His Coms officer furrowed his brow. “Destroy them, sir?”
“Of course. We can’t spare the crew to operate them. But we certainly can’t afford to let Wingers keep them, let alone radicals.”
Carrow gave his Nav officer six minutes to calculate the new course. She did it in seven. Another demerit.
The Excalibur turned toward Pinnacle, and so did the two destroyers, four missile cruisers, five corvettes, and eight frigates that accompanied her.
Chapter 49
Hades
Tennyson Steele strolled into the observation room that looked in on the cell where they interrogated Leonard Keyes. He visited Hades whenever he could. Ocharium was the lifeblood of his company, and as the CFO for years and now CEO of Darkstream, he considered it his duty to ensure that lifeblood flowed strong.
But this was the first time he’d ever taken an interest in any of the prisoners kept aboard the orbital defense platforms. Most of those prisoners were forced to operate and maintain the platforms’ systems. Most of them. But not Keyes. They kept him here for another purpose altogether.
Keyes looked more disheveled than harmed. The enhanced interrogation techniques used by guards here on Hades and by Commonwealth spy agencies were designed to leave emotional and psychological scars instead of physical ones. The idea was to leave room for plausible deniability for those overseeing the prison, in the event that a detainee had to be presented to the media.
Currently, the former captain’s hands and feet were chained close to an eyebolt in the floor. This was called a stress position, meant to induce moderate discomfort. He was also naked.
“You haven’t gotten anything out of him,” Steele said. It wasn’t a question.
“Not yet,” one of the interrogators said.
“And you expect to? Treating him like that? You might as well give him a feather mattress.” Steele felt his lip curl in an involuntary sneer.
“We’re planning a steady ramp-up of our interrogation’s intensity.”
“There’s no time for a steady ramp-up. We’re fighting the Wingers now. We need to know their plans, their capabilities, how many ships and troops they have left. We’re not historians.”
The interrogator gazed up at Steele from where he sat, and his expression made Steele shake his head, which caused his jowls to shift from side to side. I might as well be speaking a different language.
“I want some time with him,” he said, removing his recent purchase from his pocket. He smiled down at it, remembering the VR training sessions from the last few days. It was amazing, the tutorials you could find on the micronet. And having a concrete goal motivated one to learn quickly.
“Are those brass knuckles?”
“Actual brass knuckles are a rarity, these days. Most of the ones you’ll find are knockoffs, made from cheaper metals, and an actual set of brass knuckles will set you back a small fortune. Their illegality doesn’t help matters. But to answer your question: yes. These are brass knuckles.”
“You can’t use those on him. We have orders from high up not to leave any visible marks. You don’t want to screw with the people these orders came from.”
“I have President Hurst’s ear, you idiot. Open the door.” Steele slid his fleshy fingers through the loops. Quite a snug fit.
The interrogator continued to look at him, his mouth open slightly. Steele pretended his own stare was a laser, boring through the man’s head and melting the wall behind it. “Open the door and unchain his hands. Immediately.”
Moving as Steele imagined a zombie would, the interrogator did as instructed.
“Get out,” Steele said once the peon had finished unshackling Keyes’s hands.
Finally, he was alone with the man he hated most.
“Do you know who I am?” Steele closed the door behind the interrogator, never taking his eyes off Keyes.
The disgraced captain still hadn’t stood. He looked up, then replaced his head on the floor.
“Oh, yes. You know. We’ve never actually met, but you know who I am.” Steele began circling the room, well out of Keyes’s reach, given the short chain that bound his ankles to the concrete. “And I know you. All too well. You bear the distinction of having cost Darkstream more money than anyone else since its inception. Get up.”
Keyes complied, dragging himself slowly to his feet and staring at Steele with his famous blank stare.
Heaving his bulk forward, Steele thrust his fist into the man’s face, remembering to compensate for his extended reach. The brass met Keyes’s face with a crack that sounded like a tooth splitting. The man tripped over the short chain and landed hard on his back.
How satisfying. Steele had no intention of actually trying to extract any information. In fact, the less information they obtained from Keyes, the longer the war with the Wingers would last. And the higher company profits would soar.
“Darkstream is humanity’s only hope against the evils lurking inside the cave of space,” Steele said, feeling not in the least winded. That was one of the things he’d learned from the training programs. You let the brass knuckles do the work. “Humanity’s only hope. That makes you Satan for opposing us. Do you realize that, Keyes? Satan.”
No answer.
“Get up.”
Keyes rose to his feet and leveled the same bluff-faced stare at Steele. Scarlet leaked from his mouth, dribbling down his dark skin.
The brass knuckles crashed into Keyes’s face once more, producing another crack and sending him back to the floor.
“I think that was your nose shattering,” Steele remarked. “Very doubtful it’ll ever heal properly. But I suppose you don’t need to look pretty to be a traitor. Just like your old friend Warren Husher. Hmm?”
Keyes stayed silent, but Steele could see from the way his back heaved that he still lived. What if he dies? Steele would remind a panicked Hurst of her place, and there would be a cover-up. Not an issue.
“Corporations have always lifted humanity from the muck it seems to enjoy wallowing in. I know you have no children, for reasons clear to everyone, I’m sure. But I have a daughter. Her name is Lila. And when you oppose Darkstream, I see that as opposing her. My company is the dominant corporation right now, and without it, humanity would burn before the Ixa, who have the good sense not to hinder their corporations. Get up.”
Incredibly, the traitor dragged himself to his feet, his eyes locking onto Steele’s once again. Rivers of red flowed over his chin, falling in steady streams to the floor.
“You’re probably surprised to hear me acknowledge the Ixan threat. Honestly, it doesn’t worry me. The UHF is cutting its teeth on the Wingers after decades of inactivity. If the Ixa come, we will crush them.”
Steele threw the brass knuckles into Keyes’s forehead, knocking him down once again.
The door flew open, and a pair of guards rushed toward Steele, but not before he could pounce on Keyes and drive the metal knuckles into his face’s soft flesh once more. One of the guards caught Steele’s arm as he drew it back for another blow, and together they dragged his bulk off of the detainee.
“You have to leave the station,” said one of the guards.
Looking back as they escorted him out, Steele noticed the unfocused way Keyes’s eyes wandered the room.
A smile crawled across the CEO’s face. “Not a problem. I’ve done what I came here to do.”
Chapter 50
Within the Hour
Warren Husher woke from troubled dreams to find the cockpit flashing blue. He wondered how long it had been doing that. I wish it made some sort of sound to go with the blue light. He supposed the shuttle’s Ixan designers hadn’t anticipated the pilot sleeping at the console.
When he accepted the transmission, he found his son staring at him from the viewscreen. “Vincent.”
“Vin.”
“Right. What are you doing here?” Wow. Couldn’t you find something a little more fatherly to say? After missing most of his son’s childhood and all
of his adolescence, he had absolutely no clue how to be a parent.
“I was about to ask you the same thing. I, uh…” Vin cleared his throat. “I thought you might have died on Spire.”
“Well, I didn’t. I mean, obviously. Ek sprung me from jail, and we escaped.”
“Where’s Ek now?”
“With the radicals.”
“Radicals?”
“Yeah, you know. The ones the UHF’s been bombing for two decades. They captured us near Thessaly, but Ek makes friends quick, and now she has them eating out of her palm, or fin, or whatever.”
Vin nodded, looking a little overwhelmed. “Right. Well, I’m glad to hear she’s alive.”
“Thanks. Meanwhile, I’ve been busy securing these ships from the Wingers, for the radicals to fly in the fight against the UHF.”
“You’re giving warships to people you actually refer to as radicals?”
“Uh, yeah.” Warren scratched behind his ear. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” He slapped the console, zooming in on a view of the Larkspur-Yclept darkgate. “Oh, look. The radicals are entering the system now.”
“I doubt they’re going to get here in time.”
Squinting at the viewscreen, Warren said, “Get here in time? How do you mean?”
Vin blinked. “Are you telling me you haven’t noticed the giant UHF battle group making a beeline for Pinnacle?”
Expanding the tactical display showed him the battle group in question. “Hmm. Wow. That is a big one.”
“Yeah. Your, um, ‘radical’ friends should probably reverse course, if they don’t want to get taken apart by the Excalibur. In the meantime, we have some ships to get up and running. Carrow will be here within a few hours.”
“That’s Carrow commanding those ships? I always thought that guy was an ass.”
“You’re not wrong. Listen, I doubt I have enough people to crew even one of these ships. Do you think the Wingers can help us out at all?”
“I’ll ask. They seem to like me.”
“You do that. I’m going to take my people into the missile cruiser, start bringing its systems online.”
Vin disappeared from the viewscreen, and Warren flipped through the shuttle’s logs, locating the transmission code for the Winger he’d spoken to before. Got it. Within a few minutes, the alien appeared on the viewscreen.
“Hey, old buddy,” Warren said. “Do you happen to have any Wingers kicking around with experience operating warships?” He wondered briefly how well knowledge of Roostships translated into operating human-made warships. “You see, there’s an experienced UHF admiral who seems pretty eager to get here, and he’s got a whole whack of firepower, and I doubt that spells good news for either me or your—”
“Yes, human,” the Winger said, sounding much more irritated than before. “The crews of three Roostships did manage to escape the destruction of Spire and flee to Pinnacle. But since your species insists on making its warships as complicated as possible, they require much larger crews, and we only have enough Wingers to operate a frigate and a corvette.”
That’s not good. “Okay. Once you fill up those two ships, will you have any crew left over?”
“We have the Talon pilots, who will join the battle in their fighters. And, yes, we have three-hundred extra crewmembers. But that isn’t enough to operate another warship.”
“That’s perfect! Send them over to the missile cruiser. My son’s already over there, working to get it up and running.” Warren had no idea whether Vin had enough people with him to adequately make up the difference, but judging by Carrow’s proximity, there wasn’t time to pursue another line of action. This was it.
“Your son?” The Winger clacked its beak. “What is his name?”
“Vin Husher.”
“I thought you said your name was Wisher.”
Warren slammed the shuttle’s console with his fist. “I can spend an hour bringing you up to speed on human family nomenclature, or we can get these ships operational in time to give the UHF a fight! Which option do you like better?”
“Very well, human! Very well. I’ll send over the crewmembers now.”
“That’s more like it.” Warren cut off the transmission and stared at the cockpit’s ceiling. “Now what?” he asked it.
With such a short distance, it took him only a few minutes to set a course for the missile cruiser his son had chosen. I wonder whether he’ll let me inside.
According to the tactical display, Admiral Carrow would be upon them within the hour.
Chapter 51
No Better than the Gok
Husher’s head pulsed with pain as the tumult inside the Contest’s CIC mounted. His slapped-together crew traded frustrated shouts, and a shoving match broke out between a human and a Winger near the Tactical station.
Drawing a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and shouted. “Hey!” The clamor broke off immediately, and the tussling pair froze. He pointed at them first. “You should be ashamed of yourselves. If we weren’t about to become the UHF’s lunch, I’d send you both to the brig immediately. Rest assured, there will be consequences for your misconduct, if we manage to get out of this situation alive. To the rest of you, I expect better than this. I expect the crisp comportment befitting military personnel of any species.”
The human who’d been wrestling a Winger stepped away from the alien and dusted himself off. It was one of the Providence’s Condor pilots. “Sir, these birds think they can come in here and take over.”
“No one’s taking over. I’m in command, and it’s going to stay that way. But we who have come from the Providence, we’re mostly marines and Condor pilots. We have no experience actually running a warship. These Wingers do, and so for the most part we will defer to that experience.”
The Wingers were well-organized, with detailed knowledge of the crewmembers they’d brought aboard, and so Husher gave a team of them full authority to assign both Wingers and humans to posts according to their abilities. Soon he had a full CIC crew, comprised mostly of Wingers, with the rest of his crew being rapidly sorted out. He went on the shipwide to let it be known that anyone who didn’t cooperate with his admin team would face harsh disciplinary measures.
All the while, he kept a close eye on the tactical display, where Admiral Carrow’s battle group inched inexorably closer.
He palmed sweat from his brow. With his crew almost sorted out, all that remained was to choose the manner in which he would be defeated.
With just a missile cruiser, a corvette, and a frigate at his disposal, he doubted even a keen tactician like Captain Keyes could have won against a battle group as large as the one that approached. And Husher wasn’t Captain Keyes. He didn’t have anywhere near the man’s battle experience, and he didn’t have his talent.
He turned to his sensor operator, a brown-feathered Winger with snowy patches. “How long until the enemy battle group arrives?”
“Just under thirty minutes, Captain.”
Now that the Contest was operational, Husher knew they needed to get clear of Carrow, in the hopes of joining up with a larger force and then taking on the admiral. But the missile cruiser didn’t have engines like the Providence. It was just as slow as the approaching UHF ships, and likely slower than some of them. Carrow would not allow his quarry to escape easily. He’d order them harried until they hit a dead end or ran out of the fuel.
If Husher had more time, he would have called a meeting of his officers to develop a plan. But given the present urgency, he opted for thinking out loud.
“UHF ships built after the advent of dark tech were designed to be flown with minimal personnel,” he said, suppressing a wince at what he was about to say. “That’s providing nothing goes wrong with the ship’s systems, and it rules out firing any weapons. But if some of us were willing to shuttle over to the empty ships and fly them on collision courses with Carrow’s…”
Chief Taylor, one of the few humans in the CIC, spoke up from the Nav station.
“Sir, you’d be ordering good people to their deaths. And it would make us no better than the Gok.”
“I’m not ordering anyone to go on this mission,” Husher said. “I’m asking for volunteers.” He inhaled deeply, and took care not to let his breath come out as a sigh. “It’s the only way I can see to preserve the assets we’ve just acquired.”
“My species has already become no better than the Gok,” said the Winger at the Tactical console. “After the Fins’ extermination, we have lost our way. We are eager to throw ourselves between the enemy’s teeth, even if it only causes them a toothache. Many of our Talon pilots are also trained as navigation adjutants. I can easily find volunteers for the mission you propose, Captain.”
Husher swallowed, hard. “Do it. Now. And don’t bother clearing them with me. As soon as you have your volunteers, tell them to double-time it to the shuttle bay.”
“Yes, sir.”
Within fifteen minutes, four shuttles had departed the Contest, as well as three each from the frigate and the corvette. Ten shuttles carrying ten Wingers, all of them intent on using the ten remaining derelict ships to inflict as much damage as possible on Carrow’s battle group.
“We’re getting a transmission request from the Excalibur, sir,” the Coms officer said.
Husher felt the hair on the back of his neck stir. Just what I need. “Put it on the screen.”
Admiral Carrow’s pinched countenance appeared, wearing its customary sneer. “Husher. How low you’ve fallen.”
“Make it snappy, Carrow. I’m busy.”
“Yes, I expect you are. I imagine a man becomes rather preoccupied in the moments before he is brought to justice.”
“I wouldn’t know. Actually, you’re the first person I’d ask for insight on that.”
“Irrational as ever. You’re reminding me of the way you flushed your military career down the head, even after you were given your own command at such a young age.” Carrow chuckled. “It’s too bad you’re not as lucky as Keyes. If you were, your crew would mutiny and hand you over to me. Unfortunately, this encounter will likely end with your death.”
Juggernaut: The Ixan Prophecies Trilogy Book 2 Page 16
