Resolve of Steel (Halloran's War Book 2)

by J. R. Geoghan

  When he was gone, Halloran and Jackson headed to the door after him. Halloran said, “So your name is Jackson.”

  “Yes, that mean something to you?”

  Halloran shrugged. “One of my favorite Civil War generals.”

  “Your what?” Jackson stopped in the door, eyebrow raised.

  “Thomas ‘Stonewall’ Jackson. My dad named me after him.”

  “I thought your name was Halloran.”

  “It is. My first name is Thomas. Middle name Jonathan…just like Stonewall.”

  Both eyebrows were up now. “You have…three names?”

  Halloran laughed. “Yeah, we figured out that that’s not something normal in this time.”

  “This what?”

  Halloran realized that he’d overstepped. “On Earth, there are cultures that used to use more than one name, um, to name someone. We carry that tradition.”

  Jackson’s brows came all the way down into a frown and he looked away, then back at Halloran with a serious face. “You’re not being totally honest with me, Thomas Jonathan Halloran.”

  Kendra tapped the unlock code into the shuttle hatch, glancing at the three men guarding her as she waited for the computer to recognize the combination. The system had biometrics, but they were Prax; she’d managed to revert the locking matrix to numeric coding instead.

  The cold seemed worse coming out than she remembered from their arrival. On the other hand, the shuttle’s location had been actually quite close under the sheer rock cliff; she remembered that as being much further of a walk the last time.

  After a groan of frosted metal the hatch jerked open a meter, then two. The shuttle was freezing solid. She hoped the engines would start. The techs inside had shared with her how they used similar-sized ‘lift engines’ to haul the refined steel up to the spaceport. The units were stored in a hangar every moment they weren’t in space.

  If I get back here, I’m parking this thing inside, she told herself as she tapped the nearest guard and pointed into the ship, then to herself. The guard nodded and stepped away, gathering up his fellow Tavarrans.

  As she clambered inside the shuttle and stripped back her face mask, the vicious cold within gripped at her exposed cheeks. She made her way to the front and the pilot’s seat. With a last look to check that the men had moved off to a safe distance, Kendra smacked the hatch close control and felt the sting of frigid metal bite her now-ungloved fingers. Got to get the heat moving in this thing. All instruments looked as she had left them.

  The seat cushion was hard and frosty, and Kendra squirmed a bit on it as she worked through the pre-flight sequence. More than anything else, the increasing whine of the main engine warmed her heart. Glancing up, she noticed the warning light come on. It was for the fuel storage; the temperature was below operating parameters. “You’ll get used to it,” she addressed the indicator.

  With Halloran’s blackout on comms she was on her own to navigate up to the Serapis without being spotted. Thankfully, the inclement weather that ravaged the atmosphere playing havoc with sensors and she knew from past experience that the Fleet ships in orbit would have a hard time picking up her tiny craft before it disappeared within the perimeter of the Hidden Claw shield hiding the Serapis.

  “That’s if it’s still there,” She commented with frosty breath to herself as she took the controls and lifted the shuttle a meter off the surface, testing the craft’s worthiness for flight. Satisfied with the response, she set an extreme-angle course directly at where the computer was telling her the Serapis should be.

  The ship leaped up through the blinding whiteness. This was one of the parts Kendra loved; being pushed back into her seat by the forces overcoming the relatively weak artificial gravity put out by the shuttle’s powerplant. As she had every time she launched from a gravity well, Kendra wondered what it must be like to fly an atmospheric-only craft. To sense the flow of molecules over a wing surface, the intuitive responsiveness of a ship that floated on the winds. Hers was a career of attitude thrusters and decel maneuvers. Even this small, nimble craft relied on such technology to overcome gravity and atmospheric variables. Still, she watched the snow thin before her eyes as the view gradually gave way to the dark of space. She was going home again.

  At the tip of the upper atmosphere she cut power and leveled the craft off, angling toward the point indicated on the display coordinates. The forward view revealed nothing but the swirling gray-white below, morphing into the starfield at the horizon. Thankfully, no warships were in visual; she was more than close enough to be in visual range of the Serapis.

  “Where are you?” She opened the comm as directed by the Captain when she’d lifted off.

  A voice immediately crackled over the channel, the too-loud volume reverberating through the small cabin. “Shuttle, state your complement and intentions.”

  “Captain Kendra, flying alone. On return vector, requesting immediate clearance to land.”

  Several moments passed before another voice came on the comm. Antonov. “Shuttle, you are currently not on a vector to land at the colony.” He was challenging her on the assumption that even their encrypted, short-range comm chatter could be intercepted.

  She recalled the reply. “Received. If you can open the claw, I will find my way to base.”

  The original voice came back; the woman called Carruthers. “Continue on your current vector until notified.”

  “Acknowledged.” Kendra cut the channel and sat back, still watching the horizon. This was a truly new experience; approaching a sizable warship that was completely hidden from view. She couldn’t get past the amazement that the Prax had pulled the technology off. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more something seemed…off. The Prax was known for their ability to copy, not innovate. All the senior Fleet officers sat through briefings year after year about the technological capability of the enemy, but this “cloaking” device seemed far beyond the power of the aliens so thoroughly cataloged by the intelligence group headed by her own sister.

  As if to punctuate her troubled thoughts, a shimmering haze leapt into view and washed over the shuttle quickly. She had moved through the event horizon of the Hidden Claw. Kendra’s hands were already on the controls adjusting the thrusters as the Serapis suddenly became visible, not more than a few hundred meters away. She banked the shuttle to stay well clear of the larger hull and angled it toward the bay door.

  “Clear to land,” came Carruthers’ voice over the comm.

  “Acknowledged.”

  “The Executive Officer will meet you at the hangar.” It sounded like a mild warning to Kendra, who grunted without replying as she chopped the remaining speed with a quick decel maneuver and glanced up to verify that the bay door was opening. The familiar decking awaited as she lined the shuttle up again and slowed to walking speed to let it coast into the bay. With twenty meters to the far bulkhead she cut power and felt the gravity dampeners from Serapis grasp the shuttle, dropping it to the deck. As she powered down the heads-up display illuminated, telling her that the atmosphere was pressurizing the bay outside her ship.

  Her feet had barely touched the deck when Antonov stepped through the bay entrance and walked directly to her. He looked different somehow, Kendra noticed. More stiff. She crossed her arms to await whatever he had to say.

  “Where is the Captain?” Antonov immediately demanded, his eyes hard.

  “At the colony.” She had a sudden urge to provoke the man.

  “Be more specific. What is the team’s status?”

  Kendra looked toward the shuttle, patting the dark-gray hull. “Cold.”

  “Captain, I am not accustomed to being made a fool.”

  With her hand still resting on the shuttle—which was incredibly cold—she looked back to him. Antonov’s face was very red, and she thought she caught a slight tic in one cheek.

  Enough fun. Kendra exhaled slowly. “It’s complicated, but the Captain and team are safe. There’s been a battle, though, and we
have wounded.”

  Antonov’s fists balled. “Why didn’t you evac them to the ship?”

  “Medical care is underway with the best the Republic has to offer.”

  “The what?”

  “It’s a long story, Captain Antonov. Could I share it to the officers at one time?”

  “Wait, are you telling me that the Captain swore allegiance to a foreign government? On behalf of all of us?” Hummel was incredulous as he leaned forward on the conference table.

  Kendra feeling the need to pace the room. “Yes, I believe that is what he did. At least the ones who were physically present.”

  Travers whistled. “The Tavarrans are known to be fiercely independent. Not a lot of Fleet officers want to serve on a ship defending this system. Now you’re a Tavarran,” he remarked to Hummel.

  The other was shaking his head. “I don’t believe it. No way we’d sell out the US.”

  Travers was interested. “You’ve mentioned that before. The ‘United States,’ correct?”

  Axxa spoke up from where he stood in a corner of the room. “Was the purpose of this profession on the part of Captain Halloran to effect a temporary alliance with the Tavarrans? Your non-lethal capture indicates that the Tavarrans may have similar principles to this ‘United States’ Lieutenant Hummel continually references.”

  Kendra frowned at the Prax, as usual uncomfortable with his presence in human discussions.

  Antonov interrupted the stand-off. “But Seaman Patredes is injured and the assistance of the Tavarran medical resources rendered an alliance strategically useful.” He looked over at Hummel. “I expect your good Captain is considering this to be dual citizenship.”

  Hummel’s eyebrows went up. “Was that a joke, sir?” But he seemed to relax somewhat.

  Carruthers pulled up a display depicting the planet that floated in the air in the center of the table, slowly rotating. “Our position relative to the Fleet units is as constant as possible, but that could change if they decide at any time to move. I think that may happen at some point.” She looked at Travers. “Wouldn’t it be some sort of protocol to adjust the location of the ship to avoid being targeted somehow?”

  Travers nodded. “It’s possible to be targeted, yes. Long-range projectile shots aimed to hit where the ship is expected to be based on its orbital track. We would adjust orbit periodically according to a randomized pattern to avoid predictive targeting algorithms.”

  Carruthers nodded. “Zig-zagging.”

  “What?” Deacon had been quietly leaning against the wall.

  Antonov chuckled. “Good observation, Lieutenant.” He smiled at Travers. “In our time, in ocean warfare, surface-only ships would employ a variable course to throw off any simple efforts to target them on the part of submarines with torpedoes—underwater missiles. However, if a target ship can be locked with a torpedo that can track it down by sound or magnetic field, ‘zig-zagging’ becomes less useful.”

  Travers considered the analogy. “The shielding currently in use can negate that targeting lock you speak of. In your example, if the targeted vessel has notice they can throw up shields and direct-energy screens and block incoming weapons as sophisticated as your ‘torpedoes.’ But projectile weapons travel at a very high rate of speed and can approach and strike a ship before it has time.” He lifted his palms to Carruthers. “Hence the need for ‘zig-zagging’ while on station in orbit.”

  Antonov nodded. “Shields can’t be up continuously due to the power resources needed. Understood. Lieutenant Carruthers, please coordinate with Lieutenant Travers as to the likely course adjustments and our responses required to minimize the possibility of detection.”

  Kendra stopped by Antonov. “The moment she’s done with that, we need her to begin scanning the colony for signs of Prax occupation.”

  The Executive Officer looked up at her. “Is the Captain and this Governor Jackson certain that the saboteurs are Prax?”

  She leaned on his seat back. “Ask Seaman Patredes.”

  “They’re Prax.”

  All eyes turned to the alien who had uttered the words.

  Axxa continued. “It’s the only logical conclusion. This vessel is the product of a significant covert operation to mine human resources.”

  Carruthers crossed her arms. “It seems unbelievable to think that the Prax could get a foothold on Tavar without…”

  “…Human assistance. I fear you may be correct, Lieutenant Carruthers.”

  The silence in the room stretched on. After a time, Antonov stood. “Treachery. Some things remain the same always with humans.”

  Chapter 20

  Prax Homeworld

  Sar’yana sat alone, watching her planet disappear behind her. The red orb hovered against the growing field of black, its color growing fainter as her heart did the same. With a supreme effort of will she held her head up in response to the aide’s query. “I am comfortable. See to the wounded instead.”

  As the young Prax nodded and turned away, Sar’yana looked across the cabin to her guard, the young Ryax of the Corpus. He wasn’t paying attention to the exchange, intent instead on a display in front of him on the wall. She could make out the face of their Captain, an old veteran named Grysx.

  The aide closed the door and Ryax noticed her attention in the reflection on the display. He cut the transmission and turned to her. “Did you have need of me, Lord?”

  Sar’yana shook her head without saying a word. So much had happened in a short time; she continued to be overwhelmed at her sudden change in fortunes. But this Prax had surely saved her family, and she’d not burden him with additional woes.

  “Very well. If I may take my leave; the Captain requests my presence on the bridge.”

  “Certainly.”

  He nodded. “I have guards at your door.”

  “Certainly we are safe on our own vessel, Commander?”

  “Perhaps. But the last two days have proven that no one can be trusted, I’m sure you would agree, Lord.”

  When he was gone she went back to studying the receding red planet. What Ryax had said was certainly true; they had to take the precautions necessary given the betrayals of the recent hours.

  It had started with a group of intense-looking Corpus Guards arriving at the residence. Immediately they had dismissed the staff and locked Sar’yana in her personal quarters. She remembered attempting to reach the Premier over and over on his personal comm, without result. Then the sounds of battle outside her doors, driving her to a safer location deep in their chamber storage rooms. Finally, the door to her quarters blown inward and Ryax himself storming in, weapons up and accompanied by several of his own guards, calling her name.

  Ryax was known to her, of course, as he was one of Axxa’s oldest friends. She’d come out to hear his tale of treachery throughout the Great City; the house of Terxan consolidating its power and assassinating the heads of clans gathered for the Rite. That her husband was safe but in hiding and attempting unsuccessfully to organize the military against the coup. Their flight to the private shuttle accompanied by a select few aides and guards, only to find the ship disabled.

  Through the trial Ryax had been a resolute leader, forcing their pace even as he made every effort to defer to Sar'yana. She had realized, when the mountain shook and the report came that a missile had destroyed her residence, that he was her—all of their—lifeline.

  At the last moment a loyal warship commanded by Grysx had sent a shuttle to scoop up their ragtag band of civilians and soldiers. The joyful reunion with her husband had been cut short by the attack of another warship under the flag of Terxan. Grysx had narrowly defeated the enemy with his superior skill, but the entire fleet and the orbiting station had gone dark, supposedly sabotaged and possibly even under the influence of Terxan.

  So they fled with one solitary other cruiser for company. She felt her eyes dampen with the frustration of surrendering her world to others not entitled to it. On the ship they had all viewed the triumphant spe
ech of Terxan, delivered earlier to the assembly even as her home was destroyed, as he declared his son Talxen the rightful heir of the Premiership.

  Talxen. That revolting schemer who had caused such distress for her son. Now his father declares him Premier. She wiped a moist cheek as she wished revenge upon them both. Despite Axxa’s appearance within her Sight visions, Sar’yana held little hope for his restoration to her.

  “Wife.”

  She turned to see him standing in the entrance. “Yes, Lord.”

  “You watch Prax.” He stepped toward her.

  “Ripped from our family…oh, Lord!”

  He caught her as she weakened, holding the smaller frame aloft easily. Pulling her close, he touched foreheads with her. “You feel chill.” There was concern in his voice.

  She lost herself in his embrace, laying her temple on his broad shoulder. “The cold of space. We are separated from our home. Oh, Krex…what will happen to us?”

  The Premier kissed her hair. “We will seek shelter with loyal friends and plan our revenge.”

  She pulled back to look up at him. “But our friends seem few. Terxan—.”

  He frowned. “Do not speak the name.”

  She lowered her eyes in deference. “Our enemy speaks so eloquently of the need to re-engage the humans in all-out conflict, to end the war once and for all. The new technology he promised the people. How can these things be?”

  He spoke softly to her. “It is true, my control over the narrative is lost for a time. Of the things he spoke I have limited knowledge, but Ryax has informed me of far-flung conspiracies within our military by agitators for increased aggression against the humans.”

  She nodded. “This seems to be the case.”

  He lifted her chin gently so her eyes met his. “But we will have allies of our own, my love. I sense it.”

  “You ‘sense’ it?” There was a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She knew of his frustration with not having the Sight.

  He smiled thinly. “You jest. But I feel…certain.”