The Borrega Test

by James Vincett

  “What? Even more?” McFinn zoomed into the newly arrived fleet. “Eighteen battlecarriers and forty three light cruisers. No assault transports.” A cursor appeared around one of the Wolf class cruisers. “It’s the Spoor Follower! Hail that vessel!”

  “What?” Tors said.

  “This may be our only chance! Commissar Fangrik is on that ship!”

  “How do you know?”

  “He’s come back for revenge. Fangrik knows we are responsible for bombing the Shah’s palace.”

  Tors looked at him. “What did you say?”

  “It wasn’t the Naati that assassinated the Ambassador. It was the General Intelligence Directorate. They wanted the negotiations to fail to precipitate war, so they could blame the Naati.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Directorate operatives pulled me out before the explosion, at my father’s request.”

  Tors’ eyes grew wide.

  “We need to convince Fangrik not to attack. He must ally with us against the Reactionaries. It’s the only way out of this.”

  “How are you going to convince Fangrik?”

  “Just hail that ship. Tell them I want to speak with Commissar Fangrik.”

  McFinn waited as the comms officer hailed the fleet. It seemed like an eternity before the image of Fangrik appeared above the sitrep table.

  “What do you want, McFinn?”

  “I know you didn’t murder the Union Ambassador,” McFinn said. “Do not join the Reactionary Fleets. I know you don’t want war between the Hegemony and the Union.”

  “Why should I trust you, McFinn? What you say may be the truth, but perhaps there are other Humans who think differently.”

  “If the Reactionary fleets land on Borrega, they will release whatever they’ve found. I know you fear this. The defector, Noga, told me.”

  “Perhaps I need to accept the Hegemony is finished, but if I can strike against Human treachery, it is the price I will pay. I am prepared to die. Are you?”

  What can I give him? “Take me as a hostage.”

  The crew on the command deck all looked at him.

  “Of what value are you to me?”

  “My father is Minister for Intelligence of the Hominin Union, and has been appointed by Her Majesty as Proconsul of Borrega. I am buying with my life an alliance with the Tolkists against the Reactionaries. The Union will honor this deal.”

  Fangrik turned and spoke with another off camera. He looked at McFinn. “Agreed. Rendezvous with our fleet in an unarmed vessel.” Fangrik’s image disappeared.

  “Are you fucking nuts?” Tors looked at him with wild eyes.

  “The courier you sent to summon the Task Force. Is it back on board?”

  “Yes, but …”

  “I’ll fly it myself. There’s no reason to risk anyone else’s life.”

  “Can you tell me what’s going on, McFinn?”

  “The Borrega Test is a lie. There was never any intention for peace with the Naati. Tell Fleet Admiral Gao not to attack Fangrik’s fleet, I am a hostage, and Fangrik has allied with us.”

  “He’s not going to believe it. I’m not sure I do.”

  “Just do it.” McFinn walked to the aft deck and summoned the lift.

  “What if your father calls?”

  McFinn entered the lift and turned around. “Tell him to fuck off.”

  Cortez

  After the Tethys OG plowed into the Naati fleet head on, the Selaphial OG hit the Naati fleet’s starboard flank. The force of the interceptions scattered the Naati fighters and Wolf class cruisers to the fringes of the battlespace, but the core battlecruisers and assault transports, escorted by the Orca class heavy cruisers, still maintained their curving course to enter orbit around Borrega. The vessels of the two Union operational groups, harassed by Naati light cruisers and fighters, split up into formations of five or six ships and plotted courses to intercept the assault transports.

  The Reyter had survived the initial engagement, her crew managing to jam or shoot all missiles targeting her, but several other ships of the Tethys OG, including the Pulisto, the Khanjali, and the Scala, had suffered heavy damage.

  “All lasers and plasma cannon free fire on incoming fighters and missiles.” Cortez said. “Hail the Togo and the Haut.”

  “Togo here.” Captain Govan’s voice sounded over the comms.

  “Haut responding.” Captain Shralee’s voice sounded like music to Cortez’s ears.

  “Looks like you two are still going strong,” Cortez said.

  “Scratches,” Govan replied.

  “We got a little cooked but we’re still fighting,” Shralee said.

  “You see that Orca, about eight thousand klicks back from the main formation of assault transports?” He tapped a key on the sitrep table and transmitted the tactical display.

  “It’s in a formation with eight light cruisers?” Shralee asked.

  “That’s the one. We take that sucker out and it opens up the aft starboard flank of those transports.”

  “Bold move,” Govan said. “Not much of a hole but it’ll be enough.”

  “Looks like we have the Corinth, the Marseille, and the Malabo with us.” He tapped out a command on the sitrep table. “There. I’ve ordered them to screen us. Plotting an intercept course.” Using gestures, he plotted a course to the target. “The transports are decelerating. Distance to target is fifteen thousand klicks. If we go full acceleration we should intercept before they can enter orbit.”

  “We can punch through,” Shralee said, “but someone needs to follow up.”

  “Sending a message to Admiral Idowu now; she can follow up with the Tethys and her escort.”

  “Naati Wolf cruisers on our tail,” Cisoto said. “Four of them; range of twelve thousand klicks. They’re jamming us; we can no longer target the incoming fighters or missiles.”

  “Throw a purge at them, then get a target lock and launch a volley of missiles.”

  Eight lines appeared over the sitrep table and streaked toward the Naati light cruisers to aft. The cloud of fighters dogging the Reyter and her formation regrouped a few thousand kilometers away and started another run. The missiles exploded, scattering the light cruisers and breaking their hold on the Reyter’s targeting.

  Cortez touched the image of the Orca class heavy cruiser. “Get a target lock on that son-of-a-bitch!” Cortez barked. The Orca’s image began to throb. “Fire a volley!”

  Eight lines appeared above the sitrep table, followed and instant later by over twenty more fired from the Togo and the Haut. The missiles swiftly closed the distance, but many disappeared as the Orca and its escort jammed them or shot them down.

  However, six hit.

  “The Orca is drifting,” Cisoto said. “All Wolf class have acquired targeting lock! Twenty four missiles in bound!”

  “Concentrate laser fire on those missiles!”

  “The fighters have regrouped! They’re attacking!”

  Cortez watched the sitrep table as the fighters, no longer held at bay with defensive laser fire, closed with the Reyter and her formation, to within five kilometers. The Reyter’s plasma cannon took out some, Cortez saw the blue flashes through the forward ports, but the attack punched through both the outer and hull shields, and hit the sensitive sensor arrays on the Reyter’s superstructure.

  The sitrep table went dark. An instant later, a strong force threw Cortez and the other command crew to the deck. The Reyter shuddered and bucked and the command deck went dark for an instant. The emergency lighting flicked on and cast a red glow.

  “Damage report!” Cortez got to his feet.

  Cisoto pulled herself up using the sitrep table. “Command systems are rebooting.”

  Cortez felt more than heard the next blast. The Reyter shuddered and groaned again. “Secondary explosion.”

  “We’re drifting,” Cisoto said as she panned through the damage reports. “I don’t know how many missiles hit us, but we have multiple armor
and hull punctures to port, forward and starboard. Outer shields are gone, and hull shields are down by half. Four of the laser and two of the plasma cannon to port are damaged, as are three lasers on the starboard. The reactionless is offline and the main power conduit is damaged but holding. Stations are reporting approximately thirty wounded or dead, and another fifty trapped in the forward section.”

  “Captain?” It was Lieutenant Commander Dundas, the chief engineer, on the intercom. “We need to shut down power to all forward compartments.”

  “Shields, too?”

  “Yes. If we don’t the whole system’s going to short out.”

  “Do it.” A ragged whining sounded through the deck and the holographic images over the sitrep table flickered. “What about the reactionless?”

  “The power coupling to the main conduit shorted. We’ll need to replace it.”

  “How long?”

  “Several hours, at least.”

  Shit! “Get to it, and let me know when you’re done.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Cortez looked at Cisoto. “Do we still have tactical?”

  “Nothing,” Cisoto said. “The fighter attack took out the main sensor arrays, and the backups are in the forward part of the ship.”

  Fuck! “We’re blind and dead in the water.”

  “Look!” one of the crew exclaimed. He pointed out of the forward ports. Cortez looked out and saw four ships coming in close. “Wolf class, each with a platoon of troops. We need to prepare for a boarding action.”

  Normally the executive officer led any defense against boarding actions, but Cortez told Cisoto to stay on the command deck while he rallied the Reyter’s Marine platoon.

  “They’ve fired grapples,” Cisoto said over Cortez’ internal comms. “It looks like they’re going to enter four hull breaches on the forward section of the ship.”

  Four platoons meant over a hundred and fifty slavering Naati. With only forty-five Marines aboard, he had to find a gauntlet, a narrow corridor to compensate for the odds. “Seal all access ports in the superstructure and aft section, save for the central access corridor. We’ll give them an easy route direct to our position here at the central lifts.”

  “Aye,” Cisoto replied.

  With power down in the forward section, Cisoto couldn’t seal any access ports in that part of the Reyter. Likewise, there would be no lights, gravity, or safe environment. The Naati could spend hours exploring and looting the forward compartments. He needed to draw them in.

  He looked at the assembled Marines. They wore heavy battle armor with full environmental protection, and most carried an ion battle rifle with under-mounted grenade launcher. Some carried long and heavy plasma repeaters secured in motorized waist mounts.

  No Kriegworks battlesuits. Oh well.

  “Lieutenant? Order six down the corridor into the forward section of the ship. Engage the first spineys you see, and then retreat to this position. Understood?”

  The Lieutenant barked orders, and six Marines jogged down the corridor and assembled at the emergency bulkhead to the forward section. This portal was the only access between the forward and aft sections of the ship. One touched the controls and the bulkhead rose; the vacuum in the forward compartments began to suck the air out of the aft section. The Marines stepped through and the bulkhead descended.

  “Raise the barriers.”

  The Marine lieutenant touched controls on the wall and three barriers rose from the floor of the corridor, two close to the emergency bulkhead and one closer to the lifts. While the Naati could use those barriers as cover, so could the Marines, and the barriers would impede the Naati’s progress.

  “What’s happening, Cisoto?”

  “Engineers are working on the sensors, but they say it’ll be at least a few hours. Same with the reactionless drive and the main power conduit.”

  No eyes in the forward compartments.

  The emergency bulkhead rose and three Marines staggered through. Blaster fire shot out of the darkness beyond as the Marines scrambled over the first barrier. The air rushed out of the corridor. Pressurized cavities in his body protected Cortez’ vitals and brain. He tapped into his oxygen reserve; it would give him twenty minutes.

  Just as the three returning Marines scrambled over the middle barrier, gray armored figures emerged from the darkness of the forward compartment.

  “Fire!”

  The Marine platoon opened up with grenades, blaster fire, and plasma bolts. Two Naati ducked behind the first barrier, while a third touched the controls for the emergency bulkhead.

  What the hell are they doing?

  Cortez felt the pressure normalize. A few moments later, his mind filled with chaotic images: his father at the controls of the carryall; his mother in an EVA suit, operating the excavator; the feelings of inadequacy on his first day at the Naval Academy; his first intimate encounter with a woman; the blinding pain as he regained consciousness after the destruction of the Raptor.

  What the fuck? He shook his head, but the images wouldn’t go away. He looked at the Marines; each of them held his or her head, their weapons hanging from slings or lying on the deck. He looked down the corridor. One of the Naati stood and removed its helmet.

  BLINK

  He was a small boy again, sitting in the rear passenger seat of the carryall, his mother and father at the controls.

  His mother smiled at him. “Marcus? Do you remember the briefing back at the Eiding Forward Deployment Area?”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “What plan does the Fifth Fleet have for defense of the Union Rimward border?”

  “The Marquis Strategic Defense Plan,” Marcus replied.

  “Do you have a copy on your pockcomp? I’d love to see it.”

  “It’s a secret. I’m not supposed to tell.”

  “Remember what I said about secrets? They’re harmful.”

  “If you gave your word, boy,” his father said, “don’t tell her.”

  “But it’s mum,” Marcus said.

  “It’s not your mother. What did I tell you? Don’t believe anything you see and only half of what you hear. You’re smarter than that!”

  His mother turned into a black cloud of spines and red eyes and gnashing teeth. It lashed out at his father. Blood spattered the inside of the cockpit windows. The thing mauled his father’s face, the huge gouge spraying blood.

  “Give it to me,” the creature growled.

  No! Cortez summoned all of his courage against the terror; he dipped into the well of discipline his father had dug for him and drank deep, the fortitude that bore him as he recovered from his horrific wounds, the drive to succeed at whatever he tried.

  “I’m not going to tell it, Dad!”

  His father spoke, blood pouring from the wound on his face. “Of course you’re not. I was tough on you and now you know why. The universe is a shitty place, but you do what you’re supposed to do because it’s right, not for rewards or accolades. What do you want? A fucking medal?”

  BLINK

  The Naati stood there, its face hairless and pink. Cortez picked up one of the Marines’ rifles, raised it, and let loose a stream of bolts. The Naati ducked behind the barrier, but Cortez walked forward, firing the rifle. When it ran out of power, he tossed it onto the deck. Two Naati stood and poured blaster fire on him; the bolts shredded his uniform and blackened his metal body, but he kept moving forward.

  One of the Naati moved toward the emergency bulkhead controls. Cortez ran and leapt at it. He kicked it over, then reached down and grasped its helmet with both hands, wrenching it off with a single movement. The Naati swept its legs around and knocked him off his feet, but he grasped the Naati’s snout in one hand and jaw in the other. With a sharp movement, he pulled the Naati’s head apart, dark blood spraying over his gleaming metal body.

  The other two rushed him and pinned him to the wall. Cortez grasped one’s armor and slammed it against the barrier, while at the same time striking the second with hi
s other hand and knocking it against the bulkhead. He got to his feet, grabbed the Naati by the barrier, picked it up, and brought it down on his knee. The armor cracked and broke apart, breaking the Naati’s back.

  The remaining Naati kicked Cortez in the back as he stood, knocking him against the bulkhead. Cortez recovered, and in one fluid motion leapt straight up, set his feet against the wall, and pushed. As he flew at the Naati, he swung a fist; the blow punctured the Naati’s chest armor and knocked it back. Cortez pulled his fist out of the Naati’s chest, reached up with both hands, and pulled off the Naati’s helmet. When the creature roared, he shoved his fist down the Naati’s throat up to his shoulder, and then pulled out the beating heart.

  “Nobody boards my ship without permission. Nobody.”

  Cortez collapsed against the bulkhead. His chest cavity was cracked; it slowly leaked fluid and pressure. He had bent the metal structures in his limbs with exertion, the artificial muscles strained to breaking. His metal skull had cracked when the Naati kicked him against the bulkhead.

  “I didn’t do it, old man.” Cortez felt his consciousness slipping away. “I didn’t tell ‘em shit.”

  Of course you didn’t, boy! I didn’t raise a pussy!

  McFinn

  “I’m twenty kilometers out,” McFinn said. He sat at the controls of the fast courier. After leaving the Crius’ flight deck, he plotted a direct course to the fleet with the Spoor Follower.

  “We see you,” the translator said. “You will come alongside the Ritual Hunt at a distance of one point four kilometers and match velocity.” A cursor appeared around one of the Naati battlecarriers. “You will then EVA and approach the Hunt alone and unarmed.”

  EVA?

  McFinn finished his approach and matched the Hunt’s velocity. He donned an EVA suit and maneuvering pack and exited the airlock. He saw a flashing red light on the dark shadow of the battlecarrier and jetted toward it. The ship was huge, larger than a Union Archangel class heavy battleship, its hull darkened to lower the albedo. As he approached, he began to discern more and more detail: laser batteries, missile tubes, and the rough armor covering the hull.