It always came down to the ever present, inescapable problem – politics. No matter how much you hated it, it was always there. The Pandorans had never suffered such problems. They worked like ants, as one cohesive unit, always with one clear goal and purpose in mind. Annihilation.
“Commander Dodds, this is Tower,” a voice popped in his ear. “Your fighter shows a successful start-up and your comms should be operating normally. Please echo.”
Dodds realised that he had been idling on the pre-launch safety screens, lost in his own thoughts. He looked to Chaz’s ATAF, but saw it had already departed, heading out to join Enrique just ahead of Griffin. He glanced over the results of the start-up sequence on his screen, seeing only the familiar green check marks next to each of the system tests. “System online and start-up successful,” he communicated back. “No reported issues.”
“Acknowledged. Will taxi you into position.”
Dodds took a grip on the stick as he was moved to the catapult and given the clearance to launch. Perhaps in Kethlan they would finally find that glimmer of hope they were all searching for. He thought over what he would say to Zackaria should he meet the man there. One word stuck out more than the others. Please.
III
— Finding the Needle —
“Captain.”
Parks stirred at the voice, but didn’t yet feel willing to move. He opened his eyes just enough to focus on the small clock that rested by his bedside. Four blue digital figures shone back at him. 0723, they read. He had slept straight through, deeply too, the mental and physical demands of the past few days having clearly caught up with him. Thirteen hours. He’d never slept that long in his life, and even now he didn’t feel as though he’d had enough. His eyes closed again.
“Captain,” the voice came again. “Admiral Parks,” it added, using his full title.
A female voice. Could it be? “… ima?” Parks murmured. He pulled himself up and looked towards the figure that he could just make out in the dark of his room. It certainly looked like Sima, if a little taller than he expected. Perhaps it was just the gloom and the angle that made her appear so. But what was she doing here? Shouldn’t she be commanding Amarok, overseeing the defence of Confederation space? She was holding something in her hand that was giving off a soft illumination. It looked like an electronic tablet. “Sima?” he asked more clearly. “Is that you?”
“No, sir,” the voice said, now far more recognisable. “It’s Karen Weathers, sir.”
Yes, of course it was. Sima wouldn’t abandon her post to come out here, just to see him. They both knew their duties better than that. He shook the sleep from his system and made an effort to sit up. “Lights,” he said. The light level in the room rose, though perhaps a little too fast for his liking, causing him to squint as his eyes adjusted. Still, at least the lights and voice activation were working. That was a good sign.
“What’s our situation, Karen?” he asked.
“We’re holding position in Atlante,” Weathers started.
“Still? It’s been two days—” Parks started, frustrated that they were stalling in their search for the ever-elusive Zackaria.
Weathers picked up on the irritation in his voice, and hurried on. “Captain Liu has been making preparations for our jump to Kethlan. He has decided to run with your suggestion of heading out with the White Knights in the lead. The ATAFs are already in position ahead of Griffin, waiting to escort us through the point.”
“Any contact with the enemy?” Parks asked, rubbing his eyes.
“No, sir. It’s all been quiet.”
That made Parks uneasy. Since entering Imperial space, he had expected much more resistance than they had encountered so far. Were they being led into yet another trap? Would they arrive at Kethlan only to meet a force that they were simply under-equipped to deal with? After all, they were but four vessels: Griffin; the two frigates, Colonel K and Agent 57; and one lander, the Goon Sunrise. And he wasn’t sure that Agent 57 would be much use, not with the damage it had sustained during that last encounter.
“Would you like me to suggest that Liu suspend the jump preparations, sir?” Weathers asked, seeming to read his mind.
“No,” Parks said. “We haven’t come this far to dally any longer. How many fighters do we have available?”
“About two hundred and forty-nine,” Weathers said, after checking on the tablet that she held. “Maybe two or three more, if repairs have been completed. I’ll send a request to the hangar to update us with the most recent numbers,” she added, tapping away at the tablet.
“Hmm,” Parks scratched at the beard that now covered his face. He liked to shave every couple of days, but he hadn’t done so for over two weeks now. It was time for it to go; he’d become quite conscious of it lately and it was starting to become itchy. “Are the White Knights still acting as our lone escort into Kethlan?”
“Yes, sir,” Weathers nodded.
“I think that we could do with a few extra fighters out there, to back them up. Have the standby pilots launch as well. That’ll bring us up to seven. Three ATAFs, three TAFs and one Rook, right?”
“Yes, sir,” Weathers nodded again. “I’ll suggest it to Liu.”
Suggest it. He kept forgetting that he was only able to act within an advisory role, until Tunstall gave him the all-clear. “How long have I been here now?” he asked.
“Just over forty-two hours, sir.”
Good God, that was quite enough. Right now what he needed was a shower and shave, and he’d be ready to return to duty. He felt his stomach rumble. Food would also be a good idea. He’d deal with that shortly. “How are the crew?” he asked.
“The crew are okay, sir, although we’ve had a few more scuffles in the past twenty-four hours. Unfortunately, security have had to confine some of the more violent offenders to the brig.”
Parks sighed. They couldn’t keep losing crew like this. “Anyone of significance injured or locked up?”
“No, sir.”
“Good, let’s try to keep it that way. What’s the status of the fleet?”
“All still with us,” Weathers said, “although the Goon Sunrise has seen a few more scuffles of its own. Agent 57 has managed to improve its weaponry and shielding and is fully committed to any offensive action that might need to be taken. The fleet is as ready for jump as it can be.”
“Very well,” Parks said, satisfied that they were ready to go. “Commence the jump once the additional fighter support is in position. I’ll be taking breakfast here and will return to the bridge after that …” He trailed off as he saw the communications officer’s expression, knowing what was going through her mind.
“With all due respect, Admiral—” Weathers began.
“Yes, yes,” Parks waved her down. “Doctor Tunstall has said that he wants to assess my health ‘before he’ll let me return to duty’,” Parks completed for her. “I’ve been in here for pretty much two days now, undisturbed, so that should be good enough for him. Send him up here immediately, and make sure they bring a pot of strong coffee with breakfast.” He had a feeling he was going to need it today.
Weathers acknowledged him and was proceeding. “Oh, one thing you should know, sir,” she said, pausing. “We took inventory last night and, with the rampant fires within food storage having destroyed so much, Liu has put temporary rationing in place until he could get your opinion. He figured that since potentially we could be out here for another few weeks, it was either rationing or jump back to Confederation space.”
“Okay, I’ll deal with it while we’re in jump.”
“… which means that breakfast will consist largely of toast and scrambled eggs.”
“Nothing else? Not even bacon?”
Weathers tapped away at her tablet. “Omar Wyatt has just reported dealing with an incident in the messdeck over that,” she added. “So, yes, just toast and eggs.”
On second thought, maybe he’d have to check the food situation sooner. “Thank you, Ka
ren. I’ll meet you on the bridge soon.”
Weathers was again leaving, before a second pause. “Sir, if I may …”
From the tone, this heralded a personal discussion, not something professional. He gestured for her to continue.
“If we are still planning to put down on Kethlan and search Capitis Duname for Admiral Zackaria, could I please request that you hold Christopher back from the drop team? He’s all I have left, all I’ve ever really had. I know that’s a lot to ask and we need every capable hand we can spare, but I’m not sure how I’d feel if he were killed down there.”
Her eyes were pleading, clearly hoping that Parks would tell her that he would deny her son permission to head to the Imperial capital city, probably the most dangerous place in the entire galaxy right now. Unfortunately, he could make no such promises. “I understand, Karen,” he said, “but I can’t refuse his participation on personal grounds. We’ve all lost a lot of those close to us, some even seeing their whole families die before their very eyes while they were charged with protecting them. It’s difficult for me to start making exceptions at this stage. He’s a remarkable soldier and marksman for his age, too, so his skills will without doubt be wanted down there.”
“Okay, sir. I understand.” She collected herself before she spoke, though she still appeared crestfallen.
“But what I can do is ensure that, should he be selected for the drop, he is teamed with the very best,” Parks added. “Which he probably would be, anyway.”
That brought a small smile to Weathers’ face, despite her not being as reassured as she had hoped to be. “Thank you, sir.” She tapped away at her tablet. “Tunstall should be with you in the next fifteen minutes.”
Excellent, Parks thought to himself as she departed, enough time for that shower and a shave. The beard took longer to remove than he had anticipated, and once he was done he found the person staring back at him from the mirror a little unrecognisable – almost as if it wasn’t really him. He had only had the beard for two weeks, yet it felt like years. Had those grey strands, some now in the wash basin, been growing a while or only made an appearance in the past few days?
He glimpsed a figure clothed in the naval blues of the CSN, standing behind him in the mirror. A fleeting glance it had been, yet it still caused him to spin around to see who was standing there. No one. He knew in the back of his mind whom he expected – Storm or Hawke. Both men were dead, but their ghosts seemed to accompany him wherever he went. He would sometimes sense a weight at the end of his bed as he tried to sleep, as though someone were sitting there, always to find nothing. That would be the guilt.
Breakfast arrived as he finished up, though Tunstall was clearly running late. Parks sat himself down at his desk, powering up the console there and opening up his personal messages. A new one from Sima. He read it as he ate his toast and eggs. Though her message spoke only of the dispiriting state of the allies’ attempt to hold the ever-shrinking line against the Pandoran army, he still found comfort in her words. She concluded the message, as always, with a whimsical thought about the house they would share together after the end of the war. She had now decided she wanted a place with five bedrooms, so that they could have space for guests, as well as for when their adopted boy and girl grew too old to share. There would also be space for some yet to be chosen hobby that either she or Parks might take up. The thought made him smile. He would reply later that he wanted a place closer to a park, rather than a beach, so he could walk the dog.
Breakfast finished, he dressed, then continued to wait for the doctor. An incident must’ve been holding him up. Had one of the scuffles been a little more serious than first thought? He looked over the messages from the past few days, checking to see if there were any outstanding items that demanded his attention. He heard the jump countdown commence, before Griffin started for Kethlan. Liu had clearly chosen to give the go-ahead without him, most likely prompted to do so by Weathers. Nothing in the message inbox demanded Parks’ immediate attention.
He scanned the older messages, scrolling back to a year ago and seeing the series of communications from David Turner. They had been regular messages, one a day, on some occasions, two. The content varied wildly in length, but always had one thing in common, a simple instruction.
Bb5
“Bishop to b5” was noted under this one. He looked through some other messages, to the instructions attached to those –
Nf3
Ne4
Algebraic chess notation. Parks scrolled back through a few more messages, finally coming to the start of the thread.
“Keep your mind sharp, Elliott,” part of it read. “You were able to track down Zackaria once; you can do it again. But if you’re going to find him, you’ll need to train yourself for the task. I therefore propose a game of chess.”
Parks had always hated chess. The pieces, the thought process, the need for intricate deliberation that went into every single move. It had always proved extremely frustrating. He had always felt stupid whilst playing the game, even more so when the inevitable defeat came. But Turner had already set it up, taking command of the black pieces and sending over his first move. Parks hadn’t argued, willing to at least humour the former fleet admiral. Parks’ opening move hadn’t been anything special – he’d simply moved a pawn up the board by two spaces.
“Chess is not just about careful planning and thinking ahead,” Turner had said during his next move. “It’s about getting into your opponent’s head, understanding them and anticipating their next move, sometimes even before they do. Remember to take your time. It often helps to go slower, when you want to go faster.”
Parks understood that now. He had heeded the advice, taking the time to play the game, studying the board and trying to plan at least two moves ahead. He soon found himself applying the same logic to the Pandoran army’s manoeuvres. Or, more specifically, Zackaria’s. The Pandoran fleet’s moves were all too simple to guess. They would go from inhabited star system to inhabited star system, only rarely modifying the numbers that would make the hit, well aware that they vastly outnumbered and outgunned those they fought. No, Zackaria was what he needed to focus on, the one whom he still needed to find, if only he knew how.
It was then he had hit upon a hunch. Or rather, he admitted, it had blindsided him one morning. There was no reason to presume that Zackaria would be leading the frontline forces at all times. He would certainly be in overall charge, but he had other duties, too, dictated by his loyalty to the Senate and his faithfulness to the Empire. Parks figured that Zackaria would need to be doing two things – showing himself to the people, to inspire and empower them with his presence, and, with the war so close to its end, meeting with the Senior Magistrate and discovering what his plans were for the homeworld of the traitors. For Earth. After all, Parks mused, when one defeats a king in battle you tended to take and occupy his castle, not reduce it to rubble. The Pandorans had actually followed this after taking Kethlan, the Royal Palace being a prize worth preserving. They might, of course, choose to reduce Earth to ash but he was gambling that they would decide to occupy it.
It was a sketchy set of tenuous ideas, and perhaps over optimistic in many places. But somehow it felt right. And so he had requested a careful monitoring of the main Pandoran fleet, for anything unusual that might give a clue to Zackaria’s movements. The traffic had been tremendous, battleships, frigates, landers, carriers, the scores and scores of starfighters … The magnitude of the task seemed to have almost defeated them before they had begun, a true needle and haystack undertaking.
But again Parks had driven himself to think as though he were the man. Should the admiral be returning to Kethlan or Krasst, he doubted he would be removing any of the capital ships from the field, to act as his personal ferry. This was a man who had happily stridden around battlefields on Mythos, Lancer and Oden without fear for his own personal safety. Something smaller was what they should be looking for, perhaps nondescript.
Par
ks had found it.
A single shuttle had been identified departing the main Pandoran fleet, jumping away. It had returned some days later. Where it had gone was unknown, but to Parks that wasn’t important. When the same shuttle had been seen performing the same journey on a handful of other occasions, he was certain that it was what they had been searching for. At one point, Parks had thought his task fruitless, impossible. Now he felt that there was a chance of success. A small chance, yes, but it had at least presented itself. Now all they had to do was find a way to head the man off. Chess, he had assured himself, would help him to refine those ideas.
The messages from Turner stopped abruptly one day, and it wasn’t until ten days later that he’d been given the reason. Turner had passed away peacefully one night in his sleep, aged seventy-three, his daughter Abigail had informed Parks. She had thanked Parks for being his friend over the years and keeping in contact with him, even after his forced retirement. Parks had written back to say that he was sorry for the family’s loss and to pass on his condolences. He’d not heard any more from that point on, the chess game left unfinished.
Turner might’ve had him, too. Check in four moves, mate swiftly thereafter, Parks reckoned, if he hadn’t done something about it. He had a possible solution, one that involved a feint and sacrificing both his bishops. That was if Turner hadn’t constructed a double feint. Parks wouldn’t have put it past him. The man could be cunning. He would miss him.
But at least you left me with good advice, David, Parks thought.
His quarters’ door lock jingled, drawing him back to reality. “Enter,” he called. The door slid to. A short man, carrying a black case with him was standing on the opposite side. “Ah, Doctor, excellent,” Parks said, as Griffin’s physician crossed the threshold.
“Admiral,” Tunstall said, with a small nod.
“Let’s get this over with, shall we?” Parks said, rolling up his sleeve. “I have a ship to get back to running.”
The Battle for the Solar System (Complete Trilogy) Page 92
