by Reg Franklin
The Admiral nodded. “Yes, we're still analyzing what exactly happened.”
“You don't have to. The drive will tell you exactly what happened. They were testing a new type of engine. One that can break the faster-than-light barrier.”
Shouts of outrage around the table. Christopher had known that this news was going to be met with disbelief. After all…
“Wait, if they have a space warp, then why don't they leave?” Shannon laughed. “Stragdoc has absolutely no reason to stay here!”
Cameron responded. “Did you read his background, General? This man blew up his school, possibly murdered his parents, and absolutely murdered the Captain’s father simply because they were in his way. In addition, his entire campaign against us has to have been for purposes of inciting his own people against us. If he changes his plan into one of retreat, the Alphites will likely scream betrayal.” He turned to face Christopher again. “Of course, we need to analyze the data here before we can plan a response...but I believe that the reason the Captain is here is because he has a response in mind.”
“As a matter of fact, I do. May I?” He asked, taking a seat. “I might be able to use the leg, but it does get tired.” He cleared his throat. “Now, since my promotion, I’ve been reading what intelligence reports I can. But it seems that aside from the Conrad incident,” He glanced at Shannon, who had been the one in charge of that fiasco, “We simply don't have any intelligence about what's happening out there. We know from Conrad that the Chancel was undergoing some kind of refit, but we have no idea what for.” He grinned. “Two can play at that game. They have the moon between them and us...we can have a planet blocking their view. If only briefly.”
“Get down to it.” Shannon snapped, angry at the reminder that David Tran was still a drooling wreck. “What are you proposing?”
“I’ve reviewed the data regarding both the engines they use for regular travel, as well as the warp engines they now possess. Both are extremely modular, easily adapted to various vessels, simply needing to be scaled up or down depending on what you want to hook them up to. Now that is true of most Psi-Omegan technology. But that means we can attach them to our own craft as well.
Basically, we can surprise the hell out of them. If we launched a fleet from a portion of the surface facing away from the moon, kicked in the lightspeed drive towards, let's say, Venus, turned around, and shot back behind them…”
Cameron found a smile growing on his own face. “Particularly if the return was timed to coincide with the moon’s transit past said body…”
Hasegawa chimed in. “Stragdoc would never see it coming.” He reached for the drive. “But I already see the problem. The test of the space warp would have to be the initial trip to Venus. The more we test it, the more likely that they’ll see the same energy spike my government detected.”
Christopher nodded. “Naturally, we can't put all our eggs in one basket. A second force will need to be dispatched no matter what: either to provide support to the initial strike force or to take over the operation if the one test we have catapults all our vessels into the sun.”
Russian delegate Mikhail Burvechev, silent until this point nodded. “We will review the data the Captain has relayed to us and no offense to him but we will also take him up on his offer of examination. Just to be certain, yes?”
Christopher nodded. “I wouldn't have made the offer otherwise. We need to be on the same team, no suspicions of each other in this. That's why he’s been winning, all the nations of the Alliance are so preoccupied with one-upping each other, and he's taken advantage of it.”
“At any rate, if the data pans out, the Russian government will vote yes to this operation.”
“As does the British.”
“And the Japanese.”
All turned to look at the surprising silence of David Shannon. The American was glowering. “I welcome the data, but in no way do I agree to this operation. It is a waste of resources, time, and my patience. If he has a warp drive, then the odds are good that the whole lot of them are leaving. Therefore, America is willing to take the good odds over a pointless attack. Especially considering that we supply the bulk of the materiel for this ‘war effort’.”
The gathered representatives sat in stunned silence. Christopher was staring at the American intently, as if trying to make up his own mind about something important. Shannon stood to make his exit from the chamber, and almost on instinct, Christopher shot from his seat and slugged the American in the mouth.
Outrage replaced the silence, shouts of protest, guards demanding the Captain surrender, Christopher grabbing Shannon’s head and facing it towards the table in time for the other representatives to watch as his split lips healed themselves.
“H-how?” Someone, possibly Hasegawa, stuttered.
“Just a hunch.” Christopher grunted, wrestling the double agent into a full nelson hold. “When did he turn you? Before you sent that poor bastard to be tortured?”
“After!” Shannon growled. “I had lung cancer, eighteen months to live, what would you have done?!”
“Sell my soul? I would rather put my pistol in my mouth!” Burvechev spat.
A few moments later, after the guards relieved Christopher of the struggling traitor, he addressed the gathered representatives again. “We need to keep this quiet. Not only for the sake of our own troops morale, but also to lull the enemy. If Stragdoc does not receive any reports from Shannon for too long, he will likely be suspicious. In the short term, he’ll hopefully assume that no news is good news.”
“Indeed.” Hasegawa nodded. “Of course, we will search for his method of communication with the Chancel so we may fake a communique if necessary.”
“Absolutely.” Christopher began rolling up his shirtsleeve. “Now, who wants a blood sample?”
IV.
A few weeks later…
28.
“When I originally named this vessel,” Stragdoc addressed the entire population of the vessel from the new command bridge. “I chose the name carefully. For this was to be our sanctuary, our refuge, a protected place from the petty jealousies of the humans. With the completion of the great reconstruction we undertook, however, the term sanctuary, Chancel seems inappropriate.”
Pausing for effect, he glanced around at his staff; Simms, Dalth, Karman, Peters, dear Calixta. Smiling, he continued. “There is an old naval tradition that says to rename a vessel is to invite ill fortune. However, this is not the same vessel any longer, for now the stars themselves lay within our grasp. But before we extend our reach, we must first take back our true home. To show the humans that nature, red in tooth and claw, has selected us to be the inheritors of the planet!”
He strode to a wall panel covered by cloth. He snatched it down, revealing a naming plate, upon which Calixta dashed a bottle of champagne.
“I christen this vessel the Red Talon!” Stragdoc roared, exultant. Cheers erupted all over the command bridge, and Stragdoc could feel the thousands of echoing celebrations across the ship. “Long live the Empire!” He bellowed, and was pleased that rather than echo his sentiment, the phrase “Long live the Emperor!” Repeated across the whole ship.
“To your stations! To war!” Stragdoc snarled excitedly. Victory was finally upon him, and he would not be denied. Simms and Peters hurried off the bridge, to engineering and the med bay respectively. Karman, ever the loyal soldier, saluted him before heading to the shuttle bay to take command of the fighters they would deploy. Dalth took a command station to his right, for she would advise and relay his commands. Calixta stood just behind and to the left of him, a hand on his shoulder. Reports began coming in.
“Parsyns drive online and ready!”
“Weapons are ready, primary cannon still charging!”
“Fighter crews are on standby, awaiting orders to launch!”
“Med bay reports they are ready for possible casualties.”
Oh, there will be casualties… Stragdoc grinned tightly. “Engag
e secondary drive, Admiral. Take us home.”
---
On the surface of Earth, the Alliance military had been far from idle. Several squadrons had been outfitted with the engine design that would allow them to break orbit, and one had the added benefit of the faster-than-light drive. It was with that squadron that Captain Christopher St. George could be found, conducting his, by his own estimate, five thousandth examination of the vessels under his command.
They had yet to begin their surprise attack operation for a number of reasons: first when the military leaders had been awaiting the results of his bloodwork (he was most certainly not an Alphite), then awaiting the construction and installation of the various engines, now while the scientific divisions confirmed that the FTL drive would not vaporize them upon engaging it.
Christopher had assured them that it would not, but they didn't share his trust of Ashpool. Which, he supposed, was understandable; they hadn't met the woman. Still…
A crewman ran up to him. “Sir, General Cameron requests your presence immediately! Something big’s happening!”
Knowing that Cameron was not one for hyperbole, Chris headed off at a sprint for the command centre. Cameron was outside waiting for him. “Captain, long range scanners report an energy build up behind the moon, and a large mass coming around it. They're coming.”
Chris swore. “Sound the alarm sir, hang the tests, we need to launch now.”
Cameron nodded tightly. “We’ll buy you what time we can. Good luck, Captain.”
Chris saluted, ran for a public address system. “Tazer Squadron report to your vessels, this is not a drill! Report to your vessels and prepare for launch on my command!”
We’re not ready. He had hoped to have more time to train his pilots...and himself for that matter. They had done what zero-g training they could, hiding in Earth’s shadow from Stragdoc's gaze, but he was not sure it was enough.
Nevertheless, looking at the determined looks of the men under his command as they mustered to their ships, he knew it would have to be. Because under no circumstances while Christopher St. George drew breath would, he allow that lunatic to win.
29.
Earth now had a clear view of the dreadnaught approaching, its bladed prow reminding Mitchell Cameron of an arrow aimed at their collective hearts. “Dear God…” he whispered, horrified at the scale of the thing. He could recognize nothing of the original colony station that this...thing had grown from. He looked at his allies; Hasegawa was taking command of the defense force preparing to meet the ship moving towards them. Burvechev, the Russian, looked determined to defy Stragdoc to the last. Shannon’s replacement, Patrick Cole, looked nervous. He had only been appointed to the council a short time ago.
A corporal looked up from his station. “Sir, we’re being contacted.”
A video screen at the end of the room flickered to life. The deceptively charming face of Paul Stragdoc filled it.
“Gentlemen, how would you like to surrender now and save us all some trouble?”
Cameron stood. “The people of Earth are free, sir. And we shall remain free of your tyranny until this planet is no more.”
Stragdoc looked genuinely hurt. “Tyranny? Is that what you think I offer? Under my generous rule, not only will crime end but so will death itself!”
Burvechev rose. “Were man not meant to die, our creator would have made us immortal. And you sir, are no creator.”
Stragdoc’s face now twisted in a sneer. “Oh please, spare me the religious hokum. Very well, let history show that I tried to end this without bloodshed. The Red Talon is not just for show, I shall demonstrate its full capability to you now.”
Cole spoke for the first time. “A demonstration isn't necessary. I'm sure that your vessel is quite deadly.”
For a brief instance, confusion flickered across the maniac’s face, replaced with icy coldness. “You’ll get one anyway. And remember, I tried to be peaceable about this.” The image then cut out.
“Sirs, something’s happening to the vessel’s prow!”
Video now showed the bladed front end splitting down the middle, levering open to reveal a massive aperture.
Cameron sat down heavily, hoping that the end result would simply help to galvanize resistance to Stragdoc’s megalomania. Because even with St. George’s squadron about to break orbit, and the remaining squadrons led by Hasegawa just taking off, he had a feeling that weapon was not going to be stopped.
---
Where was Shannon? Calixta’s mind touched his.
Stragdoc gritted his teeth. The idiot had been found out, obviously. The fact that Stragdoc himself had been unaware of this was far more annoying to him, however. It was careless, and at this critical juncture, carelessness was inexcusable.
“Main cannon at eighty percent power, sir! What is the target?”
He had known from the start what his target would be. New York was too cliché, as were London, Moscow, Washington, Paris...no, his target was of a much more personal nature. Stragdoc typed the coordinates into his console. Dalth seemed surprised at his choice of target, but was too much the soldier to question orders.
“Give me firing control,” he snarled now.
“Main cannon fully charged!” The report came in.
“Sir, I’m picking up an energy surge behind the planet-”
“Silence!” He bellowed. The firing control appeared on his screen, and his fingers mashed it with finality.
Looking at his screen, he rejoiced to see the red beam of light lance towards the planet; towards a small town near the Canadian/American border by the name of Black Rock. An unremarkable community whose sole claim to infamy was a terrorist attack on a high school in the late Nineties.
Now the job is finished. Stragdoc’s grin was wild, a small line of spittle leaking from the corner of his mouth as his hometown simply ceased to be.
30.
Jennifer Safyo stared in horror at the news reports. Words like ‘catastrophic ‘, ‘devastation’, and most chillingly, ‘vaporized’ were being used to describe what had just happened to her former home.
All those people I saved back then…
Tears flooded her eyes. She had bought the small town a reprieve when she’d left Paul to die, but that was all.
Looking at her screens, she saw a flight of ships breaking the atmosphere to engage. She reacted instantly, running for the cockpit of her captured ship.
She was going to end this. If she had to strangle him, today it would end.
---
“Sir, several servos in the main cannon burned out and need replacement!”
“Fix them, then!” Dalth barked.
Next to her, the Emperor smiled reassuringly. “Calm yourself, Admiral. This was bound to happen. But overall, a very successful test.”
Calixta was confused. Before that cannon blast, her read of her husband’s mind had been as if his skull was full of writhing vipers. Now he was calm, collected, charming.
“Let's give them another thirty seconds or so to think that over before we-”
“Sir, an armada of ships is inbound from the planet surface!”
Calixta’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “I guess that’s their answer.”
Stragdoc was scowling. “Their ships shouldn’t be able to make it far enough out to engage us…” He shot to his feet snarling. “That bitch. She stole our engine designs!”
Dalth turned to him. “Wait, sir, our engine designs? Does that include…?”
His head swiveled to her, and then back at the screen. “Give me an aft view, now!”
Calixta could feel the storm brewing in his mind, and was afraid...for him.
---
When his squadron first cut their FTL engines, Christopher St. George had simply marveled at the stark beauty of Venus. He knew that the toxic atmosphere concealed a hellstorm of lava and lightning storms, but the clouds of sulfuric acid concealed all of it, only allowing a view of an ivory ball.
Chri
s would have loved to just sit and admire the view, but knew that there was absolutely no time. “Okay boys, report in! Everyone accounted for?”
Names and call signs sounded off. Personally, Chris had been rather surprised at the relative smoothness of the trip. He really had not expected FTL travel to be like in movies and television, but yeah, the flight had been smooth and simple. Calming even.
“Ok, reset course back to Earth. Let’s surprise the hell out of the enemy!”
---
The area of space behind the Red Talon was filling with Earth ships. Stragdoc was screaming in rage, not only physically but mentally as well, crewmen clutching their heads in psychic agony.
