by Natalie Grey
As General Vidrelor had asked, she had fed the admiral’s words to each of the Brakalon captains. She was pleased to see that none of them seemed worried.
She had been worried when she listened to their plans through Barnabas’ ears. How could a fleet that had never been in combat have a hope of defeating a famed admiral? She had thought it was a bad bet, indeed.
Then they had shown her the drills they ran with data pulled from every known battle of every alien species. The Brakalons had not simply built a secret fleet, they had trained extensively to use it.
And, much like the admiral had experience on her side, they had the element of surprise.
It hinged, in Shinigami’s assessment, on how the Jotuns intended to use their fleet. After all, the Jotuns did not have much in the way of infantry, so their gambit must surely have been to put the major cities of Kordinev in the crosshairs and demand compliance.
Well, they had probably intended to have converted agents within the government who could order troop deployment before anyone knew what was going on, but now their plan would have to be enacted by force.
She did a quick scan of the Brakalon fleet to make sure no Jotun signals were interfering with operations, then checked in with Barnabas.
How are things going on the surface, chief?
Well enough, Barnabas reported. We’re all just waiting.
The Brakalon action plan had been to ready troops and station them at various strategically-important jump points, getting ready to respond quickly to any ground assaults. With a Pod at his disposal, Barnabas had offered to be part of the first response team, and he and Gar were ready to go whenever the alert came.
Tafa was in the Pod as well, but Barnabas had absolutely forbidden her from stepping foot outside it. As soon as he and Gar were out, it would withdraw to a safe distance. Tafa wasn’t happy with this, but even she had to admit that a two-species planet-wide showdown involving fleets, an entire army, and specialized strike teams wasn’t exactly “baby’s first battle” material.
How are things on your end? Barnabas asked curiously. I see the admiral is preparing for confrontation.
She’s glad of it, Shinigami replied. She’s an honorable opponent. She didn’t like the idea of steamrolling the Brakalons.
I hope we get her back, Barnabas remarked soberly.
The way she reacted tells me that we should be able to. What kind of honorable opponent works for the Committee?
You ask that, but a great many people with well-developed systems of honor have fought for deeply dishonorable causes over the years.
Give me this one. Shinigami began her quick dance through the Brakalon fleet. In order for their plan to work, they needed to be invisible to the Jotuns and moving quickly. Thankfully for her, she had experience with Jotun scanners and several Jotuns to work with to develop her strategy.
Then the main cannons began arming in the flagship and she felt herself settle into cold anticipation.
It’s beginning. I’ll update you as I can.
Godspeed, Barnabas said, and she caught both the worry and the affection in his tone.
You too, chief.
* * *
The Brakalon fleet had not only spread out into a maneuverable, difficult formation to take on, more ships kept arriving around the curve of the planet.
Where had they been hiding these ships, godsdammit? Admiral Jeqwar felt a stab of what might almost be called sympathy for Senator Torsen, who was pacing up and down and muttering to herself. She was clearly worried about what would happen to her if they failed in this mission.
And while politicians got, in the admiral’s estimation, exactly what they deserved, she had to admit that this particular development could hardly be laid at the senator’s door. No one had known this fleet existed.
There was no time for surprise, however. She needed to show them what battle was. If no one had seen this fleet before, it meant that they had trained in simulations.
And in simulations, people didn’t die. Her opening gambit would be to make them feel the losses and get their first taste of fear. She went for two of their support ships first, the repair-and-rescue ships that would zoom through the battle to any wounded ship. She had identified them early.
Take out your enemy’s support and they had only one charge. Give them a taste of fear, put death nipping at their heels, and they would begin to make mistakes. They would take desperate risks, too emotional to hold the line and wait for their opportunity.
She would be ready.
The rescue ships went tumbling out of formation, and the countermeasures the flagship had launched, assuming that it was in the crosshairs, shot harmlessly into the void between the two fleets.
Admiral Jeqwar felt a wave of satisfaction. Yes, she thought. Now it begins. Now you see.
Then the words started in her head.
Admiral Jeqwar. She knew that voice, although she had never heard it inside her head. She could not place it.
Who is this?
A reminder of your conscience. There was humor now. I am Gilwar. You do not know my name, but you have seen my work. It was my assassins who found Huword.
A cowardly act, she shot back. She readied another spread of missiles, keeping her attention on the flagship, and then had the ships at the flanks set their missiles loose and begin to swing inwards.
No, the cowardly act was to abduct civilians and torture them. The cowardly act was to pretend that the Jotuns were superior. If we were superior, it would be so clear that other species would welcome our leadership. Now, even our own people do not. They must be brainwashed.
She felt bile swirl within her. She was not brainwashed. She hated that accusation. It filled her with strange panic. She shot wildly, succumbing to her own emotions before calming herself.
I was not brainwashed, she told her opponent. I was freed. I was given clarity to accept my own thoughts on the matter.
Oh? said a new voice, one that was much more familiar. I thought the same once, Yeneda. But those thoughts—the thoughts that we were superior—they were thoughts I had already rejected, and I rejected them again.
Traitor. Admiral Jeqwar listened to the words coming from her mind and felt a strange sense of dislocation. She had never been one to spit insults at people, and yet, here she was. She meant the insults, too. It felt good to say them. Jeltor was a traitor; he had turned his back on Qarwit and Grisor.
Unfortunately, he also knew her well.
It isn’t like you to say something like that, he observed. Yeneda. I remember how this feels, how uncomplicated it feels to love the Committee and hate who they hate. But it doesn’t sit right in your mind, does it? You know it’s false. It feels wrong.
Frozen in her tank, Admiral Jeqwar missed a round of missiles, and her captains had to seize control of their ships to get out of the way in time.
“What’s going on?” Senator Torsen hissed.
“There’s a signal, and they’ve gotten it into her tank.” One of the communications officers was stabbing keys desperately. “As soon as she started communicating, I found it, but I can’t shut it down. I’m doing everything, I swear.”
Senator Torsen snarled in fury, but she knew better than to make an example of the people who were working to interrupt this. She paced a few steps, then swung around to look at the commanders clustered around the battle table.
“Find out where that signal is coming from.”
“Yes, ma’am. We’re working on it.”
“You’re ‘working on it?’” she asked dangerously.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s moving very quickly, as we know the Shinigami is capable of doing. They’re moving and bouncing the signal off the Brakalon ships.”
Senator Torsen considered this. “Send in a squadron of fighters. Take. Them. Out.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As the fighters accelerated into the black, Shinigami snickered to herself. Then, the sleek form of her ship lying flat in a shadowed groove atop the Jotun flagship, sh
e continued her work of opening one of the exterior hatches for Jeltor, Gilwar, and Ferqar to sneak aboard.
As the hatch opened silently, Shinigami caught another command: “And land the strike teams.”
Barnabas.
Hmm?
You’re a go. Strike teams are leaving. I’ll keep you all updated on their trajectories.
Thank you.
This senator is practically shitting herself, by the way. Almost no one knows that this is a fake mission, and she can’t afford to let them find out. Don’t worry, I’m taping it. We can have some popcorn and watch the highlights reel later.
So good of you to keep me in mind.
Don’t be snide. This is comedy gold right here.
Chapter Thirty-One
“General.” Barnabas activated the communications unit in the Pod, which had been tied into the Brakalon network. Shinigami had stress-tested it and rigged it to shut down if there was even a possibility the line was being tapped. “The strike teams are on their way. My Pod will intercept automatically, and I will keep you apprised of locations.”
“Understood.” General Vidrelor’s voice was calm. “I envy you, you know,” he added.
A piece of the puzzle snapped into place and Barnabas smiled. Part of General Vidrelor’s ill-temper, it seemed, had been because he was jealous that Barnabas would be in the thick of things and he would not.
Barnabas approved of that. He had no use for military leaders who were afraid to get their hands dirty.
All he said was, “Do Brakalons speak of tempting fate, General? You may get your chance.”
The general rang off with a good-natured laugh that said he would not be sad to do so, and Barnabas smiled in anticipation as the Pod began to move.
Two strike teams, Shinigami reported. Verified by my scanners, the Brakalon scanners, and what the bridge crew is tracking. They’re going to the two sites where the top-level officials were quartered. It appears they are not sure what happened there. Our cutoff worked.
It’s going to be pretty obvious when they get there, Barnabas responded wryly. But we’ll pin them down and take them out before they can go wreak havoc anywhere else. Which team should we go to?
The heavier team is heading for the military site. They seem to be assuming that a military leader would be more able to launch a defense if necessary.
Solid thinking. Too bad they’re behind the curve.
Yeah, couldn’t have happened to nicer people.
Barnabas smiled and relayed Shinigami’s words, telling the Brakalons that he and Gar were heading to the military site. Gar was elated, while Tafa frowned and fidgeted.
“Next battle, you’ll get to participate,” Barnabas told her.
“I’m not worried about that. What if someone senses Grisor?” She looked worried. “What if he manages to create problems?”
“Ah.” Barnabas held up one finger. Shinigami, could you project an image of Grisor’s cell into the Pod for Tafa?
Sure? Shinigami’s doubtful tone aside, she did so with alacrity. There you go.
Thanks. “See?” Barnabas said to Tafa. “Entirely cut off from any signals and still trapped.”
“Aren’t we going to…use him somehow?” Gar asked doubtfully. “I’m with Tafa on this one.”
Barnabas gave an evil smile and sat back, stretching out his legs. “Actually, I had a rather different idea. We don’t need him to head off this plan, at least not yet, and it’s driving him crazy to be held captive and not even be interrogated. He doesn’t have a self-destruct on his suit, and he’s a coward about death. He made sure everyone else had them, but he doesn’t, so he has no way to get out of this. And once the battle’s over?” His smile was very cold. “I’ll go down and tell him about it. Tell him that while he was rotting in that cell, the Committee fell to pieces and he had no idea it was even happening. Then I’ll take him back for his trial.”
There was a moment of stunned silence, then Gar whistled. “You’re cold.”
“I learned from the best.” Barnabas grinned as he thought of Bethany Anne.
Barnabas, you’re arriving at the site. You’ve beaten the strike team. I suggest hiding behind the bunker. All of the decoys are in place to draw them in.
Good, Barnabas said. The decoys had been a rather ingenious Brakalon idea that they had perfected with Ferqar’s help. They would emit signals indicating that the lost data showing what had happened at these sites could be found inside the bunker.
The Pod let Barnabas and Gar out, and both of them smiled at Tafa before leaving. She waved at them bravely, but Barnabas could see she was worried for them. Then the Pod shot back into the sky, invisible to the naked eye and Jotun scanners.
Barnabas and Gar hid behind the bunker, settling a large cloak of stiff fabric over them that confused most scanning technology and hid their biosignatures.
Not long now, Barnabas thought, and he felt the familiar rush of anticipation. He had fought the Committee for so long from the shadows. He was glad to be fighting them out in the open at last.
He jumped when something rustled nearby, then started laughing.
“Hello,” Kelnamon greeted him. “They said that after my service and injuries I couldn’t be allowed to fight in this battle. Didn’t matter that I told them you’d patched me up, so I picked a place I was pretty sure would see some action, and here I am.”
“Glad to have you.” Barnabas clasped his hand in greeting. “Couldn’t ask for a better fighter at my side.”
* * *
Captain Qrevar of Strike Team 4 was a sturdy, thick-bodied Jotun who wielded his biosuit like a tank, always ready to charge into the action headlong rather than hide away and snipe at his enemies.
In his years doing various black ops work for both the Senate and the Navy he’d learned a healthy dose of respect for the fighting capabilities of various species, but he had never lost his conviction that the Jotuns were superior to all others. After all, the Jotuns could adapt themselves to any environment or opponent, their grasp of technology was incredible, and they were, of course, more intelligent than other species.
That was just fact. People could deny it, but they knew they were lying. He was confident.
“Get ready,” he barked at his team. He did not tolerate sloppiness or emotion on the battlefield, and some of them seemed shaken by the first images they were seeing of the other bunker. The scattered Jotun bodies there had been Team 2, and the teams had fought together. “We’re going to extract every piece of information we can from this bunker and go find their leaders. Speed is of the essence. You want to cry, you can quit right now. We’ll be better off without you.”
Everyone readied their weapons without a word. When their shuttle touched down, they were leaping out before it had stopped and charging into the bunker on heavy, mechanized legs.
“Spread out!” Qrevar ordered. He was heading up the rear as they went into the darkness, so he was poised to advance in the first wave.
Or that had been the plan.
There was a faint hint of motion behind him, and he swiveled sharply in his tank but saw nothing. He sent out a brief pulse of scanning, sensed no life forms, and sighed internally. He was being superstitious. The building had been heavily damaged by the bombing; of course, it was creaking oddly.
He swiveled back around and shot backward to slam against the wall of the tank in shock.
His biosuit’s sensors had not picked up the alien, but there it was, staring at him with its head tilted to the side as other species did to indicate curiosity.
And its eyes were glowing red.
“Hello,” it said pleasantly.
Qrevar’s arm was already coming up out of sheer instinct, rifle primed and loaded, but he felt the stab of pain a moment later, haptic controls embedded in his suit and telling him that the connections were being severed one by one. His body went rigid, unsure of the input he was sending it, then thudded to the ground when the power went out.
Qrevar w
as still floating helplessly in the tank as a Luvendi stepped over his body and disappeared into the darkness without another glance—heading for Qrevar’s team, none of whom knew that there were enemies inside the bunker.
* * *
The captain was taken out quickly and efficiently, and Barnabas and Gar continued into the darkness silently, Kelnamon leading the way like a giant, hulking shadow.
Ahead of them, the Jotun strike team was calling to one another as they spread out. They weren’t being sloppy, which Barnabas appreciated—but their loyalty was in a very unfortunate place, and he could not let that go unpunished.
At the opening of the main cavern, he gave Gar and Kelnamon a nod and disappeared into the rafters, leaping lightly and climbing his way up. He had communicated his plan to them while the strike team was landing.
That plan was shock and awe. The Jotun might have heard of Barnabas before, but it was almost certain that they considered stories of his exploits to be overblown.
They were about to learn how wrong they were.
Barnabas waited until one group had advanced to the center of the room, checking the main command desk for clues, and then he activated the first line of defense. Around the room, what had looked like inert and destroyed turrets came to life in jerky motion, swinging themselves to their spidery feet and each locking on a target: one of the Jotun soldiers
Which was when Barnabas dropped out of the ceiling onto the team below.
He hit the desk with a thud that spread a crack all through it and looked up, baring his teeth at them. They weren’t human, not born of Earth, but some things were universal, and one of those universal things was a fear of sharp, pointy claws and teeth. Given two shocks in a row, the team froze for one critical, deadly moment.
A moment, of course, was all Barnabas needed. He swung into action at once, grabbing the closest Jotun and flipping it over his head to bring it crashing down on the corner of the table. The tank in its biosuit cracked and was partially dislodged, and he picked it up to slam it down again before ripping one of the legs and one of the arms off, doing the same with the head, and flinging all of the pieces in opposite directions. He bared his teeth at the other three in the group and hissed.
