Anthony Nerant found himself called to the bridge of the Barker more and more often since his return from the Inferno disaster and reassignment to the Hellraisers. Why Admiral Kimmet and the Captain insisted on informing him of their plans was beyond his understanding. He was just a pilot, born and bred. Time on the bridge of the massive supercarrier, while awe-inspiring, always filled him with a certain dread.
“Ah good, LT Commander Nerant, you’re here,” Admiral Kimmet called, her tone far too friendly. That always meant trouble in Tony’s opinion.
“Yes ma’am, as ordered.”
“Come, come,” the Admiral beamed, waving him closer. “Take a look at this.” She handed him a handcomm.
He looked over the device. It was data, raw data, nothing he could make heads or tails of. Some of it looked like communications frequencies, others position data and time stamps. “Ma’am?” he asked.
“It’s reports from our attack force on the Wolfsbane. The micro-implants we inserted in our brave sacrifice soldiers, and the criminals we inserted them with. They all transmitted to a minisat the shock troopers were carrying.”
“So, the attack was successful?” Tony asked, looking at the data again. He didn’t see it.
“Very,” the Admiral continued with glee and pointed out a holographic projection of the Wolfsbane. Tony approached and stood beside the Admiral, staring at the projection. Lights glared all across the interior of the ship. “Each of these is where biobombers went up. And even taking in a margin of error for the minisat,” her smile towards Tony broadened. “If we had the new jump codes, we could make straight for Drobile and finish the Wolfsbane off without even charging our Razer Cannons. She’s dead in space.” She stabbed at a flare near the heart of the ship. “We carved out her heart. They must be on emergency batteries, if they have power at all.”
“Does that mean we can continue our mission and give up this search for the Powell?” Tony asked, filled with hope and pride. Since his return he’d already had two long distance, breeding requests. If they carried out the rest of their mission, then he’d have his choice of partners once they’d returned to Alpha Station.
“We have one last lead to look at, then, yes. We will lead the deepest and most devastating assault into Cont Space in the history of this war.” Admiral Kimmet turned to Tony, the great green nebula beyond framing her. “The Conts will never forget, and will fear the name Barker for centuries to come.”
UCSB Date: 1006.018
Hellraiser’s Lounger, GFS Barker, Apple Nebula
For the crew of the GFS Barker it was a time of bittersweet celebration. Finally, after months of fruitless wild goose chases, Overcommand had called off the search for the GFS Powell. So, while the crew mourned the loss of their compatriots, they were now free to move on with their primary mission. And for Anthony Nerant, it was also a day to celebrate the latest honor his streak of good luck had bestowed upon him.
“Hear ye, Hear ye,” Commander Vince Cliff called out in a thick, Old Earth Caribbean accent. The squadron members present all turned to look up at his deep brown skin, many laughing. “Let it be known, that Louie Co-man-dare An-toe-knee Nare-rant has been granted the honor of not only passing on his genes upon our return to Fed-air-ation Space, but, he also be granted the honor of raising his child.”
The room exploded into cheers, and Tony couldn’t help but smile. To prove oneself worthy of even being granted a breeding contract was one thing, to actually be able to raise one’s child was a different matter entirely.
Tony had never met his parents. Instead, as soon as he’d been birthed, he’d entered the education center aboard Beta Station. There, like so many others in this room, he’d been trained as a fighter pilot. He looked around: two of the men here had been in his education group.
While the others cheered, they just scowled. They’d been together most of their lives, yet their scores out of the education center had put them on a fast track to the Barker ahead of him. Now, here was Tony Nerant, surpassing every one of his peers, in rank, authority, and honors.
Tony was about to join them, to explain it was all luck when Vince wrapped his wiry arm around him. “Hey ma’an, drink up. You off duty and should be celebrat’in. If I be having a kid to raise, I sure would be.”
“Thank you, sir. But I don’t even have a mother picked out yet. And what do I know about raising a child?”
“You forget’in. If you be havin’ a kid, you can pass off your contract to them. You can retire in just a few years ma’an. And knock off the sir crap. You the same rank as me. Call me Vince”
Tony hadn’t considered that. He was the fourth generation of a prearranged breeding contract. That contract had been extended with each new generation. His best bet for achieving a retirement, and living, before this, had been to gather enough honor to breed numerous offspring. By his own calculations, the debt owed meant he would have to breed at least six offspring. Before his latest honor, he would have to hand them all off to the education center as soon as they’d decanted from their birthing pods.
With a child however, or even multiple children, he could pass the contract down to them in a few years. After that, he could raise them how he saw fit. Maybe they wouldn’t have to be pilots. Maybe they could choose their own paths. Then they could earn the honor of breeding contracts and free the Nerants of the debt. They might even garner enough honor to allow the line to become high-born in a few generations.
“I hadn’t thought of that sir… Vince, I mean. Maybe once we trash the shipyards at Gentorinal, I’ll be able to have a whole troop of children.”
“That’s the thinking ma’an,” Vince laughed and handed Tony a mug of dark rum. “I found me a mother to raise my three back in Barnard’s Star, and once this mission is done, so am I.”
Tony took a quick swig. “How’s that?”
“My contract will be fulfilled. No more, not even me kids will have to work it off. See, the first Vince Cliff, six generations back,” he took another drink. “He got in trouble, and he committed his genes to the cause of tak’in down the Conts. Now, after fifteen years of shooting Conts out of space, this be it. Done. Not only that, after this next mission, even me kids be having no debt, and a real home, on a real planet. The old Cliff estate.”
“That’s amazing. I don’t even know how the Nerant line ended up indebted.”
“Most don’t, and don’t care ma’an. Sheet, I didn’t for me first ten years, ‘til I met me papa.”
Tony choked on his drink. “What?” he asked wide-eyed. “How? I thought that wasn’t allowed!”
“It’s not. But our ships be on leave at the same port, and it was like looking in a mirror. Just an older, uglier one,” Vince laughed and took the mug back from Tony to take another drink. “We got to talk’in and that got me to think’in. So, I looked it up and found out all I need to know to work the debt. So, keep the dream alive Tony, and maybe you too will get retire. Sheet, you can even visit my house.”
“Serve me more of that rum and I will,” Tony laughed. It was weird to think about. Even in the mighty Galactic Federation, even amongst Terrans, social classes still existed. But it wasn’t money that separated people. That had been long abolished in the post-scarcity age, but energy, glory and debts of service. Those were the commodities that remained. The more glory, the more energy, but steal energy, or perform some other crime and you incurred a debt to society.
Tony looked about the room again. Commander Bradley, his squadron commander, waited near the corner, reading his handcomm. To the best of Tony’s knowledge, he was one of only two high-born in the room. His family had energy to spare. He’d been raised by his family in opulence, wanting for nothing. Yet still, he wanted more, he wanted to serve, to make his own name and was put on a fast track to command as a result.
The same was true for ‘young’ Ensign Cotton, who’d joined their ranks for this mission. It was strange to look at the young man. Raised by his high-born family, he’d had the best educa
tion and had graduated the academy, not the learning center, at twenty years old. Tony couldn’t see it. The man looked no older than he, and twenty years old seemed positively ancient for a pilot.
A sharp whistle pierced the conversation around the room, drawing all eyes to the PA speakers. “All hands, stand by for an announcement from the Captain,” the PA blared.
Captain Watts’, thinning, grey-haired visage came on a moment later. Everyone in the squadron dropped into their seats as the holo wall sprang to life. “Attention crew, with the apparent loss of the GFS Powell, I know we’ve all been looking forward to the coming attack on the Gentorinal System.”
Tony knew that that went without saying. Gentorinal, while a lifeless system, was a major target, and they had the jump code for it. A quick jump to Vashko, and if the drift predictor was right, in less than two days, they could cross the sector in a single, almost instantaneous jump, to attack deep into Cont space. It wasn’t just how deep they’d be jumping, but what the dead system held within the mess of asteroid fields and protoplanets: the Drashig Orbital Shipyards. This single raid could change the course of the war.
Not only would the Barker be able to rain Hell on the Drashig’s primary starship production facility, there’d also be dozens, if not hundreds, of navigational data cores waiting to be installed. Each would be filled with jump codes to virtually every Confed star system. Once the Barker had those, and before they’d even bothered to replace the Confed jump bouys with their own, cutting the system off from the Confederation, the Barker would send those jump code databases back to Overcommand. Before the Conts would even know they’d been compromised, dozens of fleets would rush to attack major systems throughout Confed space. If successful, the war would be over in a matter of weeks.
The Captain continued, and the mood soured. “There has however, been a change in plans. Approximately ten minutes ago we received the following transmission.” He nodded to someone offscreen and it shifted.
A grainy image filled with black dropouts appeared, along with a grease-smeared, sweaty man in an officer’s uniform and a ratty beard, the name badge, rank and ship’s crest visible. LT Commander Beto, of the GFS Powell. “I repeat, this is the GFS Powell, transmitting in the blind to any Galactic Federation ship that can…”
The Captain reappeared. “That’s right, the Powell is alive.”
Tony felt the collective groan run through the ship.
“I won’t bore you with the details of our conversation, but we have confirmed that LT Commander Beto was the supply officer of the ship. He is now its de facto commander after the rest of the senior staff were killed in battle. They have also confirmed that they are in the Vorg Nebula, running there after they were attacked in Ketig.”
“How do we know they have it right this time?” someone muttered.
“As for how they know that for sure,” the Captain smiled. “I will let LT Commander Beto explain.”
The image shifted back to the recorded image of Beto from the real time Tach-Comm transmission, the Captain still speaking. “Powell, last transmission we received gave us bad navigational data. You were not in Eltair, but the Ketig Nebula. How are we to know that is not the case again?”
The scraggly officer managed a smile. The image froze and jumped, as he answered. “Sir, we captured an intact UCSB Navigational Core from a Confed Diplomatic Courier that we happened upon when we fled from our last position.”
Everyone went silent. An intact Navigational Core offered them the whole of the galaxy. It was the ultimate prize in the war, one that every ship would scuttle if captured or destruction seemed imminent: for the Powell to have gained one prior to the raid on Gentorinal meant that they could start their assault into the Confed deep core immediately.
“How complete is it?” Captain Watt’s recorded voice asked, filled with hope.
“It isn’t a complete database, sir. It includes every system in the sector, as well as several other recognizable named major systems, and one more. Sir, there’s a system in the database named Core, with an encrypted jump code.”
The sound of a microphone clattering echoed through the ship, and even Tony gasped at the news before the Captain’s recording continued. “Powell, how long can you hold out? Do you have the decryption key?”
Beto held up a damaged object. “We think this was the key, but we have no way to rebuild it, maybe you do, sir.”
“We will put every engineer and computer aboard to the task. Do you still have the courier itself?”
“Yes sir, we recovered it after we’d knocked out the drive. Sir, we can only hold out a week at best. We’re still venting across eight decks from leaks we can’t lock down. Life-support won’t be able to keep up with the losses much longer. There’s enough oxygen in the nebula gasses to keep up with it, but we have no idea for how long. We had to cannibalize the last of the defensive systems just to cobble this transmitter together.”
“What about your dark matter drive?”
“We lost it in the escape, Sir, a complete collapse when we ran from a Cont strike force in Eltair, sorry Ketig,” he replied visibly shaking.
The image of Beto cut out and the Captain reappeared, his normally dour eyes filled with life. “Here’s what you need to know. We are delaying the attack on Gentorinal to rescue the Powell. If the Navigational Core they have proves to be genuine, we may be able to sidestep Gentorinal altogether and attack the Confed core worlds directly. And, if we should be able to decrypt the jump code to Core, the secret location of the Confed Capital System, we will win this war in a single strike.”
Security Office, GFS Powell, Vorg Nebula
Even after nine tridecs, the smell of burnt thermoplastics still filled the security office Trevis waited within. He replayed his mission here in his head, watched the grenades fly, the consoles explode, the plaser and mass-driver rounds criss-cross each other. The round handle of the Quick Acting Air Tight Door the engineering teams had used to replace the one Trevis and his team had destroyed spun open. He turned to look at the blackened frame that surrounded it before it swung open. Two Confed Marines in GF shipboard jumpsuits stepped through. LT Commander Beto’s unconscious form hung between them as a Telepath followed in their wake.
Trevis exchanged nods with the marines and headed onto the bridge behind them. He did his best to avoid the telepath. The man showed not even a hint of acknowledging Trevis’ presence. Despite that, the big Tomeris swore that the man had stared at and analyzed him in detail as they passed.
If anything, the bridge was in worse shape than he’d left it when they’d captured the ship. Jury-rigged panels sat wired into dead consoles as Confed technicians, again wearing GF uniforms, had worked to keep the dying ship from breaking apart around them. Trevis glanced around the darkened artificial cave and found Major Erikson waiting for him. A GF defector, he’d proven himself to be one of the Confederation’s best assets when it came to utilizing captured Geffer tech. It didn’t surprise the big Tomeris in the least that every marine on the bridge had begun to pull down the tops of their jumpsuits to reveal their PT uniforms beneath. It was a miniature rebirth for them, casting aside their false skins.
He marched towards Major Erikson and snapped off a quick Confed salute. The Major raised his flattened hand to respond. His hand was eye-level before he stopped and pulled his fist across his chest instead. “Report, Officer Trevis.”
“We just be finishing the final checks on the packages the Captain be leaving for us,” Trevis replied crisply. “My people be standing by and ready for the go,” he continued, glancing at a blackened light panel as it blinked for a moment, then the bridge lights came back up.
“The team in engineering must have concluded their communication. Damn tach-comm, even in low-powered, real-time mode, still sucks a ton of juice.”
“Engineering, Sir?”
“Yeah, we have more psionics down there keeping the survivors on script.” The major shivered for a moment. “Still not used to them - not
many Terran mind readers.”
“They be taking getting used to,” Trevis replied and threw a thumb behind him. “But mindwalkers, they be a different sort. You can’t be keeping anything from them.”
“Don’t play poker with them.”
Trevis gave the Major a quizzical look.
“Never mind. Human game. But now the real game begins, doesn’t it marines?”
“Hoorah!” the marines cheered, adopting their Terran leader’s cheer.
It gave Trevis a bit of hope that the Marines had accepted their commanding officer so well. The knowledge that they’d kill him the instant he turned against the Confederation had also filled him with an equal hope.
“Head back to your station and await the order to attack Officer Trevis. Maybe we’ll get lucky and my marines and I will get to take the big bitch Satan out ourselves. How does that sound marine?!”
“Sounds like a plan, Sir!” the assembled marines replied in unison.
“A damn fine plan it be,” Trevis added.
UCSB Date: 1006.022
VFA-259-003, Launch Rack 2, GFS Barker, Hyperspace
Tony’s pulse thundered through his ears. The anticipation of what lay beyond energized him with hope and dread. Hope that they might have finally recovered the long-lost GFS Powell, along with the secrets it held. Dread because of how he waited. His fighter hung in its launch rack at the Ready Zero position, a clear view out of the hangar bay and what was awaied him, the abyssal nothingness of hyperspace.
He wished he could do more than just shut his eyes against the mind-bending, physics-defying insanity outside. Such wasn’t the case, and his eyes seemed to will themselves open, to urge him to look at the impossibly concave jump point into the Vorg Nebula beyond. It was sickening to look at, a pale green, filled with strange sparkles. He guessed they might be birthing stars in the distance. It hung ahead of the Barker, contrasting against its red, black and grey hull. From his perspective it seemed to hang over the deck, yet below and through it.
Hell's Razer Page 47
