Cradle of War (A Captain's Crucible Book 3)

by Isaac Hooke

  He knew the Ptolemy’s laser array couldn’t have much power, as it was doubtful it would have been fully charged by then. Mortars and point-defense slugs would be the destroyer’s best hope.

  On the display, Jonathan saw the blue dots of mortars appear from the Ptolemy a moment later. But they vanished almost instantly.

  “Otter tells me the alien ship just fired a particle weapon,” Barrick said. “And destroyed every last mortar. The beam also struck the Cleopatra. She’s gone.”

  Jonathan shook his head angrily. “I thought you said their particle weapons were inactive!”

  “Otter admits that he was wrong,” Barrick replied.

  “Damn it,” Jonathan said. “This whole thing is a ruse! We’ve been played. I’m willing to bet the other dart ship is going to emerge from that Slipstream any time now, with guns ablaze.”

  “The pyramid ship is continuing toward the Ptolemy,” Barrick said. “It’s plowing right into the mortar debris. Like they don’t care about taking damage anymore.”

  “What? Why?” If the dart vessel was coming, there would be no need for the pyramid to self-sacrifice.

  Unless the dart ship wasn’t coming.

  “The Ptolemy fired another mortar spread,” Barrick said.

  The attack didn’t even have time to register on Jonathan’s lagged display. Instead, the red dot representing the pyramid ship touched the blue dot of the Ptolemy, and both winked out, leaving the Pharos as the only member of Task Group 80.3 remaining on the tactical display.

  “Dragonfly 1?” Jonathan said urgently. “Tell the admiral to update me on his status.” He turned toward the telepath. “Barrick, what do we know?”

  Barrick’s lips were set in a grim line behind the faceplate. “It looks like the pyramid ship self-destructed half a second before impact. The resultant explosion and superheated debris carved out a huge chunk of the Ptolemy’s hull. Half of the destroyer has disintegrated.”

  Jonathan partially collapsed and had to rest a gloved hand on the bulkhead to steady himself. While the admiral was incompetent, he didn’t deserve such an ignominious end. No one did.

  A moment later Dragonfly 1 contacted him: “I have received an answer to the sitrep request you asked me to send to Admiral Yale. It is from Captain Fuller of the Pharos.”

  “Let me hear it,” Jonathan said.

  “This is Captain Fuller,” a new voice came over the line. “I’m sad to say we’ve lost the Ptolemy and Cleopatra. I’m launching a rescue operation to probe the remains of both ships and retrieve any survivors trapped in the sealed compartments. Unfortunately, the bridges of both vessels are completely gone. We’ve lost Admiral Yale and Captain Skye of the Ptolemy, and Captain Wesson of the Cleopatra.”

  Jonathan collapsed completely.

  thirty-three

  The expected dart ship never came. Instead, an hour later, a twenty-ship United Systems task group entered the system via 2-Avalon.

  So the pyramid’s actions hadn’t entirely been a ruse after all. They had sustained some damage. And rather than surrender, the pyramid had fought to the end.

  Jonathan tapped in Rodriguez.

  “Captain,” Jonathan said wearily. “Transmit my usual welcome package to the newcomers, please. I wouldn’t want our arrival to be misinterpreted in any way.”

  “I’m sure the Pharos is explaining a few things to them right now,” Rodriguez said. “But I’ll get on it.”

  “Valor says that you are to return to the berthing area, Captain,” Barrick told him.

  “Now?”

  “Yes,” Barrick replied. “And you are to stay there indefinitely.”

  “May I ask why?”

  Barrick smiled fleetingly. “Now that major combat operations are over, Valor believes it is best if I handle all communications between the United Systems and himself going forward. Basically, you’re not needed.”

  “It’s good to be loved,” Jonathan said.

  “I do promise to summon you if your presence is required,” Barrick told him. “And I will visit. From time to time. Wait... Valor requests a favor. He wants you to record one final message vouching for him. Explain your situation as an honored guest, and tell the fleet that you will remain in custody for the duration of the negotiations.”

  Jonathan nodded. “I can do that. Dragonfly 1, who’s in charge of that task group?”

  “Admiral Wilhelmina Ford of the USS Renegade,” the shuttle’s AI responded over the comm. “Battle Group 35.1.”

  “Dragonfly 1, prepare to record message,” Jonathan instructed the shuttle’s AI. “Begin. Admiral Ford. This is Captain Jonathan Dallas, formerly of Task Group 72.5. I have left my fleet to bring tidings of the threat posed by a new race we’re calling the Raakarr. During the course of many battles with them, I’ve managed to befriend members of a rogue faction who wish to ally with humanity. I have come here in their ship, a vessel capable of traversing Slipstreams without need of Gates, so that we may negotiate the terms of such an alliance. They have offered to share technology with us, as well as key planets and systems of the opposing alien faction.

  “For the duration of the negotiations I am to remain aboard their vessel as an honored guest: a euphemism for hostage. Despite this bizarre behavior on the part of the Raakarr captain, who seems to have overestimated my value, believing that holding me will magically prevent anything bad from happening to his ship, I do believe it would be wise to ally ourselves with him and his faction. He has proven himself an honorable ally, his little hostage-taking incident notwithstanding.

  “I will remain in the background during the negotiations, and I leave you in the capable hands of my telepathic translator, Barrick Ayer. You will find damning evidence against Barrick in the holographic drives my crew will soon convey to you, and once that evidence is reviewed the navy will likely change its liberal stance regarding telepaths. But I believe Barrick was only acting in our interests in the end, and while his actions were misguided, they were good-intentioned. In the interim he has proven himself, and I am positive he will translate all dialog faithfully between you and the Raakarr. Good luck. End.” He cleared his throat. “Transmit message, Dragonfly 1.”

  DRESSED IN HIS fatigues, Jonathan sat in his office aboard the Callaway. The artificial stars streamed past the portal set into the bulkhead in front of him.

  It had been a long journey to get to where he was. A lifetime.

  But it was all finally coming to an end.

  Home. He was going home.

  Except that there was nothing for him there. How could home hold any value for him? He had no wife. No children. He had never needed them. The navy was his family. But if the inquiry went poorly, which seemed likely, that family was going to be wrenched away from him.

  Maybe I should have tried to have a life outside of the military. A real life. Random sexual liaisons on shore leave don’t count.

  He thought of Bridgette, and remembered how flirtatious she had been those first few times he had bumped into her.

  Maybe I should have accepted her advances.

  He remembered Robert’s words. “She loves you, you know. She told me once on shore leave when she was drunk. Said she fell for you the moment she came aboard, but thought it was impossible to ever marry a man like you. Her words: we never attain that which we desire most.”

  I definitely should have accepted her advances. What a fool I’ve been. Sacrificing myself for a navy that will, most likely, cast me out onto the street in the end.

  After the survivors of his task group had journeyed into the Elder galaxy, he had been granted a temporary respite, a chance to lead his crew into battle a few more times.

  But he had merely been delaying the inevitable. He couldn’t run forever. It was time to face the end.

  He resolved to quit whining and suck it up. Come what may, he would manage it. If the navy dismissed him, he’d find a wife and start his own family. Maybe save enough to buy a ship someday and become a trader or something. Or jo
in a private security firm.

  Life goes on. It always does.

  He deactivated the virtual reality portion of his aReal and found himself once more wearing a spacesuit in the poorly lit berthing area of the Talon.

  Back to my prison.

  While the combat robots with him were armed, he knew they couldn’t shoot their way out. After Jonathan had tipped his hand regarding the darkness generators, Valor absolutely would have ordered the penetration frequencies changed. The Centurion laser rifles were useless.

  Jonathan wondered if maybe Valor wouldn’t give him up. What if he made Jonathan become a permanent part of the alien crew? How perversely hilarious would that be? Skipping out on the inquiry because some alien captain refused to release him. That fate was almost preferable to Jonathan. Almost.

  He though of the letters of condolences he had included with the data on the holographic drives. After reviewing them, the fleet would likely transmit those to the comm nodes once it passed through into the next system, but because of his internment the return address would be changed, and Jonathan wouldn’t receive any of the responses.

  He wasn’t sure he was happy about that. On the one hand, it spared him the guilt. On the other, he wanted that guilt. It reminded him of the burden of command.

  He smiled sardonically. Don’t need to be reminded of that anymore, do I?

  Barrick visited him three days into his internment. He explained that the fleet was escorting the Talon to the third planet of Beta Ursae Majoris, the adjacent system, so that negotiations could take place with the system governor present.

  “I’ve been pressing Valor to release you early,” Barrick said. “And I’m confident you will be let go shortly after we enter orbit above the planet.”

  “And what about you?” Jonathan asked him. “Don’t you want to be released sometime? You should get the navy to send a telepath over so you can train your replacement.”

  “We’ve already received two telepaths,” Barrick said. “The others who remain aboard the ships of Task Group 35.1 have been placed under observation. Apparently, the navy has developed a distrust of telepaths since our return.”

  “Are you so surprised, after what you did aboard the Callaway?” Jonathan asked.

  “Not particularly,” Barrick said. “Of course, I have foreseen this.”

  “Really.” Jonathan’s voice oozed skepticism. “And what happened to you not knowing the future anymore? Not having seen this path?”

  “Remember, there are waypoints between events...”

  “Of course.” Jonathan wore his best fake smile. “But you never answered my original question. Don’t you want to be released?”

  “I have no such desire to ever place myself in the custody of the United Systems,” Barrick said. “I have seen where that path leads: when I return to humanity, first I will be tried. Then I will be imprisoned, sedated, and studied. If I go back, I’ll never return to consciousness again.”

  “But I thought you could function on some level while your mind was in an ‘unconscious’ state,” Jonathan said.

  “By borrowing the eyes and ears of those around me, you mean?” Barrick replied. “Yes, I can. It brings new meaning to the phrase, living vicariously. But it is not quite like what you would imagine... it is similar to viewing the world through an emotionless fog, without pain or feeling. Living my life like that, through the eyes of others, is not living at all. No. I’m not going back. I will stay here aboard this ship, serving as translator for the rest of my days.”

  “You make it sound like you don’t believe that will be very long,” Jonathan said.

  Barrick raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Do I?” He lowered his gaze. “I have perhaps good reason to feel this way.”

  “Is it because of the Phant you claim has infiltrated our ranks?” Jonathan said. “The termite burrowing through the foundations of our carefully wrought wooden home?”

  “I won’t say either way,” Barrick replied. “No specifics, remember? But I believe you know what is coming already anyway.”

  Jonathan thought immediately of the images of death and destruction the three Elder embryos had projected into his mind. “We’re going to fail the Elder test.”

  Barrick smiled sadly, but said nothing.

  “We’re approaching one of those key waypoints you told me about earlier, aren’t we?” Jonathan said. “If it could save humanity, you have to reveal it, Barrick. What good could come from holding back?”

  Barrick’s sad smile deepened. “Captain, the waypoint has already passed.”

  With that he turned around and left.

  While Barrick’s words disturbed him, he didn’t pay them much heed. Barrick seemed to think the future was set in stone, which went against everything Jonathan believed in. He knew in his heart that the future was changeable. It had to be.

  Another week passed with Jonathan locked away in the berthing area. He wondered how the negotiations between humanity and the Zarafe faction were proceeding. In exchange for their tech, the Zarafe wanted planet killers to use against the other Raakarr. It was doubtful the navy would give it to them, at least in the form that the Zarafe sought. Best case, NAVCENT would assign a battle group to escort any planet killer loaned to the Zarafe, and that group would be in charge of its deployment. Worst case, Valor and the remaining Zarafe would be imprisoned, and their ship impounded for study, as Valor had feared. Jonathan didn’t think it would come to the latter. If negotiations failed, he suspected the alien vessel would be escorted to the edge of United Systems space and then sent on its way. That was his hope, anyway.

  Finally, after another few days, he had a visitor. An entirely unexpected one.

  Jonathan heard the characteristic rumbling of the bulkhead that signified the opening of the compartment’s outer airlock. That was followed by the groan of metal a few seconds later as the inner hatch moved aside. He had become accustomed to both sounds over the past few weeks, which heralded the arrival of the gruel the Raakarr provided, so when he donned his helmet and emerged from the psi-shielded tent, it was with some surprise that he found not gruel but a man standing there.

  An Artificial, judging from the lack of spacesuit.

  “Hello, Captain Dallas,” the man said.

  Jonathan stared at the newcomer uncertainly. Was it the Phant? Had it come for him? “What do you want?”

  The Artificial approached, unblinking, its gaze never leaving his face.

  Jonathan backed away. “Centurions, defend!”

  The combat robots took up a defensive positions, aiming their laser rifles at the intruder. The Artificial froze in place, then slowly raised its hands, palms out, in surrender.

  “My name is Bill Wethersfield,” the Artificial said. “I’m the new liaison officer to the Talon. I’ve come to relieve you.”

  Jonathan stared into those emotionless eyes. “You’re an Artificial.”

  Bill nodded. “I am.”

  “Relieve me,” Jonathan said slowly. “I take it some sort of preliminary agreement has been signed between the Zarafe faction and humanity, then?”

  “That would be a correct assumption.”

  “So I’m finally going home,” Jonathan said, surprised at the relief in his voice.

  “Not precisely,” Bill said. “You’re under arrest.”

  “Why? I mean, sure, I was expecting an inquiry, but not jail time.”

  Bill glanced at the Centurions, who yet kept their rifles aimed at him. “Specialists, both human and AI, have reviewed and analyzed the data dump your crew submitted into our custody. Some of your actions over the past six months have been deemed... questionable. I’m transmitting the authorization for your arrest to your Praetor unit as we speak.”

  The designated combat robot turned toward the captain. “I’m sorry sir. He has full authority to issue your arrest.” The other Centurions lowered their rifles.

  “Pack your things, Captain Dallas,” the Artificial said. “Two Centurions will escort you to t
he waiting Dragonfly. It will transport you to the USS Renegade, where you will await trial.”

  “Trial? So I’m not getting an inquiry?”

  “No,” Bill said. “Yours will be a full-blown general court-martial.”

  thirty-four

  Bridgette sat on the floor of the nursery, rocking Eugene in her arms. She was in the newborn area. Beyond it, in the main play area, various toys were scattered about the deck. There, children played alone or in groups, sometimes with each other, but mostly with robot playmates. They all wore aReals, and no doubt the realities they saw were augmented. A few were obviously immersed in complete virtual environments, for example the three children swaying and moving their arms in one corner.

  Artificial supervisors observed the proceedings from the bulkheads of the nursery compartment. Their presence made her uneasy, mostly because of her encounter with a certain Artificial on the alien ship named Zhidao. There was only one other human present at the moment, the head supervisor.

  It was hard to believe that three months had passed since her return to the Callaway. Three months since the fleet continued to be trapped in that faraway galaxy. Three slow, tedious months of healing.

  Two months ago she had been released from intensive care. Her hair had grown back somewhat, so that she had a short mop of the stuff on her head. Her scalp still itched occasionally, though the discomfort was manageable.

  The weavers had kept Eugene in postnatal care for another six weeks after her own release. In theory they could have let him go much sooner, but the doctors had wanted to keep the baby under observation. They still weren’t sure what the long term effects of the radiation poisoning, and his resultant treatment, would have.

  She regarded the baby in her arms. So small, so fragile. His eyes were closed, and she thought he had fallen asleep.

  They cut you out of me. Forced you into this world early so that they could feed anti-rads directly through your umbilical. My poor, beautiful, baby boy.

  For the short term his prognosis was good, for the most part, though his growth would be stunted. The doctors knew that for certain. While his brain was developing normally so far, his body would take some time to catch up: Eugene would have to remain on a liquid diet for longer than normal. His muscles were developing slower than usual. He would walk late. It probably didn’t help that he still had an anti-rad subdermal embedded underneath the skin of his lower back, and he would wear it for the foreseeable future. So many difficulties. Not the best way to start one’s life.