Assemblage System, Commandeered Bonthan Courier Vessel and Assemblage Station
“I need a boost,” Teelm said, peering up at the computer console inside the Bonthan courier ship. With a grunt, Lt. Reald made a foothold for him with her tentacles and heaved up. Teelm scrambled onto the console, then reached down to Nach to pull him up with him. “Once Delv makes the connection, I need 5 minutes to integrate my computer.”
Teelm brought the Bonthan security feeds back up as their hardware specialist, Nach worked to pry apart the bridge computer console that they both stood on. “Two of Moktep’s guards are outside the docking collar, looks like they are watching the approach to the ship.” Teelm paused as he switched to another security camera angle. “They’re in armor and…”
“Specialist?” Reald inquired.
“Sorry Lieutenant, you’re going to want to see this,” Teelm piped the video stream from the security monitors into Reald’s helmet’s HUD, showing two Bonthan guards encased in heavy armor, with a 9-meter long tripod mounted particle cannon between them.
“Now that is going to make a mess out of the rescue team when they come around the corner,” Reald said. “Ploel, I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to sit this one out.”
Up until now, Ploel, the sixth member of the Dreeden tactical team, hadn’t participated as Lt. Reald had directed the rest of her team in the capture of the Bonthan courier ship. Now, Ploel gave the Lieutenant a sad smile from behind his helmet and drew a short, stubby blade. “It’s what I’m here for, Lieutenant.”
Teelm shivered a little as he watched Ploel go through a warm-up kata with the small knife in his tentacles, fluid and precise as always. In all the missions that Teelm had been on, Ploel was only needed when things went wrong because when he was involved, things got...messy.
Lt. Reald removed her side-arm from its holster on the thigh of her skin-suit.
Teelm watched the team’s Kethkan finish limbering up. “Rules of engagement?” Ploel asked.
“None specialist. These are Moktep’s personal guards. They won’t be missed.” Lt. Reald replied. “Nach, Faen, Delv and I can provide backup, but we need Teelm on the computer.”
“Easier that way Ma’am,” Ploel said. “I’ll just need covering fire to distract the one of the left while I take the one on the right. Just you, Ma’am, you’re the best shot.”
The tone of Ploel’s voice was cold, professional, but Teelm thought he detected something else there as well, an eagerness. It reminded him of the feeling that Teelm got when he was up against an ultra-secure system. It wasn’t just an obstacle, it was a challenge. Except when Ploel was involved, it wasn’t a computer system that was going to be destroyed, it was lives.
Teelm watched as the Kethkan and the Lieutenant stalked quietly toward the docking collar, where two Bothan guards waited, facing away from the ship toward the corridor beyond.
He held his breath as the two Dreeden crept closer to the guards. If he hadn’t seen Ploel in action before, he would have been nervous for his team members. Instead, he just hoped he didn’t throw up this time after watching the team’s security specialist go to work.
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Nuryaw stumbled as two shots rang out from down the corridor they were about to enter, but Wenthan caught her as she scrambled for footing. The wound she took to her side was worse than she had let the others know, and Nuryaw sucked in a pained breath as she straightened.
Upon hearing the gunfire, Cpt. Gupta signaled a halt. “Was that your people Nesh?”
The Dreeden nodded. “I’m in contact with the team, they say that there were two of Mokteps guards outside of the docking collar in power armor with a heavy weapon, but that they’ve neutralized the threat.”
“Your team took out two Bonthan’s in power armor Nesh?” Baden voiced the incredulity that Nuryaw was feeling. After thinking that the Bonthan were the most dangerous species in the galaxy for her entire life, this last month was turning her world-view upside down.
“There’s a Keth on the team, Baden. Pure-strain,” Nesh replied, between gulps of air. Unlike the rest of the Dreeden in their party, who wore powered light armor, Nesh’s didn’t have any motorized assist, and he took advantage of their groups halt to catch his breath.
Baden seemed satisfied with that answer, and Gupta signaled their group to start running again. Nuryaw was grateful for Wenthan’s support again as they made their way through the embassy corridors. She still didn’t know what a Keth was. Another type of alien?
Corporal Carlson seemed to recognize her confusion as she jogged along-side Nuryaw and Wenthan. “I fought alongside a pure-strain Dreeden Keth once, back during my tour with 8th fleet. We were assaulting a Vorshan raiding base. Now, most Dreeden, they don’t care for violence. Doesn’t mean they’re not capable of it, but they don’t take to it like us humans do. More flight than fight in their genes, I guess. Most of those that fight have to train longer, harder, just to overcome that.”
The human trooper paused in her explanation as they came to a junction, peeking her rifle around a bisecting corridor, then continuing on when no chasing security forces could be seen. “Now the Keth, those Dreeden are different. They’re quiet like. Controlled. They feel fear just like anyone else, but they’re wired different than other Dreeden. More like humans with their fight-or-flight reflexes. And they’re well-trained, too. Disciplined. Kind of like warrior monks from the holovids… well, you probably haven’t seen too many of those.
“Anyway, the Keth make up the majority of the Dreeden you’d see on the front lines. Ship captains, infantry, special forces - chances are they’re Keth. Now, from what I understand, if two Keth hook up and have kids, those kids will be, well, like super Keth. They call them ‘pure-strain Keth, or ’Kethkan.’ When I looked at this one back in that assault on the Vorshan strongpoint, I saw the same thing I saw in our high-speed, low-drag spec ops guys. They’re dangerous. Deadly. Capable of facing things that would make most folks turn tail and run.
“This Kethkan was rolling with one of our SpecFor teams in the assault, real tip of the spear types. They went in ahead to recon a guard post, with an estimated 130 Vorshan, my platoon was to come in later with the rest of my company and make the assault. Ten of them went in that guard post, nine of our SpecFor guys and that one Dreeden. An hour later, our platoon rolls up to help secure the post, and here’s that SpecFor team, sitting pretty, cleaning their guns outside of the post. They had taken it, just the ten of them. But here’s what gets me, Admiral. The nine human SpecFor guys? They were cleaning their guns while waiting for our platoon to show. The pure-strain? She was cleaning Vorshan blood off of her knife.”
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Hyperspace, Aboard ARTS Helena
Quet ran her tentacles along the side of her fighter. The cera-metallic armor was cold to the touch. Far from being smooth, the surface was pitted and scratched, with different textures betraying where pieces of the fighter’s armored plating had been cut out and replaced over its 70 year lifetime.
Like most Bearcat fighters, Quet’s had been produced during the second Vorshan war, when humans and Dreeden had to fight together a second time to protect their colonies from the expansionist Vorshan. Quet thought that her Bearcat wore its scars well, each one telling a story of a battle. She wondered how much of the fighter was original - her crew chief had once confided to her that most Bearcats were now more replacement parts than original construction.
The hangar bay of the Helena smelled like scorched electronics and sweat, with many of the Bearcats pried open and swarming with repair crews. Her ‘Cat was one of the few that returned from the battle with the Rashan relatively intact, with only its shield capacitors needing a change according to her crew chief's diagnostics. Still, Quet liked to walk the fighter herself, checking it for any damage that the maintenance crew might have missed. After getting her home again safely, she felt like she owed it that much.
The hangar itself was a beehive of activity. No launch operations could be conducted in hyperspace, so the hangar deck was dotted from end to end with Bearcats and their larger, strike fighter variant, the Tigercat. Maintenance crews in reflective-orange piped jumpsuits surrounded each craft, attaching sensor leads, removing panels, and in some cases, lugging heavy pieces of armor plating over to patch damaged sections. Further down the bay, Helena’s complement of bombers received the same attention.
Quet was surprised to feel wet paint on her tentacles and smiled grimly as she saw two lines of freshly painted fox-head like icons that joined the four Vorshan icons that had graced her fighter since her tour with 8th fleet.
“You know Bug, I thought your head was big before, but how is it going to fit in your helmet now that you’re a double-ace?” Jester smiled broadly as he approached. “Not many pilots get to say that they made ace and double-ace in the same day.”
“I had to start catching up to you sometime Jester,” Quet smacked him in the leg. “I just wish that we had a few more of our squadron to celebrate with,” glancing at the empty fighter bays that lined the interior of Helena’s cavernous hangar.
The ordinarily chipper Jester sombered for a moment. “That was a furball out there, wasn’t it.” He looked down the bay at the remains of Helena’s bomber wing. “And a bad day to be a bomber pilot. C’mon Bug, let’s hit the debrief and then have a drink. I think we’ve earned it.”
“One second Jester,” Quet said over her shoulder, turning back to her Bearcat and leaning her forehead on its armor plating. Thanks again, old friend, for bringing me home safely.
Jester, for once, didn’t make a joke of Quet’s behavior. The only fighter pilots that didn’t have little superstitious rituals like Bug’s had never been in combat.
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Assemblage System, Commandeered Bonthan Courier Vessel and Assemblage Station
Two of Moktep’s guards lay in their own blood in front of the docking collar, smoking holes piercing their power armor. A Dreeden leaned against one of the bodies, cleaning its knife, while another strode toward them purposefully, snapping a sharp salute to Nesh.
“Lt. Reald, reporting in sir. Vice Admiral Moktep slagged the ship’s computer core pretty badly, but we’ve got Specialist Teelm on it. He’s splicing in his own system as a proxy.”
“Good work Lieutenant,” Nesh replied. “Will we have navigation functions?”
“As long as we don’t try any fancy maneuvering, Teelm says we’ll be fine.”
“Admiral,” Reald turned to Nuryaw. “The ship is yours.”
Nuryaw allowed herself a small smile and nodded her head to the Dreeden Lieutenant. After being imprisoned, put on trial, dragged through a running battle across the Assemblage and shot, Nuryaw finally felt like she had control of her own destiny again. It was a powerful feeling.
“Bridge crew! Take your stations! Make ready to detach docking collar, I want us underway in two minutes. Wenthan, get the passengers secured. Let’s go catch the Flashing Hooves.”
Nuryaw’s bridge crew, despite their ordeal, snapped to attention and saluted their admiral, then hurried on to the courier ship to prep it for launch, but Wenthan hung back for a moment.
“It’s good to have you back, Admiral.”
“It’s good to be back, Wenthan. Now get these passengers on board. One minute fifty seconds!”
As the group strode aboard, Nuryaw almost didn’t hear Baden’s whisper to Nesh. “She reminds me of Elizabeth sometimes.” She pondered for a moment, then decided that she would figure out if that was a compliment or not at a later time.
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Hyperspace, Aboard ARTS Helena
“I’ve brought coffee, Ma’am.”
Jim Wexler carefully balanced a tray with a pot of coffee and two mugs one-handed as he pressed the door chime to the Admiral’s quarters. After a moment, the door slid open, and Jim stepped in. The room was sparsely decorated, with pictures of starships from humanity’s past lining the walls, as well as a large landscape painting from what looked to be from the planet Trappist Major.
Admiral Davies sat at her desk in front of her holo-pad, her uniform jacket draped over the back of her chair. A decanter of whiskey sat open on her desk along with an empty glass. Jim couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under the admiral’s eyes as he poured her a cup of coffee and handed it to her.
Davies smelled her coffee, then gave the mug an appreciative sip.”From Earth?”
“Yes ma’am. Managed to sweet talk the steward into some of the specialty stores. I figured that you would want the real thing. I hope I didn’t overstep, ma’am.”
The Admiral waved her hand dismissively. “You did well, Lieutenant. I needed this.” She motioned to one of the chairs opposite her work desk. “Sit, join me.”
Jim did as he was told, shakily pouring a cup of coffee for himself. He took a sip and blinked. James had never had earth-grown coffee beans before, and it was some of the best coffee he ever had. He brought his cup to his mouth to take another sip but put it down when he realized he probably looked greedy.
“You’re nervous,” Davies grimaced. “That’s my fault, I suppose.” She glanced down at her coffee. “Flag lieutenants are supposed to be the Admiral’s right hand, but I’ve kept you at a distance these past few months. Unprofessional of me.” She frowned.
Jim was going to reply but thought better of it. Whatever the Admiral was going to say, she wasn’t done yet. It was true that Admiral Davies had kept him at a distance, not letting him in her inner circle. As a Flag Lieutenant, his job was to take care of all the minutiae and paperwork of running a fleet, so his Admiral didn’t have to, but it was often a challenge when it seemed admiral never wanted much to do with him.
“You remind me a lot of my last Flag Lieutenant. Another fresh face straight from the academy, she was about your age too. Bright. Enthusiastic.” The admiral ran a hand through her close-cropped silver hair. “Dead.”
“I’m sorry for…”
Admiral Davies dismissed his apology with a waved hand. “No, don’t apologize. Not your fault. Mine.” The Admiral sighed and grimaced at her empty glass of whiskey, but took another sip of steaming coffee. “You’ll have to excuse me, lieutenant, writing condolence letters makes me maudlin.”
Jim wasn’t sure what to say, so he remained quiet and took a sip of coffee instead. Admiral Davies always seemed so in control and dispassionate on the bridge and in briefings, but this was different. He felt like he was intruding something intensely private, but stood his ground. She had asked him here, and it had to be for a reason.
Admiral Davies let out a deep breath and sat up a bit straighter in her chair. “Now, you’re not here to just listen to me complain. It’s time I got over my own reluctance in working with you. I’ve got my hands full trying to work with the League’s fleet, and I have two projects that I need you to work on for me.”
“One.” Davies held up a finger. “I need you to liaise with our intel staff and gather all the technical data we were able to recover regarding the Rashan capital ships, skirmisher craft, and weaponry. That’s not all. I also want you to interview our captains, our pilots, our gunners, even our sensor and E-War techs. Their after-action reports are a start, but we need more. We need a comprehensive picture of what exactly it’s like to fight the Rashan. Strengths, their tendencies, and habits in combat. Everything.”
“Two,” Davies held up a second finger. “An hour after we jumped into the Rashan, our sensor techs picked up a sub-space communication pulse. Heavily encrypted, but it was still out in the open instead of a secure ship-to-ship comm. I’d like you to work with the signals intelligence department to find out why the Rashan would send out a system-wide communication. Your file says that you have some experience in this department?”
“Yes Ma’am,” Jim confirmed. “I ran the signals intelligence shop for the Acadia during my stint with 8th fleet. I’ll do my best.”
“See that you do Lieutenant. I want the first report in two days. Dismissed Lieutenant.”
“Yes Ma’am.” Jim saluted and turned on his heel to leave.
“Wait a moment.” Davie’s voice froze him in his tracks. “Fill up your cup before you go, Wexler. I can’t drink this whole pot myself.”
Jim did as he was ordered. It was really good coffee.
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Assemblage System, Commandeered Bonthan Courier Ship
“No response yet from the Assemblage. We’ll be clear of the station's outer defense perimeter in 15 seconds.” Wenthan reported from the sensor post on the cramped bridge of the courier ship.
The fact that it was built for Bonthan sized crew-members meant that the entire rescue party had no problem fitting aboard. Nuryaw wasn’t sure how the Dreeden tactical team had managed to gain such complete access to Bonthan security systems, but they showed a technical sophistication that she didn’t expect from such a minor species.
There I go again, underestimating the Dreeden and the Humans. For centuries, the species of the League had existed in a stable status-quo. The Bonthans had the most powerful fleet, the Queel were the most technically advanced, the Arkone were the best at engineering, and so on. Nuryaw had a feeling that the Dreeden and Humans cared very little if they upset this pecking order.
“How much time do we have until the Flashing Hooves reaches their jump point?” Nuryaw asked. It felt good to be back in a command couch, despite the pain from the wound in her side. She pushed the pain away as she surveyed the remains of her bridge crew, each of them posted at a duty station on the small bridge. If they can do their duty after the ordeal that bastard put them through, so can I.
Harder for Nuryaw to push away was the pain she felt when she glanced at the empty Bonthan acceleration couches on the bridge, each one a reminder of one of her officers that she had failed. And how many did I fail at Meruk? She asked herself, not for the first time. How many lives did my arrogance cost?
“It looks like five hours before they clear the gravity well, Admiral. If we go full burn, we can catch them in three.”
Nuryaw shook herself from her thoughts and peered down at the Dreeden ambassador, who stood along with two other vacuum suited Dreeden on stacked cargo containers which allowed the diminutive species to reach the ship’s engineering console. “Ambassador Nesh, how are the engine controls coming?”
“Specialist Teelm here has his computer hard-wired into the ship’s systems. Despite Moktep destroying the ship’s memory core, the software for each individual system is intact. We should be able to get full performance from the engines.”
“Admiral, we are clear of the Assemblage defense perimeter,” Wenthan reported.
Nuryaw nodded and clasped her grasping hooves together. “Very good. Helm, set an intercept for the Flashing Hooves. Let’s go get my ship.”
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Teelm let out a long breath that he didn’t realize he had been holding as the ship cleared the defense perimeter. It had been touch-and-go for several hours after they had left the assemblage, and while he had manipulated the ship’s IFF so that the courier ship would show up as an Arkone freighter to a cursory inspection, any closer look would have revealed the stolen ship for what it was.
As he sighed, Teelm felt a tentacled appendage rest on his shoulder. He looked behind him to see his squad-leader there.
“Well done Teelm.” Lieutenant Reald said in a rare bit of praise. “Now go get some rest. We’ve got several hours until we reach the Admiral’s flagship, I’ll need you sharp when it comes time.”
“Yes Ma’am.” Teelm sketched a cursory salute and clambered down from the cargo containers that had allowed him to reach the Bonthan controls. Teelm was used to feeling like everything was a little too big for him in the embassy, which was scaled to allow for humans to live and work there as well as Dreeden, but this ship felt cavernous in comparison.
He made his way to the back of the ship where the rest of his squad had commandeered a sleeping alcove. Nach, Delv, and Faen were spread out on the padded floor, their vacuum suits folded neatly next to them. Faen looked fast asleep, while Nach had managed to somehow find a pack of playing cards and seemed to be trying to teach Delv a game. A few meters away Ploel moved through an elaborate kata, tentacles flowing languidly in deceptively slow arcs before straightening in a blink to form rigid strikes and blocks to counter an imagined opponent.
In the opposite alcove, the Dreeden security team from the embassy were sprawled out similarly. Teelm recognized chief Beur among them and resolved to talk to him after he shed his gear.
Teelm hadn’t realized how stifling his vacuum suit had been until he stepped out of it, feeling the cool circulated air from the ship’s environmental systems through his undersuit. He took extra care removing his tentacle EVA gauntlets, not wanting to damage their delicate waldoes that allowed him to operate a computer terminal while in the suit. Once he was down to his skin suit, he walked over to chief Beur, who was quietly conversing with a human marine with twin rank bars on their shoulder. Teelm strained to hear their conversation as he walked closer.
“...is going to be ugly. Light weapons, light armor, no breaching charges, and only one squad of marines, plus your security team and tactical team. Without a miracle, we won’t make it past the airlock.” The human captain spoke softly to chief Beur, who gave the human a pointed look as Teelm approached. The human got the message and straightened to face Teelm as well.
“Appreciated your assist back on the Assemblage, Specialist,” Beur said, reaching out to grasp tentacles with him. “Captain Gupta, Teelm is the hacker I was telling you about.”
Captain Gupta peered down at him. “Chief here tells me that you pulled our asses out of the fire a few times back there.”
“It wasn’t much, really,”Teelm, struggling to sort through what he had just heard. The human is right, how are we going to storm a dreadnaught?. “With the Assemblage network compromised, it was easy enough to re-route the… oof!” Teelm let out a gasp as Lt. Reald walked up, giving him a solid thwap on the back with her tentacles.
“What the Specialist means to say, gentlemen, is ‘thank you.’” Reald grinned at the security chief and then up at the marine captain. “Now I know you two weren’t discussing the tactical considerations of breaching the defenses of a Dreeden dreadnought without including me and my team of specialists, who are all highly trained specifically to get into places that they shouldn’t be, now where you?”
Oh shit. Teelm backed away as his lieutenant stared down Captain Gupta, who towered over her. Reald was short even for a Dreeden, but Teelm had seen her temper before, and he knew that he didn’t want to be anywhere near this confrontation.
“Lieutenant Reald,” Captain Gupta pronounced the rank more slowly than necessary, “As ranking military officer on this mission, I’ll be assuming command of the operation. Your input, however, will be appreciated.”
“My input, Captain,” Reald pointed a tentacle up at Captain Gupta’s face, “is that my team works for the Dreeden Department of State and as such doesn’t fall under your chain of command. Furthermore, as this is a State Department operation, I believe that you’ll find that....”
Whatever Reald was about to say was stopped by Ambassador Baden, whose long strides took him between Reald and Gupta, who were doing their best to stare each other down. For being half Gupta’s size, Teelm thought that Reald was doing a passable job at it.
“I swear to god,” Baden pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s always a dick measuring contest. Every. Single. Time. I think it’s just a rule of nature. Put two different branches of service members together, and someone has to just whip it out.”
Teelm noticed that despite the captain and lieutenant staring each other down a moment ago, that neither of them could meet Baden’s eyes.
“Now,” Baden continued, “it’s been quite some time since I served. But did it ever occur to you that if we’re going to try and gain access to a Bonthan warship, that maybe, just maybe, we should defer to the Bonthan High Admiral that happens to be on this very ship?”
Lt. Reald and Captain Gupta looked like they were going to argue for a moment, but Baden’s ordinarily genial expression turned to ice in a moment, and suddenly both Reald and Gupta seemed to deflate before the ambassador. “Yes sir. We’ll request Admiral Nuryaw to join us.”
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Wenthan watched as the little Dreeden hacker’s tentacles danced across the computer console, following Teelm’s progress as he infiltrated the Flashing Hooves' holo-tablet network.
Wenthan had to admit that the little Dreeden was impressive, bypassing security protocols and network defense algorithms with practiced ease.
Teelm’s tentacles ceased their movement, and he looked up at Wenthan. “You’re in. You’re sure this contact of yours can get us close enough?”
“She should be able to. She’s a bright comm tech, and loyal to the admiral.” Wenthan nodded down at the little alien and moved to remotely access the Flashing Hooves communications network. The next steps were tricky, but Wenthan knew the comm systems on Bonthan dreadnaughts like the back of his hoof.
The courier ship couldn’t make outside contact with the Flashing Hooves without throwing up red flags all across the flagship, and even with Teelm’s considerable skill, trying to bypass the military grade security onboard the flagship to take direct control of any critical systems was impossible, especially since most vital networks were air-gapped.
Instead, they went a different route. While the Flashing Hooves central systems were protected by layers of firewalls and high-grade security algorithms, there was another way to get a message aboard the ship: personal holo-tablets.
Wenthan activated the holo call button on his console. Please pick up, he thought desperately. It had been his idea to go this route when Nuryaw had gathered the odd team of rescuers and rescuees together to brainstorm their plan to take back the Flashing Hooves.
After several tense moments, Wenthan sighed with relief as the call was connected and the surprised face of a young Bonthan appeared on the screen.
“Bridge officer Wenthan?” The Bonthan on the screen peered closer, rubbing at an eye with a fore-hoof. “You were arrested! How did you contact me? Wait, where are you?”
Wenthan tried to keep his voice low and soothing as possible when he replied. “Hello, Ensign Yathed. Please listen carefully.”
“Are you on a ship? How did you escape? They said that you and the bridge crew were traitors.” Yathed’s voice was uncertain, “Is it true?”
Wenthan didn’t notice Nuryaw moving behind him into the holo-call camera’s field of view, but he saw Yathed’s eyes widen in awe. “Admiral Nuryaw?”
“Ensign Yathed! Are you in the habit of questioning your superior officers?” Nuryaw had drawn herself to her full height, managing to somehow look imposing despite the bandages that wrapped her side.
“No Ma’am,” the Ensign stammered. “I just…”
“Silence!” Nuryaw thundered. “Do you want to get busted down to midshipman? In fact, I don’t know if I’ll stop there, I just might drum you out of the service. I know you have questions, but right now there is only one question you should have, and it’s a question for you.” Nuryaw leaned over the console, and Wenthan knew that on the other end of the holo-call, Nuryaw’s holographic head would be looming menacingly out of Yathed’s holo tablet at her.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
“The question is,” Nuryaw continued, “is whether you truly believe that the charges against myself and the bridge crew are true.”
Yathed hesitated, then shook her head. “No Admiral. I don’t. Most of the crew doesn’t believe the charges either.”
“Good.” Nuryaw’s straightened back up, clasping her fore-hooves behind her back. I appreciate your loyalty. There will be time enough for questions later. For now, Wenthan will tell you what we need you to do.”
After the holo-call had completed a few minutes later, Wenthan sat back hard in his acceleration couch and turned to Nuryaw. “That was amazing, the way that you took charge. Thank you.”
Nuryaw smiled at him. “First secret of command, Wenthan. Rank structure doesn’t matter as much as you think it does.” Nuryaw gestured down to the blank space on her carapace. “Never underestimate the power of making an ensign cry.”
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Teelm’s tentacles shook as he weaved them into the complex gloves of his pressure suit. Beside him, the rest of the tactical team geared up, while across the ship, the marine detachment and Dreeden security force latched their power armor into place and checked their weapons.
He nearly jumped when Lt. Reald appeared at his side. “Nervous Teelm? Let me help you with those.” She held the gauntlets steady for him to slip his tentacles into and checked the pressure seals. “Just remember your training, and you’ll be fine.” She patted him on his back as she walked away.
Teelm took a deep breath and steadied himself before stepping toward the airlock. He latched onto the one thought that kept him away from the fear that loomed over him. He had always wanted to try to hack a dreadnaught.
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Nesh paced nervously as the Bonthan courier ship approached the Flashing Hooves.
There had been no indication that the Flashing Hooves noticed the courier ship, and if the members of the flag ship's crew who were loyal to Nuryaw had done their part, the Flashing Hooves would be blind to their approach for a precious few more seconds.
“You’re making me nervous, Nesh,” Baden complained.
“My pacing is making you nervous? Really Baden?” Nesh replied. “Not the fact that we’re on an intercept course with a Bonthan dreadnaught, or that our plan is then to try and take it by force with small arms?”
Baden shrugged. “It wasn’t my plan this time.”
“I know. I’m beginning to hate Nuryaw’s plans as much as your own.”
The courier ship raced toward the Flashing Hooves, and the mushroom-cap shaped dreadnought grew more massive in the courier ship’s magnified viewscreen. If Wenthan’s contact had done their job, the courier ship wouldn’t show up on the Flashing Hooves’ tactical plot. Instead, it would be tagged as a tiny piece of space debris, nothing that the Flashing Hooves navigational shields couldn’t handle, and dreadnaughts don’t yield to rubble.
The second job that Wenthan’s contact had was to recruit other crew loyal to Nuryaw in the engineering department. If she had been successful, the Flashing Hooves’ shields would flicker for a split second as the courier ship reached it. If not, the courier ship would instantly disintegrate as it impacts the dreadnaught’s shield.
Nesh closed his eyes, listening to the Bonthan bridge crew countdown the seconds.
“Three seconds to interpolation with the shield. Two. One. Zero.”
Nesh counted the fact that he could still feel his hearts thundering in his chest as a good sign and opened his eyes.
“Helm, set us down in the main docking bay,” Admiral Nuryaw commanded. “All passengers, brace for crash landing.”
Nesh’s tentacles gripped a nearby console tightly. Baden was smiling, which managed to annoy Nesh despite his fear. “I can’t believe you’re enjoying this.”
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Topir System, Aboard ARTS Helena
Quet winced as the med-tech's tentacles pressed the cold metal of the hypo-spray applicator into her neck, administering a dose of the neuroplasticity booster that every pilot received before a mission. It’s not that it hurts - not really. It’s that I know that this shot is full of nanites ready to mess around in my brain.
Across the hangar bay, Jester made a sympathetic face at her as he received his own injection.
“You’re good to go, ma’am,” the Dreeden med tech said, “go give ‘em hell.”
“I’ll do my best midshipman… Mevy.” Quet had to look down at the med tech’s name patch. “I thought I knew all the Dreeden on the Helena. When did you come aboard?”
“Just little less than a month ago, ma’am. Transferred straight from tech school.” Mevy dabbed the injection site with a disinfectant.
“No tour with 8th fleet? I thought you looked young.”
Mevy shrugged apologetically. “No ma’am, brass decided that Helena needed another qualified neural nanitic specialist, and here I am. Fly safe out there ma’am.”
The med tech turned to the next pilot, and Quet headed for her Bearcat, climbing up and in, closing the hatch behind her.
Bearcats, like most combat spacecraft, had no windows or canopy. Instead, the pilot sat in an enclosed, armored cockpit called the “pilot vault” on official documents, and called “the coffin” by pilots. Designed to survive the destruction of the fighter, the vaults contained the craft’s life support system, backup power, and a rescue beacon.
For a moment, Quet was surrounded by darkness. It was silent save for the sound of her breath and the soft hum of the life support system. Inhaling deeply, she leaned back in her seat and allowed the small port on the back of her neck to rest against the magnetic plug built into the cockpit chair. The plug snapped into place, and Quet gasped as the computer implanted in her brain connected with her fighter. Making the connection always felt a little bit like someone had tossed a cold glass of water on her head. But from the inside.
Begin startup sequence Quet thought to the fighter, and the Bearcat came alive around her. Inside her helmet, screens blinked on, linking to external cameras. The soft hum of the life-support systems was now joined by a deep thrum as the fighter’s engines warmed up, and Quet felt her stomach flip as the inertial compensators kicked on. The ship’s computer began going through pre-flight checks, then Quet went through them again manually. Outside her fighter, the crew chief made a last walk around, gave a thumbs up to her forward camera, and signaled the Flight Deck Controller.
“Flight deck control, ‘cat 15 is taxi ready.”
“Roger, removing gear locks, beginning taxi.” Quet watched as her craft was towed to its launch position near the front of Helena’s bay. During combat, Helena’s fighters were catapulted from quick-launch tubes that dotted the length of the ship, but a scheduled combat space patrol such as this one allowed a more leisurely launch.
Quet watched as the front of the hangar bay slowly opened, massive clam-shell doors revealing the black expanse of space in front of her squadron. Hangar launches always made Quet a little uneasy, as it looked like the entire contents of the hangar bay should have been sucked out of the front of the ship in a violent decompression, even though she knew that powerful energy fields kept the hangar pressurized.
In pairs, the rest of her squadron launched, leaving just Bug and Jester’s fighters. Quet’s tentacles tightened on the throttle, waiting for the signal from the launch officer.
“Bearcat one-five, launch status.”
“My board is green, Bearcat one-five is go for launch,” Quet replied.
“Roger that Bearcat 15, launch in 10 seconds, 2% power, good flying.”
The launch control officer snapped a salute, and a handful of seconds later, Quet gave the throttle control a feather-light nudge. Her fighter slipped from Helena’s hangar bay and into space.
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Assemblage System, Aboard the Flashing Hooves
Streams of sparks flew from the Bonthan courier ship as it slid across the decking of the Flashing Hooves’ cavernous boat bay. Docking bay crew scrambled to get clear of the hurtling vessel, and small shuttle craft were thrown tumbling across the deck as the courier ship crunched into them. Thick smoke streamed from the surface of the ship, obscuring the destruction behind thick roiling clouds.
Finally, the courier ship slid to a halt amid fleeing crew and scattered debris, leaving smoking ruts of torn deck plates in its wake. It was silent for a moment, then the hangar exploded into action. Bonthans with security insignia stapled to their carapace rushed into the bay, leveling flechette pistols at the courier ship’s primary airlock. Across the bay, more Bonthan’s armed with heavy particle rifles and wearing combat armor streamed from two black security shuttles. They took position around the ship, covering every airlock.
It’s a good thing we’re not on the ship anymore. Going EVA while on final approach with a dreadnaught and then leaping onto its deck while your ship slid across its deck wasn’t an experience that Teelm wanted to repeat, but exiting conventionally looked like an excellent way to get shot. Not that getting shot is off the table. They had expected Bonthan security forces, but the armored Bonthan’s were an unknown factor. They moved with the confidence of professionals that seemed to mark special forces no matter what species they belonged to. Probably hired by Moktep to keep the Flashing Hooves under control.
Teelm’s hearts pounded as he crept through the wreckage of the shuttle bay. With the Flashing Hooves security and black-armored Bonthan special forces focusing on the courier ship, the Dreeden tactical team slipped through the boat bay undetected. He glanced up at their objective, the boat bay’s control room, and then at the expanse of open deck between the team and the target. The steam from the courier ship’s vented coolant had begun to fade, and it would only take one Bonthan glancing the wrong way to expose them. Not good.
Another group of Bontan security forces marched into the bay. Two of the Bonthan’s lugged a large cutting laser between them. They’re going to try and cut their way in. Teelm shifted impatiently as the Bonthan security team set up the laser at the primary airlock. He held his breath as the laser flickered on, invisible but for the remains of the smoke that had filled the bay a few moments ago. Molten metal ran in streams from the courier ship’s airlock as the laser began to cut its way into the ship. Teelm clenched his tentacles tight and tried to control his breathing.
He slowly reached for the sidearm holstered at the small of his back. The rest of the tactical team already had theirs out; Faen, Nach, and Delv held small gauss pistols like his own. The lieutenant carried her human-style ballistic sidearm while Ploel unfolded the collapsible stock of his submachine gun. Teelm was gratified to see that he wasn’t the only one who was nervous, worry creasing the faces of the rest of the team other than Reald and Ploel. Like him, this would be the first time Nach, Faena, and Delv fired their weapons outside of the range.
Teelm tensed as the laser cutter finished his work, fighting his panic down. The Bonthan’s crowded behind the cutter, fingers slipping to the triggers of their weapons. Your team needs you Teelm, don’t fuck this up. Just as the cutter cut the last piece of hatch away, Lt. Reald gave them the signal, and the Dreeden tactical team popped out of cover and opened fire.
He had never considered himself a good shot, but Bonthan’s were utterly unaware, backs turned to the tactical team as they faced the courier ship. They were also really, really big. Teelm heard the rest of his team open up on the Bonthans, picked his target, and squeezed a tentacle around his weapon’s firing stud. His target staggered as a section of its dorsal carapace was blown away, dropping to all six legs. Teelm’s stomach rebelled, and he thought he might vomit in his vac suit, but he pressed his lip nubs together, leveled his gauss pistol again and continued shooting.
The Bonthan’s were caught completely unaware by the tactical team's fire. Screams and angry shouts filled the bay, punctuated by the staccato rhythm of Ploel’s submachine gun, the pops from four Gauss pistols and the rumbling boom from Lt. Reald’s handgun. The Bonthan security forces fared the worst, most of whom weren’t wearing combat armor. The black-armored Bonthans fared better, but even so, two went down from well-aimed shots from Ploel’s submachine gun and the lieutenant’s over-sized pistol.
Still, the Bonthan’s were professionals, and in a moment they were darting for cover and returning fire, spraying the team’s position with flechette fire and scorching particle beams.
“Down!”
Teelm was all too eager to follow the lieutenant’s order, flattening himself behind the shuttle wreckage. The shuttle rattled and shook as flechette rounds impacted on its hull again and again. He flinched as a particle beam shot pierced through the shuttle, scoring the deck on the opposite side, missing Faen by centimeters. Keep it together Teelm, it’s all part of the plan. More security forces poured into the hangar, and a group of Bonthan’s moved to flank the Dreeden tactical team’s cover.
Next to him, Lt. Reald spoke calmly on the comm channel. “Captain Gupta, I think we have their attention.”
From behind the Bonthans, marines leaped from the courier ship’s airlock, which had been left uncovered when the tactical team opened fire.
Teelm had watched the marine’s progress through his security feeds as they had fought their way through the Assemblage, but he didn’t have an appreciation for how much they had been pulling their punches until now. Instead of short, careful bursts aimed to incapacitate and not kill, the marines opened up with full automatic fire, their rifles spraying thousands of rounds a minute. Instead of concussion grenades, high-explosive ordnance shot from under-barrel launchers, blowing literal holes into the Bonthan formation. Lt. Carlsen knelt behind the charging marines, her long rail rifle sending impossibly loud booms through the hangar every two seconds with metronomic precision. Whenever it sounded, an armored Bonthan would fall, cored through by hypersonic railgun slugs.
Behind the Marines, the Dreeden embassy’s security detail followed, led by chief Beur. Their machine pistols joined the cacophony of weapons fire as they sprinted toward the enemy lines.
Bonthans galloped for cover, sending return fire back at the human marines. More Bonthans spilled from the main access corridor to the hangar, recoiling at first at the sight that greeted them. The hangar bay was a charnel house of blood and fire, flashing alarm lights casting a macabre red glow over a scene of destruction, accented by strobe-light like flashes of grenade detonations.
These security forces were better armed and armored. Teelm thought they must have stopped at the Flashing Hooves’ armory first. Along with the remains of the Bonthan special forces, the reinforcements took cover among the wreckage, and human marines were forced to take shelter among the burning ships that littered the deck.
“Your turn, Teelm,” Lt. Reald nodded to him. “We’re counting on you specialist.”
No pressure, Teelm thought. He exhaled slowly and nodded back to the lieutenant.
“In three, two,” Lt. Reald counted down, “One, go go go!” She popped up from behind the shuttle wreck and fired toward the Bonthan defenders, and specialists Faen, Nach, and Delv followed suit.
Teelm sprang from cover and sprinted toward the control room at the far side of the boat bay. Poel ran beside him, somehow just as fast as Teelm despite firing short bursts from his submachine gun as they ran.
Running in a vac-suit wasn’t easy, no matter how flexible it was. Teelm’s lungs burned, and his legs ached. He felt lilliputian in the enormous hangar, and the control room seemed an unreasonably long way away.
Flechette rounds impacted beside him, and he bit back a scream as shrapnel punctured his suit and dug painfully in his side. He tried to ignore the pain and ran faster. More rounds impacted around them. He caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye of Ploel spinning 180 degrees before dropping to one knee and firing three short bursts. In a moment Ploel had caught back up.
Then, finally, they were at the entrance to the control room. Teelm collapsed against the doorway, his chest heaving and his head light. He reached down to his side and brought his tentacles to his face. They were slick with blood. Ploel knelt to inspect his wound, and Teelm found himself annoyed that the Kethkan didn’t even look out of breath.
“Superficial,” Ploel said.
It certainly didn’t feel superficial, but Teelm had never been shot before, so he kept quiet as Ploel slung his submachine gun and knit his suited tentacle gauntlets into a loose step. Teelm took the proffered step, letting Ploel boost him up to where he could reach the door control. He attached a wire lead to the control switch and folded his computer terminal out from its chest mount.
Opening the door was child's play for Teelm, requiring only a few keystrokes as his supercomputer brute-forced the door code. With a hiss, the security room door slid open. Teelm dropped down to the floor and peered inside the room.
The room was full of Bonthan security. One raised are fore-hoof to point at the open door and cried out, their hackle-spines fully extended.
“Oh hell,” Teelm said to no one in particular.
“Stay behind me,” Ploel said, then ran toward the eight Bonthans. Teelm was only too happy to oblige. He half-covered his eyes with his tentacles as Ploel leaped from the floor and drew two molecular-bladed knives mid-jump.
The first Bonthan looked down in shock at the two bleeding holes in her carapace and tried to swat at Ploel, but the Kethkan was already gone, using her as a springboard to leap to the next closest Bonthan, slicing a diagonal line across its face.
The Bonthan were shouting in panic now, and Teelm winced as one fired their flechette pistol, missing Ploel but hitting another member of their security team. Ploel was on the ground now, racing between the Bonthan’s legs to cut at leg joints and softer stomach chitin. Teelm drew his gauss pistol with shaking tentacles, but didn’t fire, afraid of hitting Ploel as he wove between the Bonthans.
The flexibility and reach of tentacles made bladed weapons especially deadly in the hands of a well-trained Kethkan, and there was almost a savage beauty to Ploel’s movements. If there wasn’t so much blood, that is. Despite Ploel’s dance of death among the Bonthan, there were still four still standing. Teelm’s stomach clenched as Ploel wove between a forest of kicking hooves for a moment, only to emerge in front of Bonthan flechette pistol.
Teelm fired, his shot blowing the Bonthan’s flechette pistol out of their forehooves.
It was over a moment later. The last Bonthan dropped to the floor of the control room, and Ploel emerged, his vac suit smeared in blood. He nodded to Teelm, “Nice shot.”
Teelm considered telling Ploel that he had been aiming for the Bonthan’s head, but decided that they had more pressing things to worry about.
Using Ploel to give him a boost again, Teelm clambered onto the central control console and plugged his supercomputer into the terminal. Outside the windows of the control room, Teelm saw more and more Bonthan security forces pour into the bay. He needed to hurry, he knew that the marines and Dreeden embassy security forces didn’t have the numbers or ammunition hold for long.
Teelm wiggled his tentacles and went to work.
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Hacking the network of a military vessel was altogether different than a private network. For starters, there was the need for a physical connection. Unlike civilian networks, where Teelm could access systems with a wireless connection, military ships kept many of their core systems completely air-gapped from any wireless network, which is why Teelm had to sprint across the hangar deck to get to the closest access point rather than just sitting comfortably in the courier ship.
Usually, Teelm would infiltrate a network stealthily, hiding his presence behind carefully crafted self-deleting sub-routines and shell programs, camouflaging his intrusions so that the system and its administrators would never know he was there. After all, Dreeden tactical teams were in the espionage business, and the value of finding a secret is lessened if the one you stole it from knows that you found it.
This time, Teelm didn’t have time for subtlety.
With a keystroke, Teelm unleashed hell on to the Flashing Hooves’ network, releasing a torrent of adaptive attack programs developed by Dreeden intelligence services. They ripped through the Flashing Hooves’ systems, commandeering nodes, rerouting traffic, and deleting security sub-routines wherever they found them.
Behind them, Teelm dumped thousands of individual self-replicating digital agents. Within seconds, they numbered in the billions, rewriting the network in their path. With a beachhead established, it was Teelm’s turn. He dove into the system, tentacles moving in a blur across the holo-screen of his supercomputer. Encryption was torn apart like tissue paper, firewalls bypassed in milliseconds, ports forced open, and core systems compromised.
A sliver of Teelm’s consciousness was aware of Ploel’s submachine gun firing, then knives flashing at the door, but he dismissed it as unimportant. Ploel would do what he was good at while Teelm would do the same.
The Flashing Hooves didn’t make it easy, but eventually, it yielded control, fighting system by system. In the end, though, the dreadnaught was a product of a Council race, and the Council and their opponents didn’t fight with subterfuge or electronic warfare. Meanwhile, the humans had taught the Dreeden how to do so in the first Vorshan war a century ago.
Access. Teelm grinned. Now, to really ruin their day.
Bonthan weaponry, it turned out, was networked. In theory, it allowed Bonthan command to remotely track where hand weapons were and alerted security if they were fired. In practice, for someone like Teelm, it was nothing more than another vulnerability.
Teelm typed in a series of commands. He held his breath for a handful of seconds until suddenly the bark of flechette guns and the high-pitched discharge of particle beams fell silent. Sparks and smoke spewed from the Bonthan weapons in the bay. Most dropped their weapons in alarm. Those that didn’t received a nasty shock as the weapon’s power systems overloaded.
Keying his comm, he sent the pre-arranged signal that the humans had insisted upon. “This is Specialist Teelm. The fox is in the henhouse. Transmitting message now.” He resolved to look up what the hell a “henhouse” was when had had time, and why it would be bad for a “fox” to be in it. Humans and their idioms.
On every screen and PA system on the Flashing Hooves, a pre-recorded message played. Nuryaw stood tall, flanked by her bridge officers. “My beloved and brave crew of the Flashing Hooves. Your admiral has returned.”
Ensign Yathed had done her job well, surreptitiously contacting loyal crew on the Flashing Hooves through discrete messages and instructing them to act when the time was right. Teelm watched through tapped security feeds as throughout the Flashing Hooves, the crew set upon Moktep’s security forces. Outnumbered and without weapons, they were quickly subdued.
In the boat bay, the Dreeden embassy security team rushed forward with stun-sticks drawn. A moment later, the hangar was silent save for the moans of the wounded.
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Nesh gaped at the majestic columns of marble that lined the colossal hall inside the Flashing Hooves. Artwork and statuary covered every surface, and ponderous chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceilings.
Nuryaw led the procession through the ship, pointing out especially valuable works of art or on what planet a specific luxurious material was sourced from. Being back on her flagship seemed to be good for her. She stood taller, her eyes were brighter, and she radiated pride for her ship.
“This is a warship?” Nesh whispered to Baden.
Baden gave a low whistle in response. “This hallway alone could pay for a destroyer.”
Nuryaw must have heard Baden because she stopped to turn to him. “The Flashing Hooves isn’t just a warship. Hundreds of treaties have been signed on board, and it has hosted thousands of state dinners over the centuries. The Flashing Hooves has been a symbol of Bonthan power and council stability for the past three millennia.”
Nesh was stunned. “Three thousand years?” He reached out a tentacle to feel the cool marble, steadying himself and gazing toward the frescoed ceiling with newfound appreciation. “We always knew that some Bonthan ships were in service for centuries, but this…” He gestured wordlessly.
Nuryaw smiled. “Yes, the Flashing Hooves is special. It was the first Bonthan dreadnaught constructed. Historians believe that it wasn’t even built by our species, but was gifted to us by an older civilization to help the Bonthans and the Arkone create a lasting peace in this sector.” Nuryaw’s booming voice grew softer. “We don’t know much from that time. A great digital memory plague scoured much of our history from our records. All that remains is the knowledge that the Bonthan and Arkone were set upon on all sides by countless enemies. The conflict nearly consumed us. We were nearly defeated until this elder species became our benefactors, ensuring our survival.”
“This elder species, where are they now?” Nesh asked.
“We don’t know,” Nuryaw admitted. “All record of them was wiped out in the digital and neurological plague. The plague was transmitted by nanites, capable of infecting both digital and biological systems. It was remarkably thorough, erasing any mention of the elder species and those that we fought against. Nanitic agents that spread throughout our populations, attacking the memory centers of the brain, targeting specific pieces of knowledge.”
“What about written records? Hard copies?” Nesh asked.
Nuryaw shook her head. “Almost none were kept. We had been using digital records for centuries. Other than the holes in their records and their minds, they only way we know what was stolen from us was the one thing that couldn’t be erased. Art.”
Nuryaw gestured to an enormous mural that covered the opposite wall. Twenty meters high and stretching forty meters across, it dwarfed even Nuryaw. Rich oil paints depicted a battlefield, strewn with the dead. On one side, an Arkone and a Bonthan stood in the midst of raging battle, while on the other, a host of slavering beasts lunged toward them. Between the two sides, however, was a glowing figure of light, holding the creatures away.
Nesh studied the painting. It was a masterwork, no doubt, but the figures on the picture bothered him. “I see talons. Claws. Were the elder species protecting you from predator species?”
“The interpretation has always been that the depiction of our foes was symbolic, not literal. Now,” Nuryaw paused. “Now I’m not as sure.”
Nesh’s eyes shifted to the figure in the middle of the painting. It was blurry, indistinct, shafts of light obscuring the details of the creatures form. It was unclear whether the artist had painted the figure as it appeared, or if the artist just didn’t know what it looked like in the first place. If it weren’t for the suggestion of a head and several limbs, it wouldn’t have been recognizable as a being at all.
Nuryaw answered his unasked question. “This is one of the few paintings that remain from that time. All depict our benefactors that way. Glowing, indistinct. Beings of great power and technology.” She gestured to the ship around them. “The Flashing Hooves could once stand against entire fleets alone, impenetrable to weapons, wielding energies that we haven’t been able to replicate. But over the millennia, even our benefactor’s technology failed, and while our scientists poured over the designs, we never were able to maintain it or replicate it. They were replaced over the centuries with League technology. Technology we could understand and maintain. She is now a shell, holding the last memories of a race that saved us, then tried to wipe themselves from our history. That is why the Flashing Hooves is such an honor to command. She is a monument to the past that we still use to forge our future.”
Nuryaw was quiet for a moment, then shook herself. “But come, we must get to the bridge.”
Several well-appointed corridors and an in-ship transit car later, the group arrived on the bridge of the Flashing Hooves. Ensign Yenthan snapped Nuryaw a salute. “Admiral on the Bridge!”
The rest of the Bonthan crew on the bridge stood and saluted as well. “Ma’am, we’re still rounding up the last of Vice Admiral Moktep’s security teams and the special forces platoons, but the ship is yours,” Yenthan gestured to the Admiral’s grav-couch in the middle of the bridge. “It’s good to have you back, Ma’am.”
“And it’s good to be back, Ensign. Good work.” She turned to Wenthan, “can you retrieve the battle recording?”
“With pleasure, Admiral.” Wenthan slid into a grav couch and typed on the station’s holo console. After a moment, he held up a portable memory chip and smiled. “Got it!”
Nesh’s shoulders slumped in relief, and he ran his tentacles over his face. Finally. After all this effort and chaos, they had got what they came for. Now all they needed to do was to turn the Flashing Hooves around, return to the Assemblage, and submit their evidence to the Council.
He staggered as Baden clapped him on the back, but was too exhausted to be annoyed.
“All’s well that ends well, right Nesh?” Baden’s grin was insufferable.
Nesh opened his mouth to reply, but his comm unit buzzed in his ear. “Yes?”
“This is Specialist Teelm. We’ve got a problem.”
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It was easy to feel omnipotent when inside a network. Omniscient. Godlike. Thousands of cameras were Teelm's eyes and a million different functions and subsystems at his beck and call. Teelm could control every variable in the ship, see every part of it. Except for one. A large, blank space without functioning cameras, right where the Flashing Hooves' primary reactor should be.
He could monitor the systems. He could access the reactor’s power output - nominal. Ensure that the cooling was operating correctly, that every piece of circuitry was in its proper place. But he couldn’t see what was happening there, and that bothered him.
Teelm accessed the backup footage, rewinding time until the cameras were active again. He watched as a troop of black-suited Bonthans entered the reactor control chamber, lugging a bulky box between them. Teelm switched from camera to camera as the Bonthan’s in the recording began destroying them, trying to get a better angle on the device they brought into the room. Eventually, he found a perspective that wasn’t blocked by the Bonthan’s bodies, and nearly fell from his perch on the command console. He triggered his comm. “This is specialist Teelm. We have a problem. There’s a bomb in the reactor control room.”
On the edge of the frame, a second group of Bonthans in black armor drug a crate behind them. Teelm wished he had another camera, but the rest were already destroyed. Just before the last camera was knocked out, he saw the Bonthan special forces remove rectangular shapes from the crate. He tried to enhance the image, cursing at its relatively low resolution. A cold feeling settled in his gut. What were these Bonthans doing with Arkone weaponry?
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Topir System, Aboard ARTS Helena
Jim straightened his uniform before pressing the door chime to Admiral Davie’s office. “It’s Lt. Wexler Ma’am.”
The door opened with a hiss, revealing the admiral typing at her desk holo console. He made to salute, but the admiral dismissed it with a wave and motioned to the chair opposite her own, eyes not leaving her console.
“Apologies, lieutenant,” she said, finally looking up from her holo-screen. “What do you have for me?”
She looked better rested than the last time Jim had seen her. Her eyes were sharp, and her dress uniform was immaculate, with none of the vulnerability she had displayed earlier.
“I have the technical report on the Rashan you requested Ma’am,” Jim retrieved his holo-tablet from under his arm and offered it to the admiral.
“Let’s have a look lieutenant.” Davies took the proffered tablet and began scrolling through the report, pursing her lips as she did so.
Jim’s palms felt sweaty, and he wiped them on his uniform pants as the admiral digested his report. This was the first real task the admiral had given him, and he hoped he hadn’t screwed it up.
Minutes ticked by as the admiral read through the pages, and Jim became increasingly nervous. Why wasn’t she saying anything? He opened his mouth to explain his analysis of the Rashan skirmisher craft compared to the fleet’s Bearcats and Tigercats, but Admiral Davies just held a finger up to silence him and continued to read.
Eventually, she reached the end of the report, reading over Jim’s conclusions and recommendations. The recommendations were the part that Jim was most nervous about, as the admiral hadn’t asked for Jim to offer an opinion, only for analysis.
“Bold of you to include specific recommendations, lieutenant. I don’t believe I asked you to tell me how the ARTS navy should operate.”
Jim’s heart fell.
“The Bearcat and Tigercat fighter designs have served the Associated Republics of Terra Navy for the past eighty years. They helped win the second Vorshan war and every conflict after that. Do you really believe that they aren’t the right tool for the job?” The Admiral’s eyes narrowed at Jim.
“No Admiral,” Jim surprised himself. “They’re not.” He took a deep breath and continued. “The Bearcat and Tigercat fighter’s were designed to originally fight Vorshan drones. Drones that are quick, but lightly armored, deployed in numbers comparable to our fighter wings, and possess only forward facing weaponry. The Rashan skirmisher craft we encountered, however, are slow, heavily armored, and deployed in much larger numbers than the Vorshan drone ships. What’s more, their gimballed laser turret erases much of our fighter’s maneuverability advantages, outranges their primary cannon, and hits harder than the Vorshan’s particle beams, which are only forward facing.” He took a breath. “What we found in after-action analysis and pilot interviews is that when engaging from missile range, our fighters had a distinct advantage, but when they closed to cannon range, the Tigercat and Bearcat were less effective.
“What we need, Admiral, are fighter craft that are more heavily armored than the Bearcat and Tigercat, that can engage more hostiles before having to re-arm, that can survive multiple hits from the Rashan’s laser turrets, and that can also take on the larger combatants that the Rashan field along with their fighters, their destroyers, and cruisers.”
Jim stifled a sigh. Well, there goes my career, lecturing a Fleet Admiral.
“Good work lieutenant,” the admiral said. “For what it’s worth, I agree with your analysis. We’ve been fighting the Vorshan for so long that we’ve neglected to prepare for other threats.”
The admiral smiled at him as relief washed over his face. “Never be afraid to speak your mind with me lieutenant, as long as it’s in private. In my career, I’ve found it much easier when I don’t have to come up with all of the bright ideas myself. Mind you that won’t stop me from taking credit for them.”
“Yes Ma’am,” Jim smiled back. “Admiral’s prerogative.”
She laughed. “Quick learner, too! Now let’s go see if we can talk some sense into the League fleet before they try and abandon the system.”
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The squadron spread out in pairs over millions of kilometers, patrolling the space around Helena’s battlegroup in all three dimensions. A few million kilometers away from the human and Dreeden ships, the remains of the League of Species fleet floated in the void. It was a shadow of its former might, hundreds of dreadnoughts and battleships reduced to a fraction of that number.
Most of the attrition hadn’t come from the battle with Rashan, but instead from ships abandoning the fleet to return to their species homeworlds and repair their damaged vessels. Quet had wondered why they couldn’t make the repairs somewhere closer, but it turned out that every League species had their own designs, equipment, and standards. Ships, for the most part, needed to be repaired in the systems where they were built. The rest of the League fleet watched the Human and Dreeden ships warily, waiting on instructions from the Assemblage on whether to fight or ally with the predator species that had saved them a few weeks before.
The rumors that Quet heard spoke of heated meetings between Admiral Davies and the remnants of the League fleet. This system, Topir, was the closest inhabited system to Meruk, where the League fleet had been beaten so severely. Davies had pleaded with the Arkone admiral that commanded the fleet in Nuryaw’s absence to evacuate the tens of millions of sentients that lived in the Topir system, but the Arokone admiral had refused. The League didn’t believe that the Rashan would follow.
Quet knew better. The Rashan had tasted blood at Meruk, and they would be looking for more.
She tried to stretch in the coffin, shaking her limbs that had begun to stiffen up. Mentally, she triggered a low dose of stims into the air recycler connected to her flight-suit. Dreeden didn’t share the almost supernatural endurance of humans, and Dreeden pilots relied on non-habit forming stims to keep them alert during long missions. The ship doctors claimed that the stims were harmless, but they still made Quet’s skin itch.
“This is boooring Bug,” Jester complained. “It’s been two weeks. If the Rashan were going to follow us to Topir, they would have done it by now.”
“Don’t tempt fate,” Quet replied. “I’ll take boring over a furball any day, and you should too.” She checked their flight path. “We'll be done soon. Looks like we have two minutes before our next course correction, then the next burn will take us back to the Helena.”
Quet plotted in the next burn to her nav computer and sat back to wait for the Bearcat’s thrusters to kick in. Jester wasn’t wrong, combat space patrol was boring. It meant long periods of merely sitting in the coffin, coasting along without thrust along predetermined vectors while keeping a close eye on the fighter’s sensors for anything out of the ordinary.
She was watching the timer countdown for her next course correction when her energy sensors pinged hard.
“Whoah!” Jester said, “I think I have a sensor malfunction Bug.”
“No, I see it too,” she mentally turned down the sensitivity on her scanners so that the screen wasn’t just a sea of blazing white. “Fuck you for tempting fate, Jester.”She flipped off the auto-pilot with a mental nudge and oriented the Bearcat toward the energy spike with a puff of thrusters.
“Hyperspace emergence, squadron form up on me,” her squadron leader’s laconic voice came over the comms.
“Roger Archer, Jester, and Bug forming up.” Quet’s gut turned to ice as Rashan dreadnaughts blinked into existence, exiting hyperspace in violent bursts of light. Ten, twenty… she lost count as they flashed in, and had to rely on her flight computer to keep track. She felt light-headed as more and more emerged into the system. Eighty. Ninety. Over a hundred dreadnaughts.
The battleships followed, and then the cruisers and destroyers. So many ships that they overlapped on Quest’s screen, thousands of vessels spanning millions of kilometers.
“You’re right bug,” Jester’s voice was deadly serious for once. “I should have kept my damn mouth shut.”