Dark Space: Origin Page 13

  “Not just because of that. I chose you because you’re the better man.”

  “Sometimes I wonder if you really do believe that.”

  Destra sighed. “I do, Hoff, but I don’t like that you keep secrets from me.”

  “Some things aren’t safe for you to know. Not yet. One day I’ll tell you everything. If you’re patient. Try to forget about it for now.”

  Destra smiled sarcastically. “I wish I could. Maybe you can help me with that—you’re good at forgetting things.”

  Hoff gritted his teeth. “You know why I can’t remember Ritan.”

  Atta’s little brow furrowed as she glanced from her father to her mother and back again. She hugged Mr. Tibbins, and the louder her parents’ voices got, the harder she hugged the stuffed diger.

  “Yes, and I’ve kept that secret, haven’t I? So why can’t you trust me to keep secret whatever else it is that you’re hiding?”

  “I’m not going to argue with you about this again, Des! If you’re so unhappy with me, go back to your skriffy outlaw.”

  With that, Hoff turned and stalked toward the bridge. Destra stood staring after him with a knot in her throat. She felt a tug on her arm and looked down to see Atta gazing up at her.

  “Is Daddy angry because of me?” she asked.

  Destra felt a pang of regret. She’d forgotten Atta was there. “No, sweetheart. He’s angry with the bad people who we’re going to fight,” she lied.

  “Are they skull faces?” Atta buried her face up to her eyes in Mr. Tibbins’ white fur.

  “No, darling, they’re not. Not this time,” Destra said and gave her daughter a reassuring smile. They’re humans, she thought. Humans fighting humans . . . even the Sythians know better than to fight themselves. At this rate, there won’t be any of us left for them to kill.

  * * *

  Hoff scowled as he undocked his corvette and ignited the thrusters, jetting away from the station. He looked down at the star map, searching for the next largest gravidar icon besides the Valiant. Both icons were dark on the grid—the super carrier because it was drifting without power, but Hoff’s flagship, the Tauron, was dark because it was running on low power to keep it from being detected by passing Sythians. The Tauron was an old reaper-class battleship; just over a kilometer long, and bristling with over 460 lasers and capital ship-cracking beam cannons. It was just a fifth the length of the carrier, but it easily had the same firepower as the Valiant. Despite that, her shields were much weaker and she held just one squadron of novas versus the Valiant’s twenty four. Battleships like his focused on leaving more room for guns and assault mechs rather than hangar space for novas. They were geared for planetary assaults and boarding enemy ships after filling them full of holes. The Tauron might have held only one squadron of novas, but it had a squad bay which rivaled that of any carrier. The reaper-class, of which his flagship was the only surviving example, carried 48 assault transports with room for 48 squads of eight medium to light assault mechs, as well as 48 squads of ground troops. And back when there’d been a purpose for large ground forces, she'd carried three drop ships with room for 24 heavy assault mechs and another 216 squads of ground troops. In all, the ship held over 400 mechs and over 2,500 sentinels, but she was badly-equipped for fleet battles, with just one squadron of 12 fighter pilots and novas.

  Battleships like the Tauron required a whole supporting fleet to defend them from enemy fighters—a fleet which Hoff no longer had thanks to his failed mission to the Getties Cluster. The last remainder of his fleet lay guarding the enclave, and they were too far away to be of any help now. As long as the Valiant didn’t have a chance to bring her novas or her own considerable armaments to bear before the Tauron landed with her sentinels, the assault would be over quickly.

  Hoff banked the corvette around to port, and his mighty battleship appeared; her glittering lights painted the shape of her hull against the starry blackness of space. Flying in at the battleship from the top down, Hoff saw the Tauron’s two forward prongs, and the muted blue glow from the hangar which lay between them. From this angle, the Tauron looked like a blunted spearhead, with stepped tiers of decks and cannons running all the way up to the bridge at the back. Her armor was aging and visibly patched in places, but every inch of her 52 decks was spotless. She was home to over 6,000 officers, in addition to her army of sentinels—or at least she had been before Hoff had spread his crew across the odd dozen cruisers and destroyers he’d managed to salvage and add to his fleet since the exodus. Still, even undermanned, she was the pride of his fleet. Ships like the Tauron and the Valiant were a singular sight now, but at one point there had been over a hundred large capital-class ships in the Imperial Fleet. Hoff had just two—the Arakant, a small, 800-meter-long carrier, and the Tauron. Dark Space had just one such ship—the Valiant—and she was by far the largest of the three surviving warships. Humanity couldn’t afford to lose it.

  Heston shook his head and growled. He couldn’t believe a crime lord had managed to steal it, but with a naïve young boy like Atton in charge of the Imperium, he wasn’t overly surprised. The whole situation was a disgrace, but it begged the question, if Brondi had stolen the Valiant, why had he brought it here, of all places? Hoff suspected it had something to do with Brondi’s virus, and the “vaccine” he’d given them. Now, in hindsight, Heston realized the vaccine was probably contaminated with the actual virus. Thankfully, he’d had the sense to have his people analyze it before using it to inoculate his men. The results of the analysis would likely confirm his suspicions soon.

  Trust but verify, Heston thought. It had been his policy with the Gors from day one, but it hadn’t started there. He’d lived long enough to realize that no one can be trusted, especially the ones you trust the most. Given the right incentive, anyone will throw you to the rictans. His thoughts turned to Destra with that, and his eyes narrowed as he wondered about where her loyalties truly lay. He’d had plenty of bad experiences with trusting women in the past. They’ll say they love you to your face, but as soon as you turn your back, they’ll stab you straight through the heart. As much as he loved Destra, he couldn’t allow himself to trust her too much. She knew almost everything about him, except for one critical detail, and she was going to have to wait very patiently before he revealed that to her.

  Trust but verify.

  Heston’s comm beeped with an incoming message. It was Captain Adram aboard Fortress Station. Hoff answered the call.

  “Admiral—Commander Caldin and her crew found out about the situation aboard the Valiant from the Gor we captured. They’re asking to be let out so they can help take back their ship.”

  Heston frowned. “How did they make contact with the Gor?”

  “We had them all locked up together on the same detention level, sir.”

  Hoff sighed. “I suppose there’s no point holding them any longer, anyway.”

  “I take it you’re going to take the Gor’s word for it, then?”

  “He has no reason to lie, but I’ve independently verified the events from other sources as well. Have Caldin and her crew sent to the Tauron. I’m short of men, so we’ll find a use for them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Leave the Gors where they are for now—in fact, isolate them.”

  “With their telepathy, sir, there’s no point isolating them.”

  “You probably thought there was no point isolating them from the humans either. If they don’t get to see each other, at least we have an extra concession to grant when we start interrogating them.”

  “Then you’re not going to get the Gors to help you with the assault?” Captain Adram sounded surprised.

  “I haven’t accepted their help so far; why should I start now?”

  “I don’t know. . . . I just thought that since they’ve been helping us so much lately—”

  “That’s what they want you to think, Captain. We didn’t survive the war by being complete skriffs.”

  “I take it that Kaon
revealed something suspicious?”

  “So far the probe has confirmed everything we’ve been led to believe, but that doesn’t mean it’s true.”

  “A probe doesn’t lie, sir.”

  “Are you planning to stage a little Gor rebellion of your own, Captain?”

  “No, sir! But with due respect, I don’t think we’re in a position to refuse their help. Letting them help us take back the Valiant would be a good opportunity for them to prove themselves.”

  “Captain, they’re just begging for opportunities to prove themselves, and that is suspicious enough by itself. Ever wonder why they need our help if they’re already crewing more than a thousand Sythian warships? They should just run away at top speed and never look back. They’d end up with a fleet a hundred times the strength of ours. Why do they need us, Captain?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “We’ll talk more about this later, Adram. Right now, I have an operation to plan.”

  “Yes, sir. Just promise me that you won’t let your personal bias guide your decision.”

  “My bias isn’t personal—it’s logical—and don’t worry, now that the overlord is out of the picture, we’re going to get to the bottom of things very quickly.”

  “I hope so. Immortals be with you, sir.”

  Heston smirked. “They always are.” With that, he killed the transmission and shook his head. The last thing he needed now was push back from his subordinates. He’d have to consider demoting Captain Adram. That little discourse was unacceptable. Not to mention his questionable decision to rescue the Defiant before returning to Ritan with Kaon. Adram was starting to look like too much of a loose cannon to leave in command of a cloaking warship like the Interloper.

  Heston engaged the autopilot and then turned to his comm display to log into the commnet. There he found the transcript from Roan’s debriefing. He hadn’t had a chance to look at it yet, but his decision to board the Valiant in force had been made more from hearing Atton’s and Ethan’s stories and putting those together with what Commander Caldin and her crew had said about the same events. There were too many suspicious things lining up, and one way or another, boarding the Valiant would give him the answers he needed. If it turned out that the real overlord was still in command of the carrier and everything else had been a ruse, he would execute the Defiant’s crew—starting with Ethan.

  Hoff skimmed through the transcript to find that Roan’s story agreed with everything he had already heard, but he was more interested in finding out exactly how Roan had managed to sabotage the Valiant. When he finished scanning the transcript, he understood why the Valiant was drifting toward Ritan. Roan had shut down the main reactor and then cut the power conduits. He’d also destroyed the IMS with remote-detonated mines. Then, when teams had come to investigate the damage to the main reactor, Roan had restarted it, and locked them inside to bake with the radiation. By now, any unarmored men aboard the Valiant were in serious danger from the radiation pouring out of the unshielded reactor. Even the Gor had abandoned ship to get away from it.

  Hoff frowned. Why was he finding out about this from a Gor? What had happened to the team he’d sent to investigate the Valiant’s sudden loss of power? He touched his ear with the comm piece and said, “Call Captain Cathrall.”

  The comm trilled briefly in Hoff’s ear before the captain answered, “Admiral, I—”

  “What happened to the team of mechs and engineers you sent to the Valiant, Captain?”

  “I was just about to contact you, sir. They dropped off comms a few moments ago.”

  “Last contact?”

  “Around 1620. Should we send a follow-up team, sir?”

  “I’m about to send a whole army.”

  “An army, sir?”

  “Yes, it would appear the Valiant has had us all fooled. She’s being crewed by outlaws, not fleet officers. I’m on my way to the Tauron now. Don’t do anything yet. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Yes . . . sir.”

  “Heston out.”

  Hoff shook his head and set his jaw. As if it’s not enough that we have to worry about the Sythians, we have to fight our own kind, too. . . .

  A noise sounded out behind him and Hoff turned to see his wife stepping lightly onto the bridge. He gave her a tight smile and then turned back to the viewports. “Atta’s in her room?”

  “Yes. Hoff . . .”

  He felt her hands on his shoulders, kneading the knots out of his muscles. “What?”

  “I’m sorry. Maybe I do still care about Ethan, but it’s not love. Not romantic love, anyway. I care about him as I would about any other human being. He doesn’t deserve to die, Hoff, and you know that.”

  “Maybe not, but he’ll get at least ten years hard labor, even if his story is true.”

  “Hoff . . . out here you are the law. You can pardon him.”

  “No, Destra, I can’t. It will undermine my command.”

  Destra sighed and stopped massaging his shoulders. He watched her walk up to the viewports. “What will you do with Atton?”

  “He’ll have to wait until he can be acquitted.”

  “There’s no other way? He’s a holoskinner. What if he just took off his skin. No one would recognize him, not outside of Dark Space anyway.”

  Hoff thought about it. “The Defiant’s crew might.”

  “Do they have to be on your ship?”

  Hoff frowned. “I just sent them there, but for now I can confine Atton to quarters, I suppose.”

  “Could he stay with us? I’d like to be able to spend some quality time with him without prison bars between us.”

  Hoff sighed, and Destra walked back over to him and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  “Mmmm,” Hoff replied as his mind turned back to planning the coming engagement. “Very well.”

  Chapter 13

  The shuttle carrying Alara and the rest of the crew from the Defiant landed in the auxiliary hangar of the Tauron. The boarding ramp dropped and the sergeant who’d ridden with them from Fortress Station rushed them out onto the deck and lined them up for processing. They all stood at attention and waited. A moment later a tall man with a spotless black uniform and white veteran’s stripes strode up to them. His glowing red eye caught Alara’s attention and she drew an immediate comparison between that eye and the glowing red eyes in the Gors’ helmets. This man was completely human, however. He looked to be around forty years old, with black hair receding at his temples and just a glimmer of white showing through the black. Alara reasoned that made him old enough to have earned his stripes before the exodus.

  The officer stopped in front of them and frowned as he looked them over, his blazing red eye roving down the line of survivors. Row upon row of colorful ribbons marked him as a distinguished officer. Alara noted the two gold chevrons and silver icon of a venture-class cruiser glittering on his black with white trim epaulets, and she realized that his insignia bore one more chevron than that of Deck Commander Caldin, meaning he must have outranked her by at least a full pay grade.

  “I am Master Commander Donali,” the man said, confirming Alara’s suspicions about his rank. “I serve as the Tauron’s XO, and that means I call the shots around here. While you’re on this ship, you’d do well to remember that.” Donali turned to glance at the sergeant who’d marched them off the shuttle. He stood suddenly straighter under the XO’s scrutiny. “Deck Sergeant . . .” Donali began.

  “Sir!” the sergeant replied, saluting smartly.

  “These are my auxiliaries?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Alara saw Donali shake his head before turning back to them. “If this is what the fleet is coming to in Dark Space, it’s no wonder you lost the Valiant.”

  Alara saw Commander Caldin’s jaw clench, but to her credit she said nothing.

  Donali went on. “I’ve never seen a sorrier looking pack of space rats! Look at you! Half of you haven’t even shaved, and those uniforms may as well be burned.”

>   One of the corpsmen in the lineup couldn’t take it any longer and he stepped forward. Commander Donali’s eyes found the man. “You have something to say, Corpsman?”

  “Yes, sir!” He saluted.

  “Spit it out.”

  “We’ve been forced to live in very poor conditions since being rescued, sir, and that is the reason for our sorry appearance, sir.”

  “Did I ask you for the reason why you’re looking sorry? Don’t answer that. No, I didn’t ask, because I don’t care. I’d demote you for speaking out of turn, but instead I’m going to be merciful and make you the new latrine queen on this ship. Cleaning up our krak all day should give you newfound respect for your superiors. Step back in line!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Donali turned to address them as a group. “I don’t know what kind of slack you have been used to, but you’re not in Dark Space anymore. This is the FFR, and as long as we’re out in the open here in Sythian Space, there is no such thing as condition blue or even green, so you can forget about R&R. We’re on a constant yellow alert. If you need a break, we’ll rotate you out and you’ll get some time on Ritan to visit the skull faces. Any questions?”

  No one dared to step forward this time.

  “Good! You’re learning.”

  Alara watched the process continue. One by one the commander pointed to them. They had to step forward and state their name, rank or rate, and their rating—the role they’d been trained to fill. Based on that, they were told how they would serve aboard the battleship.

  When it was Alara’s turn, she had to explain that she’d been more or less drafted to be a nova pilot, and had never received any formal training.

  The XO gave her an arch look. “So you’re some new class of Brevet Officer. . . . a lieutenant no less. I’ve never even heard of a civilian pilot being promoted straight up the ladder like that, but I suppose desperate times call for desperate measures. How many missions have you flown since being drafted?”

  “Just three.”

  “Combat?”