2016
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 License. To view a copy of this license, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0
This novelette is a work of fiction. All of the characters, places, and events are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, businesses, or events is entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Ochrim at Work
Ochrim sat with his ridged forehead planted on his workstation, which had started to beep at him, confused by the unusual input. If the thing had a smarter AI… But no. He would never argue for strengthening AI again. Strong AIs couldn’t be controlled. Only a superintelligence could design a safe, predictable superintelligence, and that was a textbook example of what the humans would call a chicken-and-egg conundrum.
The workstation’s touch controls felt warm against his scales. Pleasant. He exhaled, and the breath’s raggedness surprised him. His mind did not feel fully reassembled, following the shocking future that had been revealed to him by none other than Baxa himself. But his work required him to piece his mind back together, and quickly. His work…his cursed work. It needed to be done.
The galaxy’s future, such as it was, depended on it.
A soft click, followed by the hiss of the lab’s door opening. “Ochrim.”
He looked up. Just another one of Baxa’s goons. The thug’s name was Kaklin, though Ochrim had no desire to retain the information. His brain did that—sponged up everything. Especially things he wanted no part of.
Kaklin’s muscled frame filled the doorway almost snugly. He was what Baxa and his followers called “pure-bred.”
“Speak,” Ochrim said.
“You must work. As Scion Baxa has instructed.”
Ochrim studied Kaklin through narrowed eyes. The goon was the picture of serenity. That was the most unsettling thing about Baxa’s lot: they appeared eternally certain of their inevitable victory. And they’re right.
“Supposing I refuse to work.”
“Scion Baxa already knows that you will work.”
“Then why did he send you to check on me?”
“The Scion knows you will work, provided you’re handled a certain way. My coming here to check on you…it’s a necessary application of pressure. Part of the prodding that will spur you to your work.”
Ochrim stood. “Do you intend to torture me, then?”
Laughter from Kaklin. Loud, and longer than seemed necessary. As he laughed, the thug’s eyes never left Ochrim, and eventually the scientist looked away, at the floor. His forehead ridge burned with shame.
“Your show of bravery is charming, Ochrim. It truly is. If torturing you were necessary, Scion Baxa would order it, and I would carry it out. But the Scion knows, and you know, that it will not be necessary. That analytical brain of yours has already seen the path forward, and it dooms you to walk it. Doesn’t it? Your logic compels you, doesn’t it, scholar?”
Slowly, Ochrim turned until he faced his workstation. He did not want to speak his next words, but he forced his lips to form them. “I will work.”
“Yes. You will.” Kaklin turned and left the lab’s doorway. The door slid closed, followed by the click of its lock.
Chapter 2
Battle for Coreopsis
Captain Warren Husher caught himself staring at the tactical display with his mouth hanging slightly open. The Coreopsis System was slipping from their grasp.
“It’s no good, Captain,” Commander Vaghn said from the XO’s chair, her wheat-colored hair plastered to her forehead. It had been a long battle. “The Ixa’s upgraded point defense turrets are too much for our Falcons in these numbers.”
Husher blinked hard and rubbed his stubbled cheeks. Get yourself together, Warren. Think of your wife and son. “Then I see no solution other than to take out those God-damned turrets. Does that make tactical sense to you, Commander?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then see that it’s done. Tell Lieutenant Keyes that we’ll provide him with cover while he coordinates alpha strikes. Tell him I want the entire Air Group involved.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Without warning, the UHS Hornet shook violently, nearly tossing Husher from the Captain’s chair. Several of his CIC officers did lose their seats.
Battle always made him a little manic, and for whatever reason, the tumult filled him with euphoria. He surged to his feet. “Look alive, everyone. If you’re not going to strap yourselves in for battle then you’d better be ready to ride the bronco.” He turned to his Tactical officer. “Ackerman, can you explain what that was? And you can save your excuses for later about why you failed to warn us about it.”
“Sir, they tricked us. The enemy ship’s posture strongly suggested it meant to target Captain Scavo’s—”
“It tricked you, Chief, not us. And I told you to save your excuses. What was it, God damn you?”
Ackerman swallowed. “A broadside from an Ixan destroyer. Their primary laser. It took out one of our main engines and it triggered a chain reaction that destroyed most of our port-side capacitors.”
Husher winced. “Are you telling me the destroyer had its primary charged this entire time and no Fleet ship noticed? No one targeted it?”
“Yes, sir,” Ackerman said, his voice barely audible.
“Wow.” Husher shook his head sharply, to clear away the overwhelming stupid he’d just been forced to endure. “Why are competent Tactical officers so hard to come by? One more flub like that and you can kiss that chair goodbye, Ackerman.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Captain?” his sensor operator said.
“What?”
“The Anthony has fallen to a Gok missile cruiser backed up by three Ixan frigates. Also, Lieutenant Keyes just lost half a squadron of Falcons in the space of a minute.”
Deep breath. Take a deep breath, Warren. He did. He inhaled until his lungs felt ready to burst. Think.
“Coms, patch me through to Admiral Jacobs.”
“Aye, sir.” A few seconds of brittle silence ticked by. “She’s accepted our transmission request.”
“Put her on the screen.”
Jacobs was young for her post, but this war had aged her. Still, Husher detected no signs of immediate stress. He might have caught her in the middle of enjoying a glass of wine by the fire, rather than fighting a losing battle against an overwhelming enemy force.
“Captain Husher. What can I do for you?”
“I think we should retreat, Admiral.” No sense beating around the bush.
“I’m afraid I disagree. With its three wormholes, the Coreopsis System is of too much strategic importance to abandon.”
“You’re right, ma’am—this system is vital. But having ships to continue fighting is more vital. If we stay, they’l
l wipe out everything we have here. I advocate choosing the lesser of two disasters.”
The admiral leaned back in her command chair. “Reinforcements are on the way. The Crusader, the Stevenson, the Undaunted, the Providence—I’ve received word that they’ve all been dispatched to join our fight.”
“I know. I got that message, too. But I also know they won’t get here in time.”
Jacobs’s mouth formed a thin line, and she didn’t answer.
“Look at your tactical display, Admiral. It shows the same thing mine does. This battle is over.”
Jacobs studied him coldly for a while longer. “The fleet will sustain heavy losses, retreating,” she said at last.
“Not necessarily. We’ve already taken out one of the three Ixan support ships. If you can assign someone to pressure one of the remaining pair, I’ll handle the other. That should afford you and the rest of the fleet the opportunity to escape into human space.”
“Very well, Captain Husher. I will take care of the other support ship.”
He gave the admiral a respectful nod. She’d never been one to sit back and let her subordinates take on all the risk. “Husher out.” Signaling to his Coms officer to terminate the transmission, he turned to the rest of his CIC crew. “Nav, whip up a course for the support ship nearest us and send it to Helm. I want our main engines brought up to one hundred percent once you have the course, Peters. Tactical, tell Lieutenant Keyes I want his Falcons to join us in pressuring the target. It should be very clear to the enemy that we’re committing everything we have to that ship’s destruction.”
His XO spoke up. “The other UHF ships have already begun to make for the wormhole, Captain.”
“Very good. Thank you, Commander Vaghn.” He felt the Hornet accelerating toward their new target. His Nav and Helm officers were old friends, and they worked well together. It took a moment for the computerized magnets distributed throughout Husher’s uniform to adjust to the ship’s velocity, stabilizing his experience of simulated one G. “Are the enemy fleets responding to our new trajectory?”
Vaghn leaned closer to her console, squinting at it. He’d once asked her whether she needed vision correction surgery, but she claimed she only squinted like that because it helped her concentrate. Thankfully, the suit’s sensors knew to interrupt the flux circuit to any magnets that came too close to electronics. “The Ixa are closing ranks,” she said. “And it looks like the Gok are moving to back them up. The pressure on the other Fleet ships has lessened considerably.”
“Excellent.” Of course, now we’ll become the main target.
As if on cue, Chief Warrant Officer Ackerman said, “Incoming missiles, sir. A lot of them.”
“Acknowledged. Ready our point defense turrets.”
“Some of the missiles will still get through. Should I tell Lieutenant Keyes to—”
“Lieutenant Keyes will follow his existing orders.”
“But—”
“Our job is to buy the other Fleet ships time to escape, Chief.” That may not entail our survival.
“Probable missile impacts in seven seconds,” his sensor operator said.
“Commander Vaghn?” Husher said, raising his eyebrows at his XO as he strapped himself into his chair.
She knew what he wanted. Squinting at her console again, she tapped it once, which broadcasted her voice all over the Hornet: “All crew brace for impact.”
Impact followed swiftly, followed by another, and one more. The upheaval was worse than before, but his CIC crew had learned their lessons, and this time no one vacated their seats.
“Damage report,” Husher grunted.
“We lost several point defense turrets and one of our railguns, plus she’s open to space in three places, Captain: Sections Five through Eleven on the Starboard side between Decks Two and Four, Sections—”
“Mobilize damage control teams and seal off the affected areas. Casualties?”
The sensor operator swiped at his console, shuffling files around. Then he gaped at it. “Uh…t-twenty-three crew unaccounted for.”
“Good and gentle lord,” Husher muttered.
“Admiral Jacobs is contacting us.”
“Put her on.”
Jacobs’s face appeared on the CIC’s main viewscreen, and now she did look stressed. “The rest of the fleet will get out safely, Captain. Now it’s our turn.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll have my Falcons cover our escape attempt.”
“Let’s drop the word ‘attempt.’ I intend to live to give the Ixa hell for this.”
“Sounds good to me, ma’am.”
“Jacobs out.”
He instructed Helm to bring the ship around and engage her engines in the opposite direction. Despite the admiral’s brave words, Husher’s mood was bleak as the Hornet fled the Coreopsis System and he watched his Falcons fall one by one to the Ixa. Losing this system would demoralize the UHF like it hadn’t been demoralized since ascending to the stars.
Hope for winning this war had just reached a new low.
Chapter 3
Low on Hope
Admiral Jacobs came down personally to receive them in the Providence’s Flight Deck A, flanked by a small entourage of lower-ranking officers.
Warren Husher came to attention, snapping off a salute as sharply as he knew how. Beside him, his own smaller group of officers did the same.
“Admiral,” he said. “You honor me.”
“And you honor me, Captain. If I have anything to say about it, your bravery in the Coreopsis System will see you more decorated than you already are.”
Husher bowed his head in thanks. If they’d been different people with different jobs, he would have heaped equal praise on her, and deservedly so—she’d performed just as bravely. But he wouldn’t presume to compliment someone of higher rank. It just wasn’t how things worked. The loneliness of command, etc.
“Unfortunately,” the admiral went on, “there won’t be time for medal-getting yet. You have more work to do.”
“I assume that’s why we’re meeting here.”
A nod from Jacobs. “Come.”
As Husher and his officers followed her deeper inside the Providence, he noticed Lieutenant Keyes gazing around the ship with a level of scrutiny that was missing from his fellows.
Recently, the lieutenant had become the source of some worry. Two weeks before, he’d reported hearing voices. When his crewmates had started avoiding him as a result, he clammed up almost completely, and now whenever Husher needed Keyes’s input, he had to drag the words out of him.
Is it the stress of war, or something else? Husher couldn’t afford to have his CAG going crazy on him. Not now.
“The Providence is one of the Fleet’s last supercarriers,” he said, drawing up beside Keyes as they walked.
The lieutenant nodded, stoic, offering nothing else.
Husher cleared his throat. “There are plans to restore this type of ship to its former glory. And then some. The Ixa recognize their power—they target them whenever they see them. It’s why we have so few left. So we’ll have to start using them more intelligently, I figure.”
“Yes, sir.”
Two more admirals awaited them in the Providence’s main conference room. Neither rose, but Admiral Dawson welcomed them. “Captain Husher,” he said. “Officers of the UHS Hornet. It is good to see you alive and well after that bloody affair in Coreopsis.”
You’ve gained weight. Husher saluted. “Thank you, sir.”
“Sadly, we have no time to waste. Please, sit. ”
Husher did, and his officers joined him. Jacobs sat, too, though her own entourage had not joined the meeting.
“In that case, sir, I would request we get straight to the purpose of this meeting.” That drew a sharp look from Admiral Zacharias. Husher was not without self-awareness—he knew his frankness-bordering-on-brusqueness did not play well with much of Command. He also didn’t care.
“Our purpose is not a happy one,” Dawson s
aid. “After the defeat in the Coreopsis System, our strategic analysts no longer think it’s possible for us to win the war.”
Husher had folded his hands in his lap, and now they tightened together. “You’ve decided to surrender.”
“We’ve been in communication with the rest of the admiralty, and we’ve decided to try to negotiate with the Ixa for a ceasefire. During it, we can repair and rebuild, readying ourselves for the next bout.”
“The Ixa will never agree to it. Why let us recover from the damage they’ve already inflicted? They’re smarter than that.”
“Oh, they’ll agree to it,” Admiral Zacharias cut in. “Because in return, we’re going to offer them back their Rik colony, unharmed. But if they refuse our ceasefire…”
“We nuke the colony from orbit,” Husher said. “I see.”
“Our models tell us this is the safest path forward—the one most likely to result in humanity’s survival,” Dawson said. “We’re assigning you to travel to Ixan space to negotiate the ceasefire, Captain.”
“Why me?”
“To be frank, you’re among the most experienced captains in the Fleet, and you’ve demonstrated considerable savvy.”
Oh God. The excessive praise made Husher want to fidget. They don’t expect me to return alive, do they?
“Another factor in choosing you concerns the heavy losses you just sustained,” Dawson went on. “With most of your Falcons gone, and much of your weaponry taken out, the Hornet won’t be battle-ready anytime soon. So a diplomatic mission seems to be the most efficient use for your ship.” At the mention of lost Falcons, Husher noticed Lieutenant Keyes twitch.
Tell me the real reason, why don’t you, Dawson? Husher’s love for his wife and son was well known in the Fleet. The admirals knew he would do anything to ensure their safety—including go along with what could easily turn out to be a suicide mission.
Little did they know, Husher didn’t consider a ceasefire the best way to ensure his family survived this war.
He would accept the mission, but he also wouldn’t stop looking for a better option.
Traitor Page 1
