Battlegroup (StarFight Series Book 2) (3 page)

“Chief, you do just that. You have plenty of time.” Jacob looked ahead to where his Bridge crew were watching their own holos, being attentive to their duties even while in parking orbit. Their distraction at Richard’s earlier questions had given way to covert listening as they worked. He looked down to where Daisy sat, her attention focused on her holo cross-section of the ship’s various decks and weapons stations. “XO Stewart, arrange with Chief O’Connor for his people to use the simulators in the Exercise Chamber.”

“Captain, happy to do so,” Daisy said quickly.

Jacob returned to the image of Jefferson on the front wallscreen. “Captain Jefferson, how do you feel about taking our Marines out to where they can board that wasp ship?”

The woman gave him a big grin. “Captain, I feel super! Uh, do I kill the wasp ship after our Marines return?”

He shook his head. “No. Leave it mostly intact. Use sufficient laser and proton fire to allow the Darts to penetrate the enemy’s hull. But once the Marines return, pull back and return to Valhalla. Lieutenant Branstead will have heart palpitations until you bring home whatever tech our boarders can grab.” One more point hit him. “If the Marines capture any wasps, isolate them and put them in a cell with half gee gravity. Feed them whatever they will accept. Put them all together in a single cell. I suspect they will go nuts without the presence and pheromones of their comrades.”

She frowned, then nodded quickly. “Captain, I will do exactly as you order. Are we second in line after the
Chesapeake
?”

“You are first in line,” he said, recalling the time lines involved in her ship’s long trip out to the system’s Kuiper Belt. “The welding work will not take long. Then you leave with the three Darts and the Marines. But all that happens
after
you attend the meeting in my conference room. Time for you new captains to see each other. Time to compile repair needs. And time for all of us to discuss future options.”

Jefferson saluted him. “As you order, fleet captain. My ship, my crew and myself are at your command.
Philippine Sea
out.”

Her image vanished from the front wallscreen. On it the planet’s surface had become mostly ocean, a wide expanse lying to the east of Stockholm. Their orbit at 400 kilometers high meant they circled the planet once every 80 minutes. With the result the image of the planet keeps changing. Jacob looked ahead. “Chief Osashi, establish a comlink with Captain Swanson on the
Chesapeake
. Time to work with her on getting her ship repaired.”

“Neutrino comlink established. Imagery going up front.”

Jacob fixed on the black face of the woman who had exposed her heavy cruiser to incoming energy beams as quickly as he had exposed the
Lepanto
. Unlike him, she had lost crew in the last attack. The stocky, middle-aged woman did not show evidence of that loss. But he knew from his own feelings that the death of fifteen crew had cut deep into her.

“Lieutenant Commander Swanson, the
Chesapeake
is second in line for repairs at the Star Navy base. You heard the reason why I’ve moved the
Philippine Sea
ahead of you. Any problems with waiting?”

“No problems, Captain Renselaer.” She looked as tired as Jacob felt. “My Weapons and Life Support chiefs will make do.”

Jacob listened as the woman outlined her plans for the replacement of her right flank proton laser node. He sat straight and formal. It was the least he could do for a fellow officer, someone who, like him, had jumped into the job of commanding her ship right after seeing the video of the destruction of the meeting site by the wasps. She, like the other new ship captains, was still coping with a new reality. He hoped she was doing better than he felt. He still got the shakes when he was alone in the old captain’s quarters. Did the other new commanders of battle group ships feel as much at sea as he did? That was something he needed to find out during the all captains meeting. That was set for this evening at what was the first crew meal time. Three hours away. Maybe he could get a quick nap before then. He needed it. And he needed the tender caring of Daisy even more. When would they have time for each other?

More important was the answer to his worry they might be attacked before Earth reinforcements arrived. Could the battle group survive an attack by a dozen or more wasp ships? Could the planet Valhalla be protected? The piling up of personal and professional worries and doubts made him wonder if his father the admiral had felt the way Jacob now felt, during his space battles at Callisto. It was an unwanted insight into his sole surviving parent.

CHAPTER TWO

Support Hunter Seven felt fatigue as his flying nest moved past the small gas world that lay in the sixth flight range from the local sky light. He had ordered his Flight Servant to change their flight angle to match their inward flight track. While Hunter One and the other Support Hunters flew well ahead of his nest, moving toward the edge of the local sky light’s magnetic field and a return to the colony of Warmth, still, he felt isolated. The fatigue just made it worse. He breathed deep through his spiracles, checked the perception imager that showed the local worlds and other flying nests to confirm the Soft Skins were not pursuing him, then decided to focus on something more life affirming than the fact of his nest being left behind by the larger flight of Swarmers.

“Servant,” he scent cast to the Swarmer in charge of monitoring external space. “Where are good places for this nest to hide from detection by the Soft Skins?”

The elderly Swarmer angled two antennae his way. The Servant straightened his posture on his bench and used one of his thorax arms to touch a color image panel. “Hunter, there are many ice balls flying beyond this system’s outermost world. Some are very large. We could make flight track for a large one that lies along our current path, then use our stingers to cut a deep hole.” The Swarmer twisted his head to put all five eyes on Seven. “Our flying nest could hide inside such a hole. However, the particle emissions of our energy nodes might betray our location.”

Seven knew that, in a vague way. The particle emissions from his nest’s propulsive devices were the way his nest and all Swarmer nests tracked each other across distances too great for normal viewing. The energy node emissions were the same particles. Those emissions spoke in a way different than normal pheromone speech. He suspected the Soft Skins could track nests the same way. Still, they must find a hiding spot from which to watch the events on the fourth world and the actions of the eight Soft Skin nests that had survived the last flight battle. That was their assigned duty, until Hunter One returned with more flying nests to claim the third world.

Hiding in one spot was not the normal lifeway for any Swarmer. Either you flew and explored, flew and found a mate or flew and fought an invader to one’s home territory. Rest periods during the time of daily darkness were short, compared to some lifeforms on his home world of Nest. But now they must do the strange. Now they must hide and be silent. While the Soft Skins would know they had not left this system of worlds, the abnormal two-legged beings might not find his nest if he and his Servants took care to hide all trace of their presence.

“Servant, cast your eye tools ahead of us and find such an ice world,” he said in a rush of food trail, territorial and calming pheromones, mixed with a touch of aggregation scent. “Though it be a strange duty, we will cut out a hiding hole and rely on our tools to maintain a view of the Soft Skins.”

“Searching,” the Servant replied in a mix of aggregation and signal pheromones.

Seven looked around, seeking the familiar forms of his Servants, Fighter Leaders and the Matron to his rear. While all who flew within his flying nest were able to withstand long separations from Nest and their caste cohorts, still, it was not a natural way to live. Only the discovery of a new colony world in this system made his duty, and their duty, tolerable. Perhaps his Servants within the Flight Chamber would cope well if he asked the Matron to emit her pheromone song of Life Mating. It would remind all those within the hard shell of his flying nest of their duty, their future and the utter necessity of finding new worlds for the expanding numbers of his fellow Swarmers. And it would bring out the hope in all caste members that one of them might be chosen to mate with the Matron in order to produce more effective members of their caste. That was a reward he would withhold until the return of Hunter One. When that happened, their claim on the third world would begin with a new sky battle. Cleansing this system of the Soft Skin infestation was essential before they dropped colonizing Pods onto the warm lands of world three. It all made for better musing, better dreams than the disasters of the recent sky battles against these strange Soft Skins. Lowering his abdomen to rest atop his bench, Seven allowed his dream to fill his mind.

♦   ♦   ♦

Aarhant Bannerjee turned away from watching the wallscreen that relayed the image of the Bridge and the conversations of the young whelp with the new captains of other battle group ships. At least he could feel safe within his own quarters, rather than on display in the Navigation Deck’s control center. One of his assistants was there now. It was her shift time. His time was one of rest. But he could not rest knowing how once again young Renselaer had stolen from him the rightful command of the
Lepanto
. He was the senior surviving staff officer. He should have been given command of the Bridge by the Star Base captain. Instead, the man O’Sullivan had sided with Renselaer and had confirmed his new status as captain of the Battlestar. Worse, the man had accepted the whelp’s command of the battle group! He could not understand why other staff officers on the battle group ships had not insisted on taking command of the fleet. They were all lieutenants or higher. Swanson of the
Chesapeake
and Mehta of the
Salamis
were lieutenant commanders like him. Surely they understood that a return to a normal chain of command was the right thing to do upon arrival at Kepler 10. But they had supported Renselaer. And once the wasp aliens had arrived, everyone was focused on battle tactics, fighting and surviving. Well, they had survived, except for the frigates
Britain
and
Marianas
. The memory of those ships reminded him of the trip made by the frigate
Ofira
. It would bring back new ships from Earth. Surely someone in command of the new fleet would see the wrongness of an ensign being in command of a battle group!

He reached out and grabbed a bottle of
tequila
. Unscrewing its lid, he poured some of the liquid into the glass that sat before him on the table that swung out from his Food Alcove counter. He walked back to the overstuffed chair in his relaxation room and sat. Staring at the wall image of the holy city of Varanasi, he pondered his options. Failing to cooperate with the orders of Renselaer would put him on the official record as being an obstructionist. But talking to the other ship captains, and to some of their deck chiefs, might result in favorable attitudes to him, once the new Earth fleet arrived. Aarhant swallowed half the glass, accepting the burning sensation as it slid down his throat. The discomfort was welcome. It reminded him of the pain he felt every time he saw a vidscreen image of the young whelp, or heard his voice on the All Ship announcer. Well, his ancestral Hindus had learned patience while under the rule of the British Raj. In time, they had thrown off that rule and taken back control of Mother India. In time, he would do the same on the
Lepanto
.

♦   ♦   ♦

Daisy sat to the right of Jacob in the conference room of admiral Johanson’s old quarters. To her right sat Lori, Carlos and Quincy. Like her they wore NWU woodland camo uniforms. Silvery sparkles on their collars reminded her of the promotions Jacob had handed out after the last battle. Lori and Carlos were jumped from ensign to Lieutenant JG, entitling them to wear a single silver bar on the points of their collars. Quincy had been promoted to Petty Officer second class, two steps up from Spacer. How did they feel about the wartime promotions? She still felt ill at ease with her own jump to a full lieutenant, as warranted by her new XO status. Wearing double silver bars on her shirt collar was nice. But it felt strange. Most Star Navy officers spent three or four years before they moved from ensign to JG. Longer to get to full lieutenant. She and her friends had gained their promotions in less than a year.

“XO, have the other ship captains arrived?”

She looked to Jacob. While his curly black hair had no gray in it, his face looked tense. As it had most of the time since they’d seen the devastated meeting site where the fleet’s senior line officers had all been killed. He’d been that way except for Dance Night and the night they’d spent together. Their time in Alcubierre transit had been a badly needed respite from the shock of first combat. Now, his gray eyes were bright, as if he was looking forward to the upcoming meeting. His broad shoulders, clean looks and sensitive manner were just some of the reasons she loved him. More important was how he listened to her, treating what she shared as important and vital. Being cared for that way was something she had missed after her father left home. Course, her Mom was beyond wonderful and supportive. It was due to her that Daisy had become a pilot, first in the air and now in space. She glanced down at her personal tablet, tapped the ship status app and saw what she needed to see.