Fires of Oblivion (Survival Wars Book 4)

by Anthony James

  “It’s not that easy, Lieutenant,” said Duggan. “If only it was. We’ve had to keep things in reserve, in case we gave up an advantage. We don’t trust them and it seemed better to play our cards close to our chest. In the end, the Ghasts have resumed hostilities. In my mind that goes a long way towards justifying the way we’ve handled it.”

  “But we’re at war again,” said Breeze. “Whether or not it was justified, we’re back to the fighting.”

  “I don’t want it that way,” said Duggan. “Sometimes all roads lead to the same place and you’ve got to try and reach the end in the best condition you can. We’re at war, yet we retain the advantages we had when the truce started. We know where their planets are and they don’t know the location of ours.”

  “If they’re allied with the Dreamers. Hell, if they are the same species, it’s not looking good for us,” said Chainer.

  “Same as it ever was,” said Breeze, shrugging his broad shoulders. “We had a little break and off we go again.”

  “What do you think, sir?” asked McGlashan. “Are the Ghasts and the Dreamers the same thing?”

  Duggan realised he hadn’t taken the time to speak to the crew about it in any great detail. He had guesses, the same as they must have their own ideas. “We have no way to be sure,” he said. “Assuming there is no alliance between the two species, which I think there is not, then there are only two possibilities. The first is that the Ghasts and Dreamers have somehow developed in ways that makes them physically identical. I can’t see that being the case, which leaves the second possibility - that they are in fact one and the same species.”

  “With vastly different levels of technology and also a determination to kill each other,” said Chainer.

  “The Dreamers could have launched expedition forces hundreds or thousands of years ago. It’s entirely possible one of these groups came so far that they lost touch with their home planet and set themselves up as an independent civilization. Their technology would have been the same as it was when they originally left their home world. Cut off from the resources of the others, they might have developed at a much slower rate and along different paths, leading to the situation we find today.”

  “Why are they trying to kill each other?” asked Breeze. “Instead of greeting each other with open arms, like long-lost family?”

  “Maybe they have no idea who the other side is,” said McGlashan. “They are both well-known for shooting first and asking questions later.”

  “I suppose it partially fits together,” said Chainer. “It still doesn’t answer the question about why the Ghasts got so jumpy when we found that pyramid on Trasgor.”

  “I don’t have a fraction of the answers, let alone all of them,” said Duggan. “If I see Nil-Far again, I’m going to put my foot on his neck and press down until I squeeze some answers out of him.”

  “Good luck with that, sir,” said Chainer. “You might have to shoot him in the arms and legs before he’ll give you the chance.”

  “If that’s what it takes, Lieutenant.”

  They broke out of lightspeed three minutes earlier than expected. Atlantis came up on the screen – a tropical paradise of lush forests, deep blue oceans and a single military space port located on the Tillos salt flats.

  “I don’t think I’ve been here before,” said McGlashan.

  “It’s a lovely place to come for a vacation,” said Chainer. “I came a couple of times when I was a kid. I bet it’s been spoiled now.”

  Duggan was sure it would be just as nice as Chainer remembered it. The Confederation had too many regulations to allow a planet to be ruined by industrial pollution. These rules and regulations had been introduced far too late to save a number of the earliest Confederation planets, but even the original Earth had been cleaned up and the air made safe to breathe.

  With a building feeling of excitement, Duggan set a course towards the space port. The ES Lightning was down on power, even without the stealth modules activated. The sub-lights had taken only moderate damage, yet there was a persistent fault which drained off twelve percent of their output. Three days hadn’t been enough to track down the cause and Duggan was sure the ship was going to be out of action for a considerable time.

  “We’ve got someone from the ground on our comms,” said Chainer. “A real person and he wants to speak to you, sir.”

  “Bring him through,” said Duggan.

  “ES Lightning, this is Tillos. We’ve been tracking you since you emerged from lightspeed travel. You’re leaving a ten-thousand-klick trail of positrons behind you.”

  “We’ll land vertically from fifty thousand klicks,” said Duggan. “There’ll only be a limited amount reaches the atmosphere.”

  “I can’t permit you to land,” said the man. He didn’t refer to Duggan as sir, suggesting he was someone senior on the base.

  “Who is this?”

  “Colonel Jabran. I’m in charge of running the Tillos installation.”

  Colonel was a land-based rank and one of broadly equivalent seniority to that held by Duggan. “I thought you were equipped to handle engine leaks, Colonel?”

  “We are. I’m just not allowed to accept a warship outputting as much antimatter as yours at such short notice. The local Confederation Council members will shut us down.”

  “Damnit, we need to land!” said Duggan.

  “Sorry, Captain. I can’t give you clearance. And don’t try giving us any surprises.”

  “I won’t,” said Duggan. He closed the channel. “We’ve come all this way and we’re not permitted to land?”

  “The Juniper is three days flight,” said Breeze.

  “Even if I thought the ship would hold together for that long, I don’t think they have the facilities to fix us up,” said Duggan angrily. “I have to speak to Admiral Teron as soon as possible about what we’ve found!” He shook his head in sudden realisation that he didn’t need to wait until he reached the Juniper for that. “Get me the Admiral.”

  It only took a few seconds. “I’ve got him, sir. Does the man ever sleep?” asked Chainer.

  “Don’t ask me,” said Duggan, before beckoning Chainer to bring Teron through.

  “Captain Duggan?” asked Teron, his voice carrying an impatient edge.

  “Sir, we’ve got news and a badly damaged warship. We need to land at Tillos.”

  “They’ve denied you permission?”

  “We’re leaking positrons, sir.”

  “Leave it with me,” said Teron.

  “He’s gone,” said Chainer.

  “Doesn’t hang around, does he?”

  “Let us hope not,” Duggan replied.

  They weren’t left waiting for long. Hardly five minutes had passed when Colonel Jabran came onto the comms once more. “You have permission to land,” he said stiffly.

  “Thank you,” said Duggan. He engaged the auto-pilot and leaned back while the ship’s AI took them in towards the landing field.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE TILLOS military base was larger than some and smaller than most. Atlantis was one of the more recently discovered worlds and though its population had boomed for a variety of reasons, the planet had never been assigned any great strategic importance. The salt flats were expansive and not in high demand for civilian purposes, therefore the Space Corps had been able to expand the base inefficiently. The main landing field covered twenty-five square kilometres and could only just accommodate a Hadron, though it was doubtful one had ever needed to spend significant time here.

  “We’ve been given dock number one,” said Chainer. “Look at the activity below.”

  He showed them the sensor feeds of dock one – it was a long, deep trench, the same as could be found at any other Space Corps base. The area around it writhed with activity as automated machines sped from their hangars, ready to commence repairs at once. Duggan had sent a damage report to the base mainframe and had received a response which asked he and the crew to remain aboard for the two hours
it would take to squirt a temporary sealant into the hull breaches and thereby stop any antimatter pollution until a permanent fix could be implemented.

  The ES Lightning thumped into place and the army of unmanned robots got to the task at once. Breeze watched, fascinated, but the rest of the crew kept themselves busy with other activities.

  “They’ll be done in ten minutes,” said Breeze.

  “Fine, let’s get ready to disembark,” Duggan replied. He stood and indicated to the others that they should follow. Chainer sent a message to the troops below and soon they were gathered in the airlock at the top of the front boarding ramp. The air smelled stale and impure.

  “We’re getting off just in time,” said Ortiz.

  “Looks like,” said Duggan. “They nearly sent us away.”

  Ortiz rolled her eyes. “Wouldn’t that have been just great?”

  Duggan had given the Tillos mainframe control of the ES Lightning. The base computer was evidently satisfied that repairs had progressed sufficiently to permit the crew to exit, and the boarding ramp shuddered open with a screech of warped metal. Bright white light and stifling heat roiled inside.

  “Just like being back on Vempor,” muttered Chainer. “It’ll be good to have a proper bath again.”

  “Maybe treat yourself to a shave,” said someone in the crowd. There were a few chuckles at that – Chainer constantly broke Space Corps rules by sporting plenty of stubble on his face, which he occasionally let sprout into a full beard. He’d been reprimanded a few times without any appreciable change in his behaviour.

  When the ramp had locked into its down position, they left the vessel. Duggan was forced to wait a few minutes in order to sign over the ES Lightning and then he made his way to the nearest lift. The interior of the lift was mercifully cold and it whirred as it carried him the three hundred metres to the top of the trench. He stepped out onto the reinforced concrete ground, blinking in the bright sunlight. The heat intensified the smells and his nose picked up the cloying scent of melted rubber, along with the tang of molten alloys. Ten or twelve repair bots hovered at various places along the length of the ES Lightning, sparks crackling from their welders. McGlashan, Chainer and Breeze waited here, looking over the damaged warship.

  “I’m surprised it lasted long enough to get us here,” said Breeze.

  “I don’t want to think about it too much,” said Chainer. “I’ve seen enough to realise we shouldn’t have come out of that alive.”

  “I thought you’d had a good view of the hull through the sensors?”

  “That’s right, Commander. Sometimes you need to see it in the flesh, so to speak.”

  Duggan ran his gaze over the part of the vessel which was visible. It didn’t look too much like a warship anymore - it looked like a vaguely wedge-shaped piece of metal which had been picked up and smashed off a hard surface many times. There were dents and splits in the exterior. In other areas, the armour had melted and reformed imperfectly. There was nothing left of the original, sleek lines.

  “Will it return to service?” asked Breeze.

  “Maybe. I doubt it,” answered Duggan truthfully.

  “Think they can get the stealth modules out intact?” asked McGlashan.

  “They should have the expertise, if not the experience,” said Breeze.

  “I’m sure the hardware on the Lightning isn’t unique,” said Duggan. “We were the ones doing the testing, but they’ll have several more pre-built examples ready to install as soon as the decision is made to do so.”

  “I don’t want to look at it. I’ll catch up with you later,” said Chainer, heading towards a row of cars. Moments later, he was on his way towards the main building on the base, located a few minutes’ drive away.

  “It’s not like him to be upset,” said McGlashan.

  “I’ll have a word with him later,” said Duggan, also worried at this shift in Chainer’s mood. “Do you know where you’re going?”

  “I’m hitching a ride with you, sir,” said McGlashan.

  “Me too.”

  “Come on, then.”

  Duggan climbed into one of the vehicles. It was the same as the thousands of others used by the Space Corps – a cheap, rugged and reliable mode of transport that could seat eight people and ferry them slowly to their destination. At least the air conditioning in this one had been recently serviced and it blew out such a powerful, icy draught that Duggan had to turn it down after a couple of minutes.

  “What happens next?” asked Breeze.

  “I’m not sure of the specifics. One thing I’m certain of is that there’ll be no time to get comfortable. We’ll be assigned something new as soon as they can get a warship out here.”

  “There’s an Anderlecht in trench three,” said Breeze.

  “It’s been given to another officer,” said Duggan. “It’s due to depart in less than twelve hours. If we’re onboard, we’ll be passengers rather than crew.”

  They arrived at the base headquarters. This particular building showed more artistic flair than most other Space Corps structures, with its arched windows and pillars flanking the main doorway. It looked uncomfortable with itself, as though it had been designed by several different people at odds with each other. Once the fripperies were removed, it was nothing more than a square, five-storey building designed to hold several thousand members of the Space Corps administrative staff.

  The lobby area was large and welcoming, with a tiled floor, furniture and even a few artificial trees. People hurried about, showing just the right amount of activity for the place to appear purposeful without being overcrowded.

  “See you soon,” Duggan promised, as the three parted ways.

  He presented himself at the main greeting desk. A smartly-dressed lady smiled at him with veiled disinterest. Duggan’s arrival hadn’t been scheduled, so there was a short delay while a suitable office was located for him. The Space Corps had increased its personnel numbers faster than it had built new places to contain them, so Duggan ended up in a small office on the top floor which looked as though it hadn’t seen a decorator’s brush for at least twenty years. He wasn’t a man who demanded a status office, so he accepted what he’d been given without complaint.

  His seat was given no chance to become warm from his sitting. With a squawking buzz, Duggan’s desk communicator let him know there was someone who wanted to speak to him. He answered and a gentleman from reception spoke.

  “Captain Duggan, you’re required in Meeting Room 73 for a video conference. I was told to let you know you must go there immediately.” The man sounded nervous when he delivered this instruction. “It’s on the third floor, quadrant E.”

  “Who will I be speaking to?”

  The receptionist cleared his throat. “I don’t know, sir. The message came through a reserved channel, so it must be someone important.”

  “Very well,” said Duggan. “Thank you.”

  “No problem, sir.”

  Duggan left immediately. The meeting room wasn’t difficult to locate, owing to the fact that it was clearly marked. The signage was usually excellent within Space Corps buildings, since the corridors were otherwise completely indistinguishable from one another. There were terminals located here and there, but you could never find one on the rare occasions you became lost.

  When Duggan arrived, the former occupants were filing out. They were smartly dressed, though their level of seniority was unclear. He overheard one or two complaining loudly about the interruption to their meeting which they’d arranged more than a week prior, and from this Duggan deduced that they’d been told to leave by a very senior officer at very short notice. One or two looked at Duggan askance, as if they considered him to blame for this minor inconvenience.

  Duggan entered the room and found a woman shuffling some papers into a semblance of order. He stared at her until she got the hint. She scooped up the papers and left at once. When the door had slid shut behind her, Duggan took one of the seats. He didn’t even regis
ter the fact that this meeting room could have existed on any Space Corps base throughout the entire Confederation and it would have looked identical.

  There was a video screen, covering most of one magnolia-painted wall. The receiver unit pinged to let Duggan know there was someone waiting at the other end. He pressed the button to accept the video stream and sat upright, waiting for the image of Fleet Admiral Teron to appear.

  To his surprise, it wasn’t Teron’s face he saw. The view through the screen showed him a dimly-lit office. It was well-appointed in dark woods and leather. Three men sat at a round table, positioned so they could face the screen. They were dressed in identical grey suits and were of approximately the same age – early fifties, Duggan guessed. There was nothing remarkable about their physical appearance – they were three normal-looking men sitting in the office of someone important. Duggan checked to see if the video stream included information about their location. It did not.

  “Captain John Duggan,” said the man to the left. His eyes gleamed with a calculating intelligence.

  “Who are you?” asked Duggan. He didn’t see the need to be polite since the other party had chosen not to introduce himself.

  The man smiled thinly. “I am Director Russell. You may not have heard of me. I work for Military Asset Management. These with me are Director Jordan and Deputy Director Lane.”

  Duggan knew at once which way the conversation would go. He experienced a cold anger, which came from nowhere and it was all he could do to keep his expression neutral. These were powerful men and they would have powerful friends. “What do you want?” he asked.

  “An associate of ours – Director Nichols - served under you recently. He was assigned the rank of Lieutenant.”