Knights of the Chosen (Spirit of Empire, Book Two)

by Lawrence P White

  “Are you available for a private meeting?”

  “Depends.”

  “I’ll see if I can get orders for you. I’m going to tightbeam Admiral Korban. I’d appreciate it if you’d remain clear of the reception window.”

  “I will, provided you don’t come in any closer.”

  “Time is of the essence. With your permission I’ll continue inbound, but toward you. Why don’t we plan to meet half way?”

  Admiral Zygtta considered. “It’s Admiral Korban’s decision, and it will not take long to get a reply. You may continue.”

  The tightbeam was set up with Korban. As soon as he came on the line, he was advised to clear everyone else from the room. When he came back on, Chandrajuski stepped into the pickup.

  Chandrajuski took one look at Korban and sadness filled his eyes. “You’ve aged, my friend. Are you well?”

  A look of relief settled onto Korban’s features. “Good to see you, old friend. I thought you might be the first of the governor’s reinforcements from Struthers.”

  “It’s that bad?”

  “It’s very bad. A mutual friend convinced me to hold. I never realized how difficult it would be, and I’m nearing the end of my road. The governor has sent for help. It’ll be here any day.”

  “Then it’s time to act.”

  “Already begun, my friend. The three squadrons nearest the planet are heading out on a training mission tomorrow. It’s outcome could be telling.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “We can’t discuss details over the link. All of my squadrons here are of the right persuasion. They don’t have all the details, but what they know will be sufficient for the moment.”

  “Are you certain? I’m inbound towards Zygtta, and a meeting with him might be beneficial to all of us.”

  “I am certain, but yes, you should meet.”

  “Send him orders, then. I’ll receive him here.”

  “No, you’ll have to go to him. Perception is critical right now.”

  Chandrajuski stared at him, definitely not happy. “It’s a risk I’m not willing to take.”

  “I don’t blame you, but that’s how it is. I’m not going to risk everything else by setting off alarms. Every protocol must be observed in the proper manner during the next few days. Wait where you are if you prefer.”

  Chandrajuski stared into Korban’s eyes, knowing lots more needed to be said, but sensing that Korban was not entirely free to talk. His instincts screamed at him to say no, but his trust in Korban was enough to overcome them. On the other hand, he didn’t even know if Val and Reba were still alive. They and the Rangers she’d brought from Earth could have walked into a trap and all be dead.

  “It would be nice if I could speak with one or two others, just to be certain,” he said to Korban.

  “Such a meeting would be . . . disruptive. Jake’s hosts, both of them, would back me up.”

  Jake’s hosts were Mike, and for a short time, the Queen. Korban would have found it very difficult to draw that information from Val or Reba without their cooperation, and it was the most Korban would give him.

  He decided to go with his trust in Korban rather than his instincts. He broke the connection and waited for a call from Zygtta.

  He borrowed admiral’s emblems from his squadron commander before setting out in the shuttle. Zygtta met him in the landing bay, and the two Gamordians greeted in their own special way, tapping closed fists against each other’s fists. The two of them went to Zygtta’s private office. On the way they passed several Chessori, and Chandrajuski’s high hopes deflated. This did not look good.

  The office was pleasing to Chandrajuski, decorated in a manner similar to his own when he’d been a squadron commander. The two Gamordians did not use the conference table – neither ever sat.

  “I’m told you’re of the right persuasion. How much do you know?” Chandrajuski demanded the moment the door snicked shut.

  “Not as much as I’d like, but enough. Korban walks a tightrope. He’s instructed me to tell you all I know. Do you have any means of convincing me that you’re who he thinks you are?”

  “You mean, have I gone over to Struthers? No, I have not, and I will not.”

  “Thank you, sir. It’s what I needed to hear.”

  “We have a Queen, you know. I’m her Grand Admiral.”

  “Grand Admirals fight from the rear, sir.”

  “Not this one. I noticed a lot of Chessori aboard your ship. Do you know they’re the enemy?”

  “I do, sir. Korban hand-picked each of the squadron commanders to whom he sent Chessori.”

  “He knowingly allowed his ships to become infested?”

  “He received instructions from a young human female. Those instructions were to hold for as long as he possibly could. It was either accept a limited number of Chessori or retreat. He chose to hold. Allowing the Chessori aboard his ships here has assuaged the governor enough to allow Korban to keep them out of most other squadrons in the sector. We’re ‘training’ them, with the intention of sending them out to districts later, and we’ve taken precautions, sir.”

  “What precautions could you possibly take?”

  “Section 68, paragraph 13.”

  Chandrajuski could only stare at him. “You’re joking.”

  “I’m not, sir.”

  “That was always intended for small ships, not capital ships.”

  “But it applies to all ships, and the AI’s are programmed to accept the command.”

  “I’ve experienced the Chessori mind weapon briefly. I don’t think you’d have time to activate the program.”

  “That’s what we’ve been told. The squadrons here at Orion III have inserted some special programming into the AI’s. If the captain, executive officer, or squadron commander is not in the net, a one hour countdown is begun. If the situation has not changed by the end of that hour, Section 68, paragraph 13 initiates, and the ships will self-destruct.”

  Chandrajuski’s hands balled into fists. “You’ve been living in a time bomb for how long, Admiral?”

  “Too long. I don’t have details, but when Korban instructed me to take you aboard, I sensed that we are nearing the end. Something is taking place as we speak.”

  Chandrajuski turned away from Zygtta. He knew the mission of the Rangers that Reba had brought from Earth, but it was a long shot at best. Could they pull it off? He considered the three squadrons that were to set off from Orion III in just a few hours on a training mission and shuddered. It really was a training mission, but not for the ship’s crews.

  He considered what the Terrans were up against, and an immediate problem came to mind. Reba’s soldiers were ground soldiers, not pilots and gunners, but once the scree sounded, they would be the only ones to fly the ships. How could he have missed this? It was a fundamental omission of command. Then he reconsidered. What could he have done about it? Reba’s men had been out of touch from the very beginning.

  He turned back to Zygtta. “Does the self-destruct apply to all ships?”

  “No, sir. We couldn’t bring everyone into the picture. Too many chances of a leak. It applies only to the cruisers and frigates.”

  “Korban has some dedicated officers. My respect couldn’t be greater.”

  “It’s a terrible thing we do to our crews. They’re completely unaware, and most of them are good, loyal men.”

  “What percentage are loyal?”

  “Most, I think. We’ve been preaching the old mantra since the very beginning of the coup. My men do not know they have a Queen, we’ve been selective in whom we tell, but quiet rumors have spread, and I haven’t tried to stop them. We’ve been careful about how we treat the Chessori, as well. The senior officers, starting with myself, have treated them with indifference, and it’s rubbed off on the crew. The Chessori have trained on the guns, and they can fly the ships, but their performance is marginal.”

  “And if you’d given them all the support you could?”

&n
bsp; “I’m not sure. They came from the Chessori military, but I get the feeling they do things a lot differently on their own ships. I’m not certain they even have nets. The Chessori here have little interest in ours.”

  “Hmm. Did you know they communicate mind to mind?”

  “I did not! That might explain a few things. Being in the net with them is real . . . odd.”

  “You’ve been in the net with them?”

  “I have. I’m one of three that has to be in the net all the time.”

  “What are they like?”

  “Distant. I don’t sense their thoughts the same way I do others, and I get the impression they aren’t sensing mine, either. Whether it’s by choice or design, I don’t know, but it’s been to our benefit, and I haven’t pushed for it to improve. They communicate well between themselves, though.”

  “They’re on all your ships?”

  “They are.”

  “Could you reassign all of them to your cruiser, or maybe the frigate?”

  “Not without attracting a lot of attention. I don’t know what you have in mind, but such a move would definitely put them on alert.”

  “Maybe you could try a new training regimen. What would happen if you pulled all your men from the frigate and gave it to the Chessori? Just to see how they’d do, you know?”

  Zygtta looked at him like he was crazy. “I think you’d better explain, sir.”

  “I can’t just yet. Would they go for it?”

  “I don’t know! Probably not. We’re not training them to do everything aboard the ships, only to pilot them and to use the guns. It would strike them as quite odd if we left them alone in a ship without all the administration, maintenance, and services they’re accustomed to. I guess I could run it by their senior representative and find out.”

  “No, don’t. We have another plan, but I don’t want to give you details yet. One thing that I can tell you is that you need another pilot. Will you let me provide one?”

  “This is all very strange, sir.”

  “I know, and it might not come to pass. I’m guessing at Korban’s plan, and I hate having to guess, but if you get orders to change places with the ships near the planet, will you let me know?”

  Zygtta stared at him for a time. “I’d like to run this by Korban, sir.”

  “By all means. Just be discreet. I promise you that if the Chessori discover his master plan or mine, Section 68, paragraph 13 is the likely outcome.”

  * * * * *

  Korban had four squadrons in port, and though three of them were riddled with Chessori, each was commanded by an individual loyal to him. For that reason, the governor hesitated to dismiss him outright.

  Teams of Reba’s Raiders boarded each of the three squadrons, one team led by Reba, one by Val, and the last by Waverly himself. With minimal language abilities, this last group would operate under the greatest disadvantage prior to any fighting. Once the fighting began, and if the Chessori reacted as anticipated, the groups would not need to communicate with anyone besides themselves. The scree would take out everyone but the Terrans and Chessori. Val, too, would be out of the picture. Before then, he would have to secure the bridge.

  Reba’s group went first, followed shortly thereafter by the other two teams, each squadron heading out in a different direction from Orion III for what was supposed to be a brief training mission. Three days out from Orion III, she, Korban’s man Vidor, and three Raiders met briefly with the squadron commander in his private quarters aboard the cruiser. Reba pinned her Knights Pins on her collar, then they all proceeded to the bridge. The captain was astonished when she ordered him and his men to stand down. The squadron commander explained the program to the captain who immediately added her name to the short list of officers required to be in the net to prevent the AI from starting the self-destruct countdown. Reba and the captain went into the net together and detailed crewmembers to escort the Terrans to their appointed positions within the ship, then the captain withdrew, leaving the net to Reba.

  She was monitoring progress throughout the ship when the scree sounded in earnest. Her body spasmed out of control, and she lurched from her seat to the deck. A deep burning sensation obliterated all conscious thought. Seconds passed as her Rider withdrew into her right leg.

  When awareness returned, her heart pounded as if she’d just run a marathon. Her right leg remained on fire, but Celine had somehow managed to withdraw from the rest of her body. Gasping for breath, she raised herself to all fours, then clawed her way back to her seat.

  She plugged back into the net, but the net refused to accept her. Suspecting why, she withdrew and focused all of her thoughts on the searing pain in her leg. In time, she brought that pain into focus, then under control. When she attempted to rejoin the net, it accepted her.

  Critical minutes had passed. She focused on Engineering first, discovering her men meeting little resistance there. The squad in Weapons was having a harder time and several were down, but their commander soon reported the area secure. Fighting in the Communications area and the Chessori’s quarters had turned into pitched battles.

  To her horror, she discovered the Chessori killing not just the Terran attackers but the helpless Empire crewmen stumbling about or writhing in pain on the decks.

  The Chessori had evidently planned for serious fighting, because they drew heavy weapons from concealment about their stations and fought brilliantly. Reba’s teams were only lightly armed, anticipating only minor resistance after executing a lightning quick attack. She detailed several squad members securing the Weapons section to make their way to the armory and distribute all the heavy weapons they could find. She carefully monitored their progress to make certain they were not ambushed by Chessori – she definitely did not want these weapons to fall into the wrong hands.

  The excruciating pain in her leg made concentration a real struggle, and the net did not like it. She felt as if she was running through sand as her mind shifted from sensor to sensor throughout the ship. Her mind, normally sharp and focused, was confusing the net, burdening it with sensations of pain it was not designed to filter out. How had Mike done it, she wondered? He had barely missed a step. Her own mind had become something that needed to be managed, a task as important to her job as was managing the ship. She stopped what she was doing and focused on herself again, focusing on the fire in her leg, examining it and corralling it, forcing it into a smaller corner of her consciousness. When she sent her mind back out into the net, she did so with more confidence and focus. The net responded instantly.

  While concentrating on guiding her men, she neglected to keep an eye on the corridors leading to the bridge. Without warning, several grenades rolled through the open hatch. One of Reba’s guards, Sergeant Durham, calmly tossed one of the grenades back out into the corridor, then jerked Reba from her console, threw her to the deck, and covered her body with his own. She was barely aware of the explosions, still trying to return to normal awareness after being jerked from the net without warning. She became aware of blaster fire from beside herself, but she couldn’t move with Sergeant Durham’s heavy weight pinning her to the deck.

  She managed to crawl out from under him and drew her weapon, but there was no one to shoot at. A small, white head peered around the hatch but ducked back quickly as Durham fired. He continued firing as he crawled to the hatch entrance. Reba stayed close behind him, crawling over bodies of the bridge crew.

  Durham stopped firing and stood up, motioning her to hold her fire and remain clear of the hatch. When a Chessori head peered around the hatch once more at floor level, he blasted it from above, then leaned out into the corridor and loosed more shots. He disappeared into the corridor for long seconds, and Reba heard more shooting.

  She rose up unsteadily and leaned against the wall, her hand ready to punch the door closed. She glanced around the hatchway, saw a scorched corridor with several Chessori bodies, then Sergeant Durham returned, limping badly. In addition to a torn up leg, the skin
on his right arm and the back of his head appeared shredded.

  He slipped into the bridge and nodded. She hit the door control and watched the heavy blast door slide into position with a solid thunk. She then locked the door. No one would get through again without explosives.

  She slid to the floor, both legs on fire now, but she knew Durham was in worse shape. He glanced at her, the glance carefully categorizing her wounds and discarding them for the moment, then he went to Sergeant Peabody. Peabody was unconscious, his face peeled like a tomato.

  “He’s still breathing,” Durham reported. “Don’t know how much longer he’ll last. He’s lost his eyes for sure. How bad are you hit, Ma’am?” he demanded.

  “I’ve never hurt more, but I’ll survive. Do what you can for him. I’ll try to get a medic up here.” She clawed her way to the console she’d been seated at and donned the helmet, both legs screaming. She plugged in but had trouble concentrating on the simplest task. She managed to call for a medic, then jerked the helmet from her head. The ship would just have to do without her for a while.

  Sergeant Durham was busy wrapping his buddy in gauze, concentrating mostly on his head. “Antipersonnel grenade of some kind,” he answered her unspoken question. “Looks like it sent out millions of tiny fragments rather than just blowing up into big pieces. Our body armor helped. Peabody took it in the head and shoulders.”

  “Don’t give up on him,” she ordered. “I know a guy who had his whole shoulder and arm shot off. We grew him a new one. Just keep him alive until we can get one of these Empire doctors revived, and he’ll have a good chance of fighting another day.”

  Durham’s eyes narrowed as he looked into her eyes, though his hands kept up their work. Then his gaze shifted to the rest of her body. “You’re not in the best shape yourself,” he announced.

  “I’m better than I would have been if you hadn’t covered me up,” she responded grimly. “Thanks.” Looking him over, she announced, “You’re next. Your arm and leg look like hamburger.”

  “Sorry to say it, Ma’am, but you look just as bad. Can you still control the ship?”