***
The War Room was a beehive of quiet, purposeful activity. The word about Lieutenant Ellison was passed around, obviously. People avoided the Admiral unless absolutely necessary. The quick glances they shot his way showed both their curiosity and their compassion.
Ellison had scarcely settled in his command chair overlooking the Room when Commander Rossi, Chief of Communications, appeared on his desk screen. "Commander Benison on the ultrawave, sir. He says it's urgent."
Ellison was on the verge of dismissing the call, but his curiosity got the better of him. "Why is he on the ultrawave? Radio’s fast enough on Earth. Put him on the main screen," he ordered. Benison's face appeared. A murmur ran around the room. They all knew the strutting martinet, and some of them had been shamed by him in the past.. But they have never seen Commander Benison in a pilot's uniform before. It still had the Lieutenant’s bars sewn into the fabric.
"Admiral. Benison here, commanding the Slorg Stinger--and the single operating ship that can carry the primer nuke. Please don't interrupt, sir. I don't have much time." He flipped some switches. "I knew about your son. I was keeping tabs on the first primer nuke scout boat, too. I've transmitted your son’s coordinates to your operations group. Better pick him up…I scuttled his engine and his warhead is a big block of steel, although he doesn't know that."
Captain Boggs looks startled, then grabbed a headset and started working at the nearest ultrawave console.
"I know what you think of me, sir. You think me a dandy, an oily political officer on the make. But I wasn't always that way. Ten years ago, I was a solid line officer. I commanded a corvette that got surprised by a Slorg destroyer. We didn't stand a chance. I ordered a crazy maneuver that worked, dammit, when following The Book would have killed everyone on board. Showing a flair for quote daredevil tactics unquote got me exiled to Earth instead of out here on patrol, where I belong."
"Commander," began the Admiral, stopping at Benison's raised hand.
"Sorry to interrupt you, sir, but the Slorg anti-electric field is pretty close. The Academy taught me that duty is doing what should be done, when it must be done, without being asked or ordered to do it.
"You were right, you know. You are responsible for the death of any volunteer you sent out. Don't you see that the same logic applies to me? As long as I could still pilot, it was my duty to fly this mission. I could not ask another to give his life for an operation I created and recommended. So, I sabotaged your son's ship. I just ask one thing, sir."
Ellison rose to his feet and stood ramrod straight. "Ask, Commander. I will do all I can to fulfill it."
"If your son has a boy, could you please ask that he have Edwin as one of his names?" Benison's eyes glistened, and he bent to look at his console.
"But your, your name is James," said Ellison, confused.
"After my father, who is the real hero of the Benisons," he said, his voice curiously deep.
"Consider it done, Commander."
"Thank you, sir. Entering the field in less than one minute," he said.
"Your sacrifice will never be forgotten," said Ellison.
"If you wish, sir. Farewell," he said, flipping the final switch. His image faded from the screens.
"Refocusing on the surveillance drone," intoned a rating over the overhead speakers. "Good image, FTL circuits holding steady." A sudden glare flared on the screen, beginning from a single point to fill the screen with blinding light.
"Ships firing, sir," announced the head of Strategy. "Looks like the dampening fields are knocked out—the shells are hitting home!"
The Admiral took in the reports, integrated them, and sent out orders for the Home Fleet. He kept glancing back at Captain Boggs, deaf to the cheers ringing in the War Room.
A young, excited face appeared on the viewscreen. "They're just sitting there! We're pounding them into scrap metal." Another face took his place. "The Slorg carriers seem dead. No energy discharge, no radio! Hell, sir, if they wanted to surrender, they couldn't even let us know. It's pure slaughter out there!"
The Admiral raised haunted eyes to the large screen. "Yes, my boy. Yes it is. They would have done the same to us. Kill them. Kill them all. Every single bug." He glanced over to Captain Boggs.
"There's a chance the Lieutenant escaped the blast, sir. I’m still working on it." Boggs went back to the ultrawave console.
Ellison ran his fingertips over the framed picture of his last child. "You tried, son. You really tried. You did your duty, with honor." The Admiral sagged into his chair, the tumult of the War Room fading from his awareness as he relived the losses the Ellisons have endured. He leaned forward, slowly. Little by little, until, imperceptibly, his head rested on his folded hands. A small pool of tears formed on the glass surface of the desk, distorting the images forming underneath them. Captain Boggs tapped the desk off and closed the partitions, walling the Admiral off from the chaos beyond.
A priority signal flashed from the ultrawave. Boggs spoke quietly, to avoid disturbing the Admiral. "You got him? How is he? Good. No, keep this under wraps. Right, send him right here. Fastest possible method. No, wait, take an escort. We don't want to lose him to any loose Slorg." Boggs smiled to himself. Finally, some good news for the Admiral.
***
Ellison slept, completely spent, while Boggs and Admiral Toth coordinated the mopping up operations. Two marines gently escorted the Admiral him to the emergency cot in his ready room. Ellison was staggering with fatigue and collapsed into the makeshift bed without complaint.
Boggs alerted the strike force commanders, relaying the same orders the Admiral had discussed in planning sessions. "Make sure you take as much in tow as you can. The Slorg were kind enough to give us all this metal, we're going to melt it down and build the Fourth Fleet early."
***
On the afternoon of the second day, Ellison finally felt more like himself again. Nobody had information about Zach, but Ellison kept himself fully occupied with organizing the end of battle operations. There was always time for a fitting service later.
Captain Boggs knocked on the Admiral's door to announce a visitor. "He's straight from the front lines with an eyewitness account." He nodded at someone just beyond the door frame.
"Well? Don't just stand there, Boggs. Show him in!"
"I just wanted to make sure you're brought up to speed, sir," said Boggs, drawing the moment out. "Ultrawave reports are one thing, eyewitness is something else. This man was in the thick of it, stealthed and recording. In fact, he had to get rescued himself."
Ellison began growling. Boggs withdrew, and the slim young man strode to the center of the carpet, throwing a sharp salute to the old man in the chair.
"Father."
Author Bill Patterson
Bill Patterson is the author of a computer-aided design software book, and a former magazine columnist. His fiction has been published in both traditional and independent venues. His nonfiction piece "A Ray of Sunshine" was nominated for the British Science Fiction Association's Award for Non-Fiction.
His current series, Riddled Space, is three novels long, with a final one in the works. He blogs at http://SmartURL.it/BillsBlog and all of his works are on Amazon
He and The Wonderful Wife, Barbara, live in Central New Jersey.
The Burden of Honor
by Kevin McLaughlin
Sir Drake returns home to rally his people against an ancient enemy. But threats far closer threaten to turn his mission to ashes before he can even begin.
The HMS Armistice broke out into normal space in a blaze of light. For a brief moment it was like a second sun flashed into being, then the light was gone. Transition from warp completed, the ship arced toward the nearby planet at high velocity.
Sir David Drake stood at the ship’s helm, staring at the world below as it grew in the ship’s front window. It all looked green and blue from up here, but the place he was going wasn’t either of those colors. No, he was headed for the center o
f a massive grey spot on the surface, looking from space like a cancerous bulge on the face of the world.
That was Lusitania, the capital city of both the world Lyonesse and the entire Star Kingdom. It was the seat of Her Majesty’s power, the center around which the rest of their cluster of stars spun. A hundred naval vessels hung in orbit over the world, varying in size from corvettes like his own ship to massive dreadnoughts with world-killing weapons.
A hundred times that many ships were scattered among the stars, keeping Her Majesty’s peace in the two-score systems the Kingdom claimed, and patrolling the border for Commonwealth foes. The ceasefire was still new, and already they’d made incursions. Most felt the war would move from cold back to hot at any time.
But that wasn’t why David had returned home so abruptly. The news he bore was far more dire. Even with all the ships in the fleet, he wasn’t sure the Kingdom had enough strength to face this new threat.
You are likely correct in that assessment, said the voice in his head.
Shut up, he replied just as silently. I need to think.
The voice went silent, for the moment at least. It spoke when it wanted to, though. David didn’t think it would remain quiet for long, not now that he was home. That could pose its own set of problems. He’d been able to keep the voice a secret so far, but for how long would he be able to maintain the ruse? Sooner or later, he’d slip up in some way. The truth would come out, and then his life would be forfeit.
“Clearance granted to land at Royal Dock number fifteen, sir,” the sailing master passed along.
“Understood. Taking her down,” Drake replied. He held the wheel in deft hands, guiding the Armistice toward her home port.
David could feel the excitement and anticipation of his crew. They’d been away months and were overdue for leave. Each had earned a pretty penny from the handful of battles they’d engaged in. They’d head ashore and most of them would spend it within a fortnight, but that was the way of such things. Not too long ago David would have been among them, carousing as if there was no tomorrow.
Now he was a knight and expected to act the part of his station. He found it meant just as much drinking, but the company was often nowhere near as good. Still, the job did have a few perks. Command of his own ship agreed with him, and David had in mind to win his way to an even larger vessel in time.
The Armistice shuddered as she settled toward the dockyard. Landing struts extruded from her lower hull as the ship glided into a gentle touchdown. The bump was barely noticeable, and David smiled in spite of himself. Pride might goeth before a fall, but he’d worked hard at his skills.
“A good landing, sir,” Gregory called out to him, supporting his feeling. “You’ll be debarking?”
“Yes. I need to see people at the Admiralty immediately. Put a quarter watch on duty, rotating. The rest can have shore leave, provided they’re fit for service on their rotations,” David said.
“It will be done, Sir Drake. Good luck with the shiny hats,” Gregory added with a chuckle.
“I leave the ship in your hands then,” David replied.
He was the only knight aboard, else he’d have given command to another knight. But Master Gregory had been on board starships longer than David had been alive. He knew his business more than well enough, and would take proper care of the vessel until he could return.
Assuming he was allowed to return after reporting what he’d learned.
A short air-car ride brought David to the Admiralty House, where he hoped to meet with some senior staff and file his report. He swallowed hard as the car let him out beside the massive structure and then sped away. This was the first time David had been asked to report to the Admiralty. His command was new, his ship too small and unimportant to take up much time from those in power.
But he’d stressed the importance of his discovery enough that they ordered him home to report in person. He straightened his tunic for the hundredth time, knowing he was already presentable and worried anyway. David had left his armor left behind on the ship. There was no reason to bring it to this most secure of buildings. And yet without it he felt more than a little naked.
“Sir Drake, reporting to Sir Nicholson as ordered,” he told the sentries at the door.
They both nodded, and one tapped a patch on his shoulder, speaking into a microphone. A moment later he nodded a second time.
“They’re waiting for you inside, sir. Straight ahead, up the stairs, on your left,” the sentry said.
“They?” David asked.
“That’s what I was told, sir.”
He’d expected to report to a single admiral. Was this bigger than he’d initially assumed? Worse yet, did they somehow already know about the illegal voice speaking to him? He was a dead man, if they did. They’d never let him leave this building alive.
For a moment David considered running. He could simply turn away and go someplace else. Find a quiet spot in a corner of the world where no one would recognize him, retire there and wait for the end to come. It would come within his lifetime, of that he was fairly sure. He’d be able to watch the seas boil and skies burn because of his failure to act.
No, he couldn’t retreat. Not now; not with so much on the line. He had to move forward. David stepped in through the doors the sentries held open for him.
The space beyond was cavernous. Fifty foot pillars supported an arcing ceiling high overhead. Paintings and illumination decorated nearly every surface. The floor was covered with a deep plush carpet that his boots sank into.
The opulence was extensively overdone, in David’s mind. It seemed like it had been designed by someone who was trying to show off his wealth and didn’t care how garish the display he created became. The colors all matched. Every display of gold, artwork, and velvet was done in an aesthetically pleasing way. It was the sum total of the whole which made his mind feel overloaded.
At the far side of the great hall was a staircase that led up to the mezzanine level. That was where the sentry had directed him. David crossed the hall. No echoing footsteps here. Each step was hushed by the carpet, the room seeming to drink in sound. But his boots rang out on the marble steps, once he reached them. He ascended slowly, like a man on his way to his own funeral. Which he might well be.
Unlikely. I would not have suggested this course if our death was the probable outcome, the voice said.
You’ll forgive me if I don’t feel especially good about ‘probably’ surviving this, David replied in his mind.
I have kept you alive so far.
This was true. But the mind had also been keeping itself alive. David wondered how far he could trust the thing if his and its interests ever differed sharply. Was it bound to him, or he to it?
To the left of the stairs was a door. Another sentry in full armor waited outside it.
“This way, sir,” the guard said. “You’re expected.”
The sentry knocked on the door. A moment later a voice inside said something David couldn’t quite make out, but the sentry nodded in reply and opened the door, stepping aside to allow David to pass by.
It wasn’t one admiral waiting inside the room for him. It was three. He recognized Sir Nicholson. The other two, he did not. That he’d been ordered to report to a single admiral was cause enough for tension, in David’s mind. Having three of them here instead was almost enough to make his knees knock together.
The room wasn’t especially large or well-appointed. A sturdy table dominated the space, surrounded by a dozen chairs. The walls were bare of art or other adornment. There were windows to the outside, letting in the bright Lyonesse summer light.
“Come, Sir Drake. Sit,” Nicholson said. He gestured to the seat next to him. “We have tea for you here. We’re anxious to listen to your report. There were some irregularities with the initial information you sent.”
“Aye, sir,” David replied.
He glanced nervously at the other two admirals. One was an man with short-cropped white hair, the
other a woman with shoulder-length brown hair, flecked with grey. Both of them were in uniform with admiral insignia, but he’d never met either.
The woman is not a fleet commander, the voice in his mind said. Look at her hands.
What do you mean? David thought.
He watched her hands as he took a seat. She had them pressed together, preventing him from seeing much. Then she reached out to take a sip of her tea. What was he supposed to be looking for?
She has no calluses.
No calluses on her hands meant she wasn’t used to carrying weapons. There were women ship commanders and fleet admirals, but they were all knights. Which meant they were highly skilled in the use of hand weapons. That was no admiral wearing that uniform.
“Sir Nicholson, thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” David said. “I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with your companions, sir.”
It felt like he was being pert, to all but demand an introduction, but the voice had a point. The woman felt out of place, like she shouldn’t be there. One of these things was not like the others…
“Of course. This is Sir Andrews. He is rear fleet admiral, in charge of the Home Fleet. Beside him is,” Sir Nicholson paused for a moment as he looked at the woman. His smile vanished. Only for a moment, but David saw it happen. “Lady Theresa Agnes, Fleet Logistics.”
Fleet Logistics might be precisely what it sounded like. She might well be in charge of supplies and repair work for the Kingdom’s navy. But that term was sometimes used as a euphemism, David had heard. Sometimes, it also meant the person was involved in the Kingdom’s intelligence division. Given Sir Nicholson’s reaction it seemed likely the rumors were true.
“Your report seemed highly irregular, which is why we’re here, Sir Drake,” Andrews said. “Perhaps you can add more detail?”
The Expanding Universe 4: Space Adventure, Alien Contact, & Military Science Fiction (Science Fiction Anthology) Page 19
