All the same, he prayed to the gods it wouldn’t come to that. It was far better to go against the Collectors as a unified people. Rebellion might mean the end of the SRE. But if the SRE was already being run by the Collectors, what did it matter? If some free bastions of the SRE remained, they would at least have the warning they needed to evacuate or prepare to defend themselves.
As a fractured civilization, they wouldn’t stand a chance if the Collectors decided to unleash their nanites on the human race.
“Alpha, initiate transition,” Tag said.
The Argo lurched, slowing to the normal limits of space-time undistorted by altered gravity. As the purple and green plasma of hyperspace began to dissipate from their freshly repaired viewscreens, Tag’s eyes fell toward the obsidian slate secured to his terminal. The communication device had gone unused since they left Meck’ara. L’ndrant had never reached out to him, and Tag feared what that might mean for her. He had considered sending a message, but he feared that someone might use that communication to further incriminate her if she was already in custody.
As the plasma waves of hyperspace gave way to the star-studded fields of space, Tag realized how truly alone they were. The bridges behind them had been burned, and there was no telling what trenches their enemies had dug before them.
“The sensors are picking up SRE signals,” Alpha said as green dots appeared on the holomap, indicating friendly ships. “It seems we have indeed found the SRES Montenegro.”
An incoming transmission request blinked across Tag’s holoscreen. Unlike before, he readily accepted it. An unfamiliar man in an SRE officer’s uniform appeared. “SRES Argo, welcome to the Montenegro strike group. We have been waiting for you.”
Sofia turned to Tag, but he shrugged. He had anticipated having to explain his way back to the Montenegro. Having a red carpet rolled out for them was certainly not what he had been expecting.
“Stand by as our escorts join you,” the officer said.
Six SRE strike fighters accelerated toward them.
“Captain,” Coren said, “I’m detecting weapon locks.”
“Stand by with countermeasures,” Tag said. Maybe the red carpet wasn’t quite as friendly as it seemed. Drone-Humans, maybe? “Don’t arm anything yet.”
“Shields?” Alpha asked.
“Remain down.”
The fighters sidled up to the Argo, encircling them.
“Steady on your approach,” the officer said. “You may dock in bay A-4.”
“Copy,” Tag said. “Sofia, take us in.”
With the fighters shadowing them, they passed the battlecruisers and warships making up the Montenegro strike group. Smaller transports and shuttles weaved between the vessels in a constant thrum of traffic. This was a far cry from how things had been when they had departed the Montenegro. After the Drone-Mech assault, the capital ship had been crippled, barely a glimmer of its former self. Most of the cruisers and other warships that had served as its escort had been rendered nothing but scrap.
“Alpha, how many ships are out here?” Tag asked.
“Current sensors indicate two hundred fifty fighters, thirty-six warships including the Montenegro, and seventy-five civilian-class vessels ranging from research to transport.”
“How does that compare to the original strike group?” Tag asked.
“According to the Argo’s records, that is a three-fold increase.”
“Damn,” Sofia said. “Glad to have some additional reinforcements on our side.”
“Are they on our side?” Coren mused. “Weapon locks, fighter escort. Evidence of Collector collaborators.”
“Ever the pessimist,” Sofia said.
“Realist,” the Mechanic corrected.
“Sometimes it doesn’t seem like much of a difference.”
“Welcome to the universe of the Collectors.”
“Either way,” Tag said, interrupting their argument before it could continue any further, “stay on your toes. Remember the plan if things go south?”
The others nodded. Tag was already prepared to manually launch their courier drones into hyperspace, and the Argo was programmed with a failsafe launch protocol in case of fusion reactor, shield, or weapon failures—all signs that they were about to be destroyed.
Soon the hulking shape of the Montenegro appeared before them like a sleeping behemoth. Menacing cannons waited silent and foreboding all across its hull. Singe marks still showed the scars of its near-destruction. Tag thought the blackened sections of alloy made the thing look even fiercer than before. After enduring so many years of relative peace, the Montenegro had finally seen real space combat and come out the other side as a different ship.
A round hatch on the side of the Montenegro opened as they approached, revealing the glow of crimson battle lights. The vast bay beyond the hatch was large enough to fit a pair of battlecruisers or several squadrons of fighters. But there were no ships within it. Instead, rows of SRE marines in mechanized exosuits prowled the perimeter. On the catwalks suspended under the ceiling, more marines in EVA suits aimed their weapons at the Argo.
“This wasn’t exactly the welcome party I was expecting,” Sofia said.
“Like I said...” Coren let his words trail off.
“They’re being careful,” Tag said hopefully. “No different than the Mechanics.”
“We were forced to abscond due to the Mechanics’ suspicions,” Alpha said. “Do you suggest we prepare to do the same here?”
Tag was silent for a moment, eying the command to release their courier drones. “I don’t think we’ll be running away even if we wanted to. Best to speak to the admiral.”
The SRE officer appeared on Tag’s holoscreen again. “Captain Brewer, you are to land your ship in the middle of the bay. After shutting off all engines and weapon systems, you are to exit the ship unarmed and await further orders.”
“Understood,” Tag said.
Sofia took the Argo in slowly. The fighters broke off from their trailing formation but didn’t stray far, instead hovering near the entrance to the bay. Red letters on Tag’s holoscreen still indicated the Argo was detecting multiple weapons locks as they landed.
“Alpha, power down the engines,” Tag said.
Soon the thrum of the grav impellers ceased. The clicks of releasing restraints sounded from around the bridge. The crew silently got up from their seats and followed Tag out into the corridor. They joined the marines near the cargo hold’s exit hatch.
“Sure hope they’re not just going to throw us in the brig,” Bull said.
“Me, too,” Gorenado said. “Not enough gutfire there to keep us entertained.”
“Brig or not,” Tag said, “they’ll probably put us under quarantine. Whatever happens, don’t do anything stupid, and remember what I said.”
“Our lips are sealed,” Alpha said proudly.
With Tag in the lead, one by one the crew exited and stood on the expansive interior deck of the Montenegro. Using a hand to shield his eyes from the intense lights focused on them, Tag surveyed the weapons pointed at him. He found he didn’t much like being on this end of a pulse rifle without one of his own.
“Okay,” Tag said. “We’re here.”
A voice boomed overhead. “Our sensors indicate at least one life-form still on your ship. Order the crew member out now.”
Tag looked at his crew. All the marines, Sofia, Coren, and Alpha were here. Then it struck him.
“Damn it, Lucky,” he muttered. Turning in the direction the voice had come from, he said, “It’s an animal. I need to go back in and retrieve it. Permission to reboard?”
There was a moment of quiet in which Tag imagined the officers conferring in hushed whispers. Finally, the voice replied, “Retrieve the animal. But if you return with weapons, we will open fire.”
“Understood,” Tag said, raising his hands. “No funny business.”
He climbed back up the ladder into the ship, then headed straight through the passages to
his quarters. There, Lucky was secured within the cage Coren had modified to serve as a crash couch for the Rizzar.
“Come on,” he said. “Time to go.”
Lucky used one of her front paws to undo the latch. It hadn’t taken long to train her how to get in and out of the cage, and she had faithfully done so whenever Tag had ordered. He wondered just how much smarter than the average Earth-born pet she actually was. Lucky padded out on her six feet, arching her back and rubbing against Tag’s leg.
“Good girl,” Tag said. “We’ve got to go outside now. Stick next to me. Do not go wandering around.”
She mewled and didn’t bother looking up at him.
“I’m serious,” he said.
This time she blinked up at him and mewled louder, as if she understood the request. Tag shook his head and motioned her to follow him to the cargo hold and down the ladder. As soon as his boots hit the deck, he raised his hands and cautiously approached his crew again, this time with Lucky at his side. Once he joined Sofia and Coren, Lucky sat back on her haunches and started licking a paw then using it to clean her scaled hide.
“See?” Tag said. “Like I said, no funny business.”
“Clear!” the voice boomed.
Montenegro marines descended on the crew, overwhelming them before they could so much as exhale in surprise. Tag was blindfolded, and his hands were forced behind his back. His shoulders felt ready to pop from their sockets. He heard a flurry of boots pounding all around him until someone clicked a pair of noise-cancellers over his ears. Something prodded his back, and he took that as a sign he should move forward. He stepped once, almost stumbling, until hands grabbed his aching shoulders forcefully, guiding him along. The odor of sweat hung heavy in the air, making him wonder if these marines were more nervous than he was about the Argo’s arrival.
He tried to count the seconds as they passed, tracking each turn they took until he started to grow dizzy. Before his adventure on the Argo, he hadn’t spent enough time on the Montenegro to memorize its labyrinth of twisting corridors and chambers, so the winding route had him thoroughly disoriented, just as he assumed the marines wanted. Finally, he was signaled to stop with a powerful squeeze on his shoulder. He winced as the blindfolds and noise-cancellers were removed, then the cuffs. As soon as he could move, he spun on his heels to count off his crew members. They were all here, including Lucky. But where were they? The marines had taken them to a room about half as large as the Argo’s mess hall. There were bathroom facilities on one end and bare bunks lining the rest of the bulkheads. Tag recognized it as typical SRE deckhand quarters. It wasn’t luxurious, but at least it wasn’t the brig.
“Glad to see you all again,” Tag said.
Coren massaged his wrists. “At least Admiral Doran didn’t split us all up.”
“That has to count for something,” Sofia said.
Lonestar slumped into one of the bunks. “I take it they didn’t tell you how long they planned to leave us here.”
“That they didn’t,” Tag said.
“For the gods’ sakes,” Bull said. “They could at least feed us.”
“Agreed,” Gorenado said. “Usually if someone has their hands on me like that, it’s only after they’ve bought me dinner.”
Sumo gave him a punch on the shoulder, shaking her head.
Hours passed in quarantine. Montenegro crew members visited only to drop off meals. No matter what he and his crew asked those visitors, they couldn’t get any answers as to how long they would be held up or when they would get a chance to meet with Admiral Doran. Almost a day and a half had gone by with no word of their release or Doran’s plans for them.
“I don’t get it,” Sofia said. “We haven’t even told them about the Collectors or their collaborators. But they’re treating us like we’re traitors.”
“All they know is that there are Drone-Mechs out there, and that the Drone-Mechs are Mechanics infected by nanites,” Coren said. “So, because they know we were looking for other Mechanics, they think we might be infected.”
“Ah, give us humans more credit,” Tag said. “They’ve had plenty of time to figure out why the Drone-Mechs attacked. I’m certain there’s more than a couple theories floating around about why someone attacked the Montenegro. I wouldn’t be surprised if Doran or someone else in the SRE has already begun to suspect some humans aren’t as faithful to humanity as they’d been pretending to be.”
“Either that,” Bull said, “or the Collectors already got to these people. Three hells, maybe Doran is one of them. Those damn blue xenos are probably on their way here right now to punish us for killing Ezekiel and stealing the Dawn.”
“If that’s the case, bring it,” Lonestar said. “I’ll figure out a way to kick the ass of a Collector or two.”
“I would like answers to all our questions,” Alpha said. “I do not enjoy being shunned like this.”
“I would guess they’re sifting through the Argo right now. That’s no small task, especially with all the modifications you two added to the code.” Tag gestured to Coren and Alpha. “You’re positive you hid that courier drone routine?”
“Judging by the shoddy original programming of the Argo’s computer systems, a human computer scientist will have no chance of finding it,” Coren said.
“A yes would’ve worked fine.”
Before Coren could say anything else, the hatch to their quarters swung inward. An SRE ensign stepped in with a dozen marines at her back. “You are to come with me immediately.”
“Just me?” Tag asked.
“All of you.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Tag waited for the marines to cuff and blindfold him again. This time, however, they didn’t even raise their weapons. He felt slightly more at ease that the marines no longer viewed him and his crew as an immediate threat to the Montenegro’s safety, but he had no illusions that they were in the clear. They were still being guided by an armed escort.
His fingers went instinctively toward his hip. Without a pulse pistol in his holster, he felt naked. The ensign didn’t offer any other words as she led them down the corridor past featureless walls. Harsh white lights beat down from the ceiling panels. None of the familiar sounds of whirring bots or idle chatter met Tag’s ears, and the uncanny silence was accentuated by the slightly metallic scent of the place. It felt... unused. Sterile. He didn’t remember seeing this section during his last visit to the Montenegro.
The metallic odor wafting around him brought with it fresh memories of the nanites on the Dawn. He wondered what exactly it was that he was breathing in. Maybe Coren’s suspicions had been right. Maybe the Collectors had already gotten to the SRE, and Tag had led his crew right into a trap. He rubbed his arm right below the wrist terminal, wondering if he should launch the courier drones while his body still moved under his volition. But then again, if the whole of the SRE was already under the influence of the Collectors, what good would it do?
Footsteps punctuated the silence until they reached a hatch that was as nondescript as the rest. The ensign rapped the back of her knuckles on it, and it opened. Tag almost took a step back, not believing what he was seeing. Admiral Doran and Rear Admiral Blank were waiting in an antechamber—and they weren’t alone.
Wearing an unreadable expression, a Mechanic turned to face the newcomers. She eyed Tag and the others as though she were a judge at a cattle show in his native Houston assessing the crew for proper pedigree representation. She offered no clue whether she was displeased to see them or here to support their mission. Tag studied her face, trying to recognize her, but he was certain he would’ve remembered the deep scar that ran horizontally under her golden eyes.
“The infamous crew of the Argo,” she said. “And of course, it was no problem beating you here.”
“Let me guess,” Tag said. “Something, something, Mechanic ships are better than ours.”
“Ah, very wise for a human.”
“Who are you?” Tag asked, his fingers curling i
nto fists. He noticed one of the marines near them shift, but the man didn’t raise his rifle.
“Harsia,” she said. “Newly assigned diplomat to the SRE.”
“How new?” Tag asked, wondering if this was L’ndrant’s appointment or a sign the coup had succeeded against the Grand Elector.
“I haven’t come to answer your questions, Brewer,” Harsia said.
Tag looked to Doran, but she remained stoic. There was no sign of the confidence or pride she’d had in him and his crew back when they had helped to save the Montenegro from the Drone-Mechs.
“Admiral, what is going on here?”
“Brewer, you’re coming with me and Rear Admiral Blank. The rest of you will be assigned separate interviewers.”
At Doran’s beckoning, Tag strode forward.
“Stop!” one of the marines said.
Tag spun on his heels, thinking the marine had been talking to him. But instead he saw the marine pointing a rifle at the Rizzar. She arched her spine, hissing and spitting between her needlelike teeth. The scales on her back opened and flared, and her green eyes lit up with the intensity of grav impellers on a burn.
“Settle, Lucky,” Tag said.
Doran raised her brow, her frosty façade melting slightly. “Is that creature your pet or a new crew member?”
“A little bit of both,” Tag said.
“Is she going to be trouble?”
Tag looked at Lucky, hesitating. He hoped she could understand the thoughts behind his expression. Come on, Lucky. Don’t get yourself hurt.
With a strangely human sigh, the Rizzar spread her lizard-like paws out, retracting her claws and flattening her scales. She padded softly to Tag’s side and followed him, Doran, Blank, and Harsia through an open hatch. Four marines joined them. The space was furnished with a table and several chairs.
“Please, sit,” Doran said, motioning at the solitary chair on the far side of the table.
Rebel World (The Eternal Frontier Book 4) Page 7
