by GARY DARBY
Rosberg didn’t answer right away. He waited a few seconds as if weighing his next words. “You scanned that synopsis of Scout Thorne’s report. Do you recall the part about his conversation with the Sha’anay elder?”
“Sure,” she replied and shook her head. “And I sure wish they’d been around when the Mongans bushwhacked us. From what I understand, they’ve been going at each other for centuries. We certainly could’ve used their help. But what has that got to do with our discussion?”
Rosberg took a breath. “Cait, we need to find the Sha’anay. Make a concerted effort to establish contact and explore the possibility of an alliance between them and us.
“You said it yourself; even your Marauders are outgunned. The Sha’anay know the Mongans, their tactics, their weaknesses, and how to exploit those shortcomings.
“For all we know they may have advanced weapon technology that they would be willing to share in an alliance. Something that would help us counter what the Mongans are throwing at us.”
His voice rose in fervor and strength. “But beyond that, we can’t forget for a second that the Mongans have the technology to explode a star, and against that we’re all but powerless.
“We need the Sha’anay, and hopefully they need us. We’ve got to stop the Mongans, or who knows which star they’ll blow up next. Vega? Sol?”
His eyes met hers in a direct and meaningful stare as he said, “Or Beta Ceti?”
At the mention of her home star, her head jerked up. She dropped her arms to her side and took a step toward him. “You’re going Out There,” she breathed out.
“You’re going to search for the Sha’anay yourself. And you’re not waiting for the High Council’s approval, either.”
With the slightest hint of frustration he said, “Tried that with the council already. As you said, they’re in disarray. Councilor Krause told me that their priority was to protect the homeworlds and finding or contacting the Sha’anay was not on their priority list.”
His eyes grew hard and his lips pinched together in exasperation as he said, “Completely short-sighted and bureaucratic nonsense, of course.”
He waved a hand at the crippled ships. “That alone should tell them that we need the Sha’anay’s help.”
“So, you’re going to be a one-person diplomatic mission,” she stated.
“Well,” he said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Not entirely by myself. But, I think that with a small complement of scouts in a fast ship, we’d be able to keep under the Mongan radar and avoid detection.”
Seeing her expression of skepticism, he chuckled and grunted, “Yeah, I know it’s risky, especially now, but all things considered, it’s more than worth the risk. Who knows, might get lucky and run across a Sha’anay battlecruiser just itchin’ for a fight with the Mongans.”
He took in a breath. “Better yet, they’d give us a chance to speak with the Sha’anay leadership, maybe set up a meeting between them and the High Council, and work together to rid ourselves of this menace.”
Stannick stared at Rosberg for several seconds, while she considered his risky strategy. “Yes, it just might be worth it,” she acknowledged. “But, you know you run the risk of council sanctions, not to mention that you’ll probably get yourself killed.”
She waved a hand at him. “Besides that, you have no idea where to even begin searching.”
“Give me some credit, Cait,” Rosberg countered. “I’m not going at this totally blind. Thorne’s report said that the Sha’anay try to head off the Mongans wherever they find them.
“Well, we know where a pretty large contingent of Mongans are right now, so my guess is that the Sha’anay will be somewhere in the neighborhood, maybe building up their own forces for a counterattack.”
“Ty,” Stannick said in an exasperated voice, “this ‘neighborhood’ you’re talking about is several thousand light-years across, with three times that many stars.
“How are you going to find them in all that space? We’re not talking about looking for a needle in a haystack, this is more like looking for a needle in a field of haystacks.”
Rosberg gave her comment a shrug in response. “I’ve got to try, Cait, I’m convinced it’s the right course, even if the council doesn’t.”
She shook her head at him. “You’ve pulled some crazy stunts before, Ty, but this has got to be the looniest one yet.”
With a lop-sided grin, he said, “Well, that may be true, but I remember doing some of those looney tunes in concert with a particular Nav fleet officer. In fact, I—”
She held up a quick hand to stop him. “You made your point.”
Pursing her lips, she sniffed before saying, “A fast ship, huh? Tell me you’re not thinking of poking around in one those souped-up scouters of yours.”
Rosberg shrugged. “The Zephyr is the fastest thing I’ve got in my inventory, and the most heavily armed.”
“Uh-huh,” she replied. “Sorry, but from where I stand, it’s not much more than a fast pea shooter.”
“Sure,” he answered as he swept an arm outward toward the dozens of Nav ships in orbit. “Compared to one of yours. But it’s all I got, Cait.”
She frowned at him while folding her arms again and tapping several fingers on one forearm. She screwed her mouth to one side and said, “I just know I’m going to regret this, but you’re right, we could certainly use the help. So if it’s a fast ship you need, then I’ve got just the thing.”
Rosberg stared at her with a puzzled expression. “What are you talking about?”
“The IntrepidX, a new class of super-Prowler,” she answered. “Just came off the docks. Instead of just one Hartbeldt drive, it has two-phased hyperdrives. Can run rings around anything currently in the fleet.”
“You’re giving me one of your warships?” Rosberg asked with a stunned expression. “How are you going to explain that to the council?”
“Not giving, Rosberg. Lending. I’m letting you borrow it. And as far as the council is concerned, I’m sending it on its shakedown cruise.”
She let a small smile play at the corners of her mouth. “It’s just going a little farther in galactic space than normal for its initial trial run, that’s all. But I want it back in one piece, not a dent or scratch on it, understand?”
Her face took on a hard expression. “Unless it’s for a good cause like taking out half a dozen Mongan warcraft, or more.”
Rosberg smiled broadly in return while saying, “I’ll do my best, Cait, I promise. So, when is this bird ready to leave the nest?”
“I’ll get my ops officer to cut the orders right away. They’ll read that you have overall command of crew and ship, though, by regulation, I can’t officially detach her to Star Scout as she’s a Nav warship. She should be on station by this time tomorrow or early the next day. Suit you?”
“Absolutely,” he replied gratefully. “It’ll give me time to get my team together. One question though, you said that she’s brand-new—what about her crew, are they brand-new, too?”
She shook her head in an emphatic response. “Nope. In fact, her crew are hand-picked veterans, and her captain and exec are two of my best.
“Had to be, those phased h-drives are new technology. The engines worked fine in the prototypes, but this will be the first time they’ve powered something like a Prowler.
“So, I needed old space hands aboard in case something goes wrong, which it shouldn’t, since the proto-tests worked out all the bugs. Don’t worry about the crew, Ty, they’ll get the job done for you.”
Rosberg tilted his head toward her. “I’m going out in a one-of-a-kind warship, powered by a one-of-a-kind technology, on a one-of-a-kind mission, with a one-of-a-kind crew. Gee, what’s there to worry about?”
Just then, a Star Scout captain entered the room. “Excuse me, Admiral Stannick, General Rosberg. Sir, he’s here.”
“Please show him in,” Rosberg directed.
He turned to Stannick who gave him a questioning look. In response, Rosbe
rg explained, “I decided on this course of action right after our shellacking on Alpha Prime and I spoke with Councilor Krause. Thought that I might need some special help.”
At the sound of soft footsteps, the two turned. Rosberg took a few paces forward, his hand extended. “Welcome aboard, Scoutmaster. Sorry for the short notice, but thank you for coming so quickly.”
Scoutmaster Tarracas took Rosberg’s hand and said, “It is always good to be Out Here, sir, but I am sorry that it has to be under these sorrowful and unfortunate circumstances.”
Rosberg turned and said, “Scoutmaster Tarracas, this is Admiral Stannick, chief of the Imperium’s interstellar naval forces.”
Tarracas gave the admiral a slight bow from the waist. “An honor.”
“And to you, Scoutmaster,” Stannick replied. “Your name and exploits are well known, even among the Navy.”
“You are most gracious and kind,” Tarracas replied in a quiet tone.
“You read Scout Thorne’s report?” Rosberg questioned.
“Yes, sir,” Tarracas replied. “As well as the reports coming in from the field regarding the situation in the Helix Nebula.”
“Good,” Rosberg replied as he guided Tarracas over to the bridge window and gestured toward the crippled fleet.
“We’re in serious trouble, Scoutmaster. We need help, and I think that the help we need lies Out There with the Sha’anay. We need to find them, and soon.”
He paused and let out a long breath with his next words. “Trouble is, we don’t know where they are, or how to contact them. And, perhaps as importantly, if we do find them, what it will take to convince them to come into an alliance with us against the Mongans.”
He turned to Tarracas with a frank look. “You’ve always had a unique talent, an affinity for operating Out Here that always seemed to let you be a step or two ahead of the next guy.
“I need that exceptional ability now, because I’m hoping that you’ll join me in finding and negotiating with the Sha’anay.
“We need their help and I could really use that special gift of yours if you’re willing to walk this trail with me.”
He held up a hand before Tarracas could respond and said, “But I need to be completely honest with you. I don’t have the council’s approval for what I’m proposing.
“We scouts have always operated with some autonomy and independence Out Here, but the council might view this particular action as outside the normal boundaries.”
He gave a little shrug. “I have no idea how the council will react if they find out, but I suspect if this goes badly, they won’t be in a forgiving mood.
“So if you throw in with me, I’m afraid that if there is a noose waiting at the end of this for me, there just might be one waiting for you, too.”
Tarracas stared outward at the ebony vastness of space, where the stars sparkled in tiny, frozen flames.
His eyes seemed to drink in the enormity and grandeur of it all before he gave Rosberg a little nod of acknowledgment. “Then general, from what I understand, let us hope that our endeavor is successful, not just for our sakes, but more so for all of humankind.”
Chapter Thirteen
Star date: 2443.081
An Earth Sized Moon Orbiting a Gas Giant Planet
Rushing from his hyperlight cruiser toward the high cliff’s base at practically hyperlight speed himself, Adiak Peller wore a smug, more-than-satisfied smile on his narrow face.
Small birdlike creatures, resembling miniature pterodactyls, wheeled and dove with incessant sharp, high caws around the rock wall’s upper reaches.
Peller was totally oblivious to their high-pitched calls and frantic flight maneuvers. His mind was set on one thing, and one thing only, that which lay hidden inside the jagged stone fortress.
In fact, he was so obsessed with what lay inside the fortress-like cliff mesa that he had broken one of his own cardinal rules and that was to meet in person with one of his Faction teams.
Nevertheless, for this, he would have broken every self-imposed rule in his inventory. It was that important to him.
The hood from his flowing, silver-toned robe somewhat hid his features, and he had taken time to disguise his face, but those inside the hidden lair would have no doubt whom they confronted.
The Gadion Faction Grand Master.
Waiting at the dark tunnel’s entrance was the leader of his Faction assassin team. The man’s self-confident demeanor, the expressionless visage and his cool, frosty eyes, mirrored the complete lack of conscience that he possessed.
Peller knew this man well; he had given his personal touch to his upbringing over the years. As he developed his fanatical and lethal talents, Peller had lavished copious amounts of money and other rewards on him.
His assassin had soon come to love two things—the pleasures that money bought, and his lust for killing. Peller provided ample opportunity for both.
However, Peller wasn’t a fool, and though his cutthroat showed Peller loyalty and deference, Peller knew that in his shadowy world, loyalty was fleeting and nebulous at best.
Therefore, when dealing with this particular Faction henchman, he was both careful and on guard for any signs of betrayal.
As Peller hurriedly approached, the man gave a curt nod and stepped forward. Peller’s eyes narrowed as he rushed up to his mercenary. There was something different in his usual handsome bearing.
Peller pointed to several dark bruises that ran along the man’s jawline and to a strawberry-sized welt on his cheek. “I hope those don’t mean that one of my best is slowing down and getting soft.”
The assassin’s hand went to the curved, cruel knife he always carried in an ivorion-covered scabbard on his hip.
It was apparent to Peller that he had touched a raw nerve because the man’s voice was almost grating in response. “A little unfinished business and one that I intend to settle once we’re done here.”
“On your time,” Peller snapped back. “Not mine. Now, where are they?”
The man turned and led Peller into the shadowy tunnel. The garish corridor lights caught Peller’s dark cloak and throw up batlike shadows on the walls as the two paced briskly down the passageway.
Several months beforehand, the Faction had carved out this rudimentary station in anticipation of needing a base for their forays into the Helix.
Concealed deep within a narrow valley, Peller hadn’t realized at the time how fortuitous his decision was in choosing this very locale. Now, his glee was practically uncontainable at the thought of the grand prizes that had come into his clutches.
The Faction assassin led Peller further into the cliff’s side before turning down a side tunnel. He stopped before a metal door and passed his hand across the security pad.
The door slid aside, and Peller strode into a cavernlike room. He took only a few steps when he stopped practically in midstride. He couldn’t help the small, sharp intake of breath that escaped his lips.
Sitting on narrow, stone ledges inside a rock alcove sat two large aliens, while another leaned up against the stone facing.
Peller could tell in an instant that they were several heads taller than he and it would take more than two of him to match their girth. Broad shoulders narrowed to slim waists, and their muscular bodies left no doubt in Peller’s mind that they would be fierce opponents in combat.
Loose, forest-brown tunics with just a hint of green covered their upper bodies while dark, flared pants covered their legs. The two that sat had hands resting on knees while the third stood with arms folded.
Their auburn, almond-shaped eyes stared at Peller with an expression that left no doubt in his mind that they were most unhappy in their current surroundings.
A human guard stood to each side of the electrically charged barrier, their weapons resting in the cradle of folded arms. A woman and a man wearing light green coveralls hovered over a bank of consoles against one wall on the far side of the large room.
Peller’s guide hurried ove
r to the woman and whispered in her ear. With a quick jerk of her head, she turned and rushed to Peller’s side. “Forgive me, I didn’t know you had arrived,” she said in a small, whiny voice.
Peller waved her apology off and walked forward until he stood just a few meters away from the enclosed rock niche that held the aliens.
He stared for several seconds, fully savoring the fact that right now, as far as he knew, he was the one human in Imperium space who not only possessed the ability to communicate with another sentient species, but who actually had captured and now held hostage a trio of extraterrestrials.
It didn’t matter to him that they were prisoners, captives against their will. What mattered is that they belonged to him and to him only.
He inhaled and let out a deep, long breath of satisfaction. His thin chest swelled, more so from puffed-up pride than indrawn air.
In his mind, these three could well be the breakthrough, the moment, and opportunity he had waited for to bring his majestic plan to fruition.
“Are we able to communicate with them?” he asked in a hoarse tone of the woman.
“A little,” the thin, older female linguist acknowledged.
“Unfortunately, they’re not very communicative, and because of that our translator program has only been able to correlate a few words and phrases into Imperium Common Language.”
“Have you tried to make them talk?”
“I—I don’t understand what you mean,” the woman replied. “We’ve—”
Peller turned on her in a flash. “You know exactly what I mean,” he snapped in a harsh voice. “I need to be able to communicate with them, so do what you must to make that happen.”
He drew himself up so that he peered down on the nervous language scientist. “And I don’t care how it’s done,” he hissed.
The woman blanched under Peller’s withering attack. “Sir, please,” the woman replied in a stuttering, begging whisper, “I’m a linguist, not a—a—”
Peller whipped around to his assassin leader; one bony finger jabbed at the man’s chest. “Make them talk,” he ordered in a cold tone and pointed to the three aliens.
