Rogue Messiah: Fleetfoot Interstellar Series, Book 2

by P. Joseph Cherubino

  Drexler resisted the compulsion to laugh hysterically. “If I knew where all that came from, maybe I could tell you. I guess we just have to test my hypothesis with the lives of thousands,” Drex replied, then something in him unraveled. “Shit,” he subvocalized that single Ancient English word among Tradespeak, “that wasn’t funny,” he added.

  “No,” Reggie replied. “It was not. But it is true. It is the only way. I am with you, Captain. We all are. We will make this work.”

  After that, time was a blur of activity that Drexler found nearly routine. In his month of working with New Detroit and helping to manage the refugee cloud and the new Armada captains, he settled into certain patterns.

  The refugee cloud operated without a single time reference. Drexler forced all his activities into an earth-standard day. He started a 24-hour cycle arbitrarily and stuck with it. The tactic was only effective because he only allowed himself four hours of sleep per day.

  Mornings he spent dealing with the management of his own ship. By afternoon, he met with First Officer Mumlo and handed off operations. From there, he dove into what usually amounted to no less than a hundred reports, communicates or action items generated by the Byzantine tapestry of agreements, deals, and arrangements that allowed the Armada to emerge from the refugee cloud.

  Drexler found himself the leader of this operation as the person with the right answers. At least, the answers were right so far. He was still not sure how this happened. One decision led to another, and before he knew it, he was off to save the day. It took a daily act of will for the Captain to focus on each task as it came, and not the entirety of what he was about to do.

  Forty-eight hours after the Captains meeting on the crowded bridge of the Fleetfoot I , the Armada was ready to move out. Launch time happened to fall in the late evening phase of Drexler’s day. At no other point in his life had time seemed such an arbitrary notion.

  The bridge crew did their business in grave, hushed tones. There was none of the usual chatter. Everyone was all about the business of making the blink to Kerala 2.

  “Nav,” Drexler said, in a conversational voice that carried across the flight bridge. “Are we locked in?”

  “Affirmative, Captain,” the Human navigation officer replied. “AI reports high confidence for the flight path.”

  “And the rest of the Armada?”

  The nav officer checked his data and replied, “Less than one percent average variation. We are all dialed in.”

  “Protocol officer,” Drexler said, his eyes focused through the transparent bulkhead, past the flanks of the Armada, to some distant point in space. “Are comms solid? Do we have a convoy network?”

  Midge, the feline protocol officer, answered instantly, “All ships linked, locked, encrypted and secure, captain.”

  “Very good, Midge,” Drexler replied. “That will be critical once the action starts.”

  Drexler took a deep breath. “Protector, report status.”

  The now-familiar synthesized voice of General Fourseven came over the main bridge comm for all to hear. “We are optimal and standing by for launch.”

  To the Armada, Drexler signaled, “OK, this is Fleetfoot I , tip of the spear. Let’s head out slow. Proceeding to one-quarter C. Assemble as directed.”

  The ships ramped up evenly to one-quarter light speed and formed an arrow that covered an area of two-thousand kilometers. The final count for the Resistance Amada was two-hundred-fifty-three ships. Several captains joined in the final days before launch. Word spread among the refugee cloud before their escape that people were taking a stand.

  Drexler settled into his flight chair and reclined the seat back. He unrolled a display scroll and held it out at arm’s length.

  “Reggie, give me a convoy schematic, false color overlay showing field densities. I want full telemetry data on the icons, including ship names.”

  “Affirmative,” Reggie answered after a slight pause. The lag meant Reggie was very busy processing tens of thousands such requests.

  “Ops,” Drexler called to the Simian monitoring the ship. “How is the AI compute stack?”

  “We are hitting overflow buffers. Core coolant temperature is on the high side, but the quantum cycles are looking good. Very low error rate on the output side. Running optimal.”

  “Very good. You let me know if things look otherwise. Thank you, Ops Officer Darl,” Drexler replied. The display scroll showed the Armada holding a steady formation at three-quarter C.

  “Drexler to Armada captains,” Drexler called on the open comm. “Report status.” To his own bridge crew, he ordered, “Protocol station, record results and report to Ops. I want a record of this.”

  One-by-one the Captains reported in. Every command reported optimal status. Drexler switched comm back over to the local channel and addressed the ship.

  “Attention all hands. This is your Captain. All stations prepare for blinkpoint translation on my mark.” Drexler rolled up the display scroll, stood and dropped the display in a wall holder. “Open channel to Protector,” he said.

  “Fourseven here,” came the quick reply.

  “By my estimation, we are ready for the blink. Do you agree?”

  “We are ready, Captain Fleetfoot,” Fourseven replied.

  Drexler took a deep breath. “Calling Resistance Armada, this is Fleetfoot I. Begin ten-second countdown to blinkpoint translation on my mark.” When Darl made eye contact and gave his Captain a quick nod, Drexler said, “Mark!” He moved closer to the transparent bulkhead to watch the stars turn to streaks of light as the Fleetfoot I pushed up against the speed of light. The hull rumbled for a moment, and the bulkhead turned opaque as the photon envelope formed and brought the ship into the ether.

  “We are underway,” Drexler said over open comm.

  “All report present and optimal,” the Midge said. “The Armada is intact and underway.”

  Drexler sat back down in his flight chair to conceal his trembling legs. He struggled to breathe evenly. He let the bridge chatter wash over him and throught about the next set of moves.

  15

  Gholss used his ceremonial blade to disembowel the lead engineer. He stood over the corpse with hands clutched around dripping internal organs. The engineer’s blood streamed from his fangs, mixing with his own saliva and venom. He exercised great restraint in not swallowing more than two chunks of the engineer’s flesh. He thought about having the body preserved for a proper meal, but decided against it. Giving the display over to excess would not further his purpose. He wanted this discipline session to be over so that he could get back to the business of conquering.

  Gholss emptied his hands of flesh and bent down to wipe his claws on the dead engineer’s uniform. It was hard to find a dry place on which to do so. He resisted the intoxicating taste of fresh blood in the air that called him to greater violence.

  Gholss stood and ordered, “Guards! Jettison the body into the emptiness.”

  Two soldiers standing by in the cargo hold where Gholss assembled his engineers rushed in to comply with the order. They won a shoving match with several other guards who wanted the same privilege. Gholss took quick note of the struggle winners before addressing the assembly. He found their aggression heartening in the face of utter failure.

  “How was it that our prey managed to not only escape, but to compromise our ship’s systems? How did these weak species kill an entire crew assigned to their former ship without firing a shot?” Gholss bellowed. He was thankful none of the engineers took his questions to be anything other than rhetorical. He did not want execute another engineer. Since the escape, he was running low. Twenty engineers were assigned to the captured ship on which they died.

  “Your former Alpha Engineer did not know why! But I will swear by my blood and yours, that the group standing before me today find out why! I want a complete report no later than the start of next cycle!”

  The sorry group stood looking meek and defeated. Gholss had no idea how he
would find an Alpha Engineer replacement among them. He hoped his order would spark a productive competition among the group that might yield results.

  “Leave my sight and get to work! Now!”

  The sound of eighty clattering footclaws skittering across the deck was deafening and almost sent Gholss into another bout of rage. Now he understood the bloodlust that came with command. He understood why he lost his hand to his own Alpha Leader not too long ago. The hand grew back, and he considered himself lucky to be alive. He was not looking forward to his own report to the Great Alpha Leader, Sslolg.

  Gholss needed answers. The questions raised by the escape of prisoners and the loss of a recently-captured ship called into question the status of their military operation in this system, and possibly beyond. If something like this could happen to a Dominator Class Alpha Ship, then it stood to reason that the less-capable ships were even more vulnerable. Gholss was still trying to get a handle on just what happened.

  Initial reports indicated that someone or something compromised the security of the Alpha Ship’s low-level mechanical functions. Luckily, none of the command functions were affected. Systems such as life support, helm control and reactor systems were not touched. There was some indication that those critical systems were attacked, but security measures kept those systems safe.

  But Gholss found out the hard way that compromised secondary systems could be used to wreak much havoc. Fire suppression systems were activated to confuse, wound, disable and in a two instances, kill his crew.

  The most shocking revelation of the incident was that the creatures regarded as weak and inferior ended up killing eight Reptilian soldiers. Several were attacked by unarmed captives who then stripped the bodies of weapons. This was not supposed to happen. Most of the ships captured offered little resistance. There was talk among the crew that some species may not be as easy to kill and conquer after all.

  Gholss could not have that. He needed to understand what happened, then demonstrate the dominance of the Reptilian Empire.

  “First Officer Gholss, report to the bridge,” came a call over his earpiece. Gholss froze for a moment. A summons to the bridge may mean corporal punishment or worse. He steeled himself to the possibility as he mounted a sled lift from the cargo bay to the upper decks. He mentally prepared himself for whatever came and cultivated the willingness to submit his life to the Alpha if necessary. He would demonstrate the strength and devotion of his kind, even in death. He entered the bridge with visions of glory in his mind.

  “First officer Gholss,” the Alpha Leader said. “I taste blood on you.”

  “Yes, Alpha. My meeting was eventful,” Gholss replied.

  The Alpha did not challenge him with direct eye contact and his posture was relaxed.

  “Come to your station and review the data there. You will be pleased to know that not all of your officers fail their duties.”

  Gholss stepped over to the holographic display column. There he saw a star map representing the Medina solar system. A subfleet of twenty Reptilian Light Attack Craft idled just inside the heliosphere. He noticed the symbols that represented eight spacecraft belonging to the Trade Union. There were three mining ships, six freighters, three transports and to his great surprise, the recently escaped ship.

  “Who found this?” Gholss exclaimed. He felt as if someone had given him a gift.

  “Our communications officer, in cooperation with a few security crew members, took it upon themselves to monitor the data feeds and communications logs from the entire fleet. They discovered reports of a Trade Union craft behaving strangely, and other vessels that offered resistance in an unusual way.”

  “In what way did they offer resistance?” Gholss asked.

  “I will let our security officer explain that to you,” the Alpha said, pointing to a small Reptile with a short snout and a broad mouth full of sharp jagged teeth. Gholss recognized the species. They were known for their fierceness and cunning in battle.

  “The ships assumed a concave formation in opposition to the straight-line approach of our attack fleet. When our fighters moved to engage, the enemy ships moved as if to flank us. When our ships reached the termination shock region, a portion of the enemy ships vented a significant amount of their reactor gases into space. Another portion of the enemy force traveled at high velocity through the gasses, using their gravity wake to cause the gasses to form a moving wall that engulfed our ships.”

  “Very clever,” Gholss said, in spite of himself. “A low-density mass attack.”

  “Precisely, Second Alpha,” the security officer said. “Although the damage to our attack vessels was light, they are now limited to low-velocity travel.”

  “A sand trap!” Gholss exclaimed. “On my region of the Homeworld, there is a type of fungus that lives in the eastern desert. It grows beneath the sand and forms places where its victims sink down. The fungus slows them to a point where it can begin dissolving flesh. This is what they have done.”

  “But they did not use directed energy weapons. The mining ships could have opened fire, but they did not.”

  “That is their mistake then,” Gholss declared.

  “The Government of Medina 3 established communications with our attack fleet, trying to negotiate.”

  “Foolish. Did our fleet respond?” Gholss asked.

  “They did not.” the Alpha Leader said “I believe, Second Alpha, that it is we who should respond.”

  Gholss glanced at the navigation console and saw coordinates laid in for the Medina system, a mere thirty light years distant.

  “We will be there in five days travel time, fifteen days outside time,” the Alpha declared. “Our mission is to free our fleet from the sand trap, as you call it, and punish Medina 3. All we need now is the order to depart.”

  Gholss needed no further prompting. “To all crew! Prepare for blinkpoint translation!”

  The crew prepared the ship for travel in record time. They were motivated by revenge.

  ***

  Five days of travel time brought Captain Drexler Fleetfoot much-needed rest. He took the opportunity to let the ship run itself, and worked mostly from his cabin while he made sure to take regular meals and get a full eight hours sleep for four nights in a row. On the fifth day, he woke, ordered coffee and breakfast, and sat down at his desk to review the overnight reports.

  The Armada was due to arrive outside the Medina system in seven hours. That was just two hours behind their best estimate. Drexler smiled. This was one of the most accurate blinkpoint translations he’d ever been a part of.

  “Very well done on the blinkpoint calculations, Reggie. You should be very proud,” Drexler said, sipping coffee. He merely poked at the scrambled eggs on his plate. Cloned eggs never tasted quite right. They’d run out of live chickens, and the cloning vats were dedicated to fast-growth proteins for assembly into meal packs. The mess crew advised laying in supplies for the hard times to come, and Drexler agreed heartily.

  “I am very proud,” Reggie replied. “I networked with other ships of my class to come up with the most accurate calculation on record.”

  “How many other ships like you are in the Armada?”

  “Like me? None, of course. Some ships are merely of the same vintage, and similar in design, with compatible computing cores.”

  Drexler shook his head and continued sipping coffee. Rather than come back with a hot rejoinder, he let Reggie bathe in the juices of his own virtual ego.

  “Well, it’s good to know you can leverage computing power when you need it. Might come in handy later.” Drexler said, keeping matters practical. “In fact, Reggie, I want to cluster ships like you together. Let’s make a note to contact the captains of the ships similar to you and do the same for others.”

  “You mean, assemble subgroups of similar ships?”

  “Yes, that might leverage capabilities,” Drexler replied. “Why don’t you work with Gajrup on running some combat simulations to test the idea.”


  “Affirmative,” Reggie said, all business.

  Thinking of the meal packs to come, Drexler ate his cloned eggs and finished his coffee. An hour later, he was done with the Armada reports. Drexler dressed in a fresh uniform and put on his flight suit. He noticed the pants were a little looser around the waist. He took it as a sign of the lean times upon him as he stepped from his cabin into the corridor.

  The Captain hurried to the bridge, where he found a full compliment of the bridge day crew hard at work. To his surprise, he found Mumlo standing at the center of action. The First Officer had purposely put himself on opposite duty cycles to avoid his captain.

  “Good morning, First Officer Mumlo,” Drexler said. He made sure to keep his formal tone earnest with the absence of his usual wry smirk.

  Mumlo studied him before responding. “Good morning, Captain Fleetfoot.”

  Drexler wore a serious expression on his face with which Mumlo had a hard time dealing. The Captain picked up on this, and gave his First Officer a bit more to grasp. “This is an important day,” Drexler said. “Possibly the most important one for this ship and its crew. Ever.”

  Mumlo seemed to choose his words carefully. “I agree, Captain.” Drexler noted the simple reply.

  The Captain turned away from his first officer and walked around the bridge, checking in with the various stations, making small talk and putting his crew at ease. At least, he tried to put them at ease. He witnessed the same tension in every crew member, of every species.

  Drexler returned to his flight chair and waited. It was all he could do.

  “Ops station,” Drexler ordered. “Count us down from five minutes before we exit the blink.” He wanted to be ready when they neared the Medina system.

  Drexler managed to relax and time slipped away. He sat, he paced, he listened to reports and read status displays until the operations station announced, “Five minutes to destination.”

  Drexler didn’t think it was possible, but the tension increased.