Into the Black: Odyssey One (27 page)

“I’m all right.” Stephanus stepped away from her, stepping up to the control pedestal and thumbing the simulator off. Turning briskly, he hurried past the confused Milla and left the room, slapping the rifle into a cradle set in the wall as he went passed.

Milla looked around the room for a long moment, confusion and hurt sweeping across her face, until she followed in the pilot’s footsteps and left the target range.

*****

Captain Eric Weston was standing at his desk, the chair having been pushed well out of the way and the entire top showing a holographic depiction of thousands and thousands of stars. He’d been staring at those stars for so long now, that he imagined that he could see them without the holograph, and the thought brought an ironic twist to his mouth.

Weston had never had any particular interest in either astronomy or in space and here he was now, bound to study both like a drowning man seeking air. He was still pouring over the images when his door chimed.

“Come in,” he said, loud enough for the computer to hear and key the door sequence, but he didn’t look up to see who it was.

Footsteps approached and stopped on the other side of the desk, so Weston looked up and nodded, when he saw whom it was.

“At ease, Commander.”

Commander Roberts settled back and eyed the holographic starscape with mild interest for a moment, before speaking, “Sir, have you considered on our next transition coordinates?”

Weston’s lips twisted, but he’d been expecting that question, “may I presume that you have a suggestion, Commander?”

“I don’t see how it’s a choice, Sir,” Roberts said frankly. “Things have gone far enough…, Captain. It’s time to go home.”

Eric sighed, then stepped back and waved a hand at the holograph, “do you recognize this, Commander?”

“Sir?” Roberts looked confused for a moment. Then he shrugged, “it’s a star map, I presume?”

“Yes. But more specifically, it’s of a section of the galactic arm, that Earth lies in,” Weston told him, reaching into the holograph and triggering a preset program. “Right… here.”

A star lit up, bright blue, out along the edge of the map, closest to Roberts and the Commander glanced at it with slightly more interest.

“The attacks we’ve encountered occurred here. Here, and here,” Eric said, gesturing as the program lit up three more stars in fiery red.

One of them, Roberts noted, was quite close to the blue point.

“That’s where we found Milla,” Weston told him. “Forty-five light years from the Sol System. This one… is fifty-eight light years from home.”

Roberts nodded as Weston pointed out the second light.

“This one,” Weston nodded to the third, “is where we are now. Port Fey. Almost ninety light years and the latest attack, of which we’re aware. Tell me Commander, do you see what I see?”

Commander Roberts frowned, suddenly looking closer at the four stars that were highlighted. Finally, he shook his head and looked back up at the Captain, “Sir?”

“Do you remember the brief that I had filed, concerning Milla’s story?” Eric asked.

“Of Course.”

“The Drasin haven’t been seen for thousands of years, according to her. That implies a lot of space for a space faring civilization to move around in. So tell me, Commander,” Weston lit up a swath of light across the galaxy of stars with a gesture. “Why is the front in their war on this side of Milla’s people?”

Commander Roberts blinked and actually paled as he registered what the Captain was saying. The attacks had moved inward
from
Earth’s direction, moving more or less away from Earth and into the area of space, controlled by the Colonials. Roberts let out a long breath, “so either they’re conducting a massive, pre-planned attack from all sides, or…”

“Or their home world lies somewhere much closer to Earth than I’d like,” Eric finished for him.

“Sir, this is all the more reason to return home,” Roberts stated. “We have to warn the Admiralty and get production started on more ships.”

Eric Weston shook his head slowly, “I don’t think so, Commander. Not quite yet.”

“Sir,” Roberts looked quite grim, “if I may ask?”

“You may… in fact, I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” Weston said, his tone light.

“Then, pardon my language, but why the hell not?”

“Because it would be pointless, Commander,” Eric told him. “Either we would arrive far, far, too late, because the Earth simply does not have the resources to defend itself now, or at any point in the near future, or there is simply no rush.”

Roberts stared at him for a moment, not quite believing what he’d heard.

“Have you had a chance to look at the power estimates we registered from the alien ship, Commander?” Eric asked.

“Not yet, Sir. I was busy…”

Eric nodded, “I know. I’m not implying anything, Commander. Just wondering if you’d had time. You should look at them, they’re…, revelatory.”

“Sir?”

“The first beam the ship fired,” Eric paused, until he saw Roberts nod, “Exceeded the entire output of our reactor by over three times.”

“What?” Roberts had known that it was powerful, but not by that much. “Sir, that’s insane. You’re talking about more power than…”

“Than our entire ‘fleet’ is capable of putting out. And damned few of them are equipped with our armor,” Weston said then shook his head. “And besides that, if Milla was telling us the truth…, and I have no reason to doubt her, then the Drasin have committed at least twenty identical ships to this war.”

Roberts took a breath, nodding. He wasn’t questioning the story of Miss Chans either; too much of it had been proven true, now.

“So, assuming a worst case scenario. How many of those do you think we could intercept, if they attacked Earth?”

Roberts took a deep breath, thinking hard. Finally he sighed and looked up, “If we abandon Demos and the outlying bases. No more than two on our own, assuming that they were intent on getting to the planet. The fleet might be able to take another two, maybe three.”

Eric nodded, “I guessed slightly more, but I assumed that we could get the Block to point their guns somewhere other than our heads.”

Roberts blinked then winced. He’d forgotten to calculate for the Block’s fleet, meager though it was. Even so, he decided, it wouldn’t make much difference. Block ships didn’t have the reactive armor, and would go up like matchbooks under laser fire that powerful.

Still, he nodded, accepting the Captain’s correction.

“No, Commander. I think I may just have to plot another course,” Weston said after a moment, then checked the time and corrected himself. “After we complete one last duty, in this system. Come along, Commander and I’ll explain my intentions along the way.”

*****

Milla was wandering through habitat two, head down, deep in thought, when she ran into a solid form and was sent sprawling to the floor.

“Oh, dear me… I am sorry…,” the man she had run into looked up and his eyes widened in surprise. “Miss Chans, are you all right?”

Milla’s second glance identified the man as Dr. Palin. “Yes docteur, I am fine. I apologize; I was not looking where I was going.”

“Not to worry, my dear. . , .” at the word dear, Palins face turned red. “Ah… I mean, Miss Chans, I’m quite alright.”

Palin paused for a moment then looked at her curiously. “What has you roaming the halls, in such a distracted manner?”

“I just had a most disturbing conversation with Commander Michaels. He was showing me something, and then he was very distracted and distant suddenly. I’m afraid, I don’t understand,” Milla told him; uncertain on whether she had done something wrong.

Palin looked very solemn all of the sudden. “You don’t know? I thought you were on the bridge during the battle?”

“I was.” Milla had become more confused.

Palin looked almost embarrassed. “Commander Michaels lost one of his team. She flew her fighter into the enemy ship, to save the Odyssey.”

Milla was quiet for a moment, a look of shocked understanding crossing her face.

What was worse, Milla suddenly she realized that she should be feeling the same as Stephanus, or worse. After all, didn’t she just lose her ship, a fleet, and two colonies? For a long moment, she just stood there, wondering why she felt nothing. Why hadn’t she felt anything in the entire time since she had been rescued?

How can that be? I’ve lost hundreds of thousands of my people, dozens of friends, my shipmates, my Captain. Yet I feel nothing? And this man, this self-proclaimed warrior is so devastated by the loss of one comrade, that he is forced to hide his tears?
Milla’s silence stretched for long moments.
What does this say about him? And, perhaps more importantly, what does this say about me?

Palin cleared his throat, uncertain of how to react to the sudden silence. “There is a memorial about to start, for the lost pilot on the observation deck…, if you like to attend, that is.”

Milla looked around, as if expecting the answer to her unasked question to appear on the deck plates; finally she looked at Dr. Palin. “Yes, i believe I would like to attend. If it would not be an intrusion?”

“No. No, I shouldn’t think so. Here, I’ll escort you up.”

Milla followed Doctor Palin through the halls of the Odyssey, finally reaching the central lift.

*****

When they stepped out of the lift onto the observation deck, Milla became acutely self-conscious of the deep thunks, caused by her magboots on the carpeted deck. Her fears were baseless however, since the people who had congregated here were silently surrounding a long casket-shaped object, didn’t as much as move their eyes from the center of the room.

Captain Weston and Stephanus were standing stiffly with their backs to the open vista of space that lay beyond the observation decks huge windows. As Milla moved closer to the group, she could hear Weston’s softly spoken words, describing the battle that had transpired earlier and the debt everyone on board owed the fallen pilot.

“Lt Samantha ‘Flare’ Clarke gave her life in the defence of her comrades, and in doing so saved her ship, her wing mates, and the remaining civilian population of this system. No greater gift can be offered, no greater honor achieved. While we commend her body to the stars, we keep her memory alive, in our hearts and in our minds.”

Weston stopped, silence reigning in the room for a long moment before Stephanus stepped forward, his stance stiffly at attention. “Beacon Away!”

A low shudder passed though the deck plates, as a small beacon was launched from the forward hull of the Odyssey. It arced away from the big ship, circling the debris field that had formed in the wake of the battle. Locking into position the beacon began to broadcast its message, a log of Flare’s accomplishments, from her first solo flight in the Archangels, to the final run that saved her ship from destruction. A small ion engine came online and locked the beacon into place. The debris may drift, but the beacon would insure that anyone who cared to hear it would remember the sacrifice that marked that spot forever in the annals of the Archangels.

Chapter 18

“We cannot tell you that, Capitaine,” Saraf said firmly, shaking her head. “I am sorry, but it is not done.”

“Titualar…,” Weston paused, wrapping his tongue around the unfamiliar word, “I don’t believe that you understand the situation that I’m in, at the moment.”

“No, Capitaine. I most certainly do not, nor must I,” the woman said with a wave of her hand. “We cannot give you the coordinates to one of our central worlds. It is not possible.”

Weston nodded, “Very well. Then I have no choice, but to set a course for home. I’ll make certain that your people are well received and we’ll try to arrange some kind of return to your worlds, but it will most likely be some time.”

“What?” both she and Milla paled.

“I simply can’t justify spending any more time out here,” Eric said, clasping his hands in front of him as he settled onto his desk. “Not with this situation escalating like this. We lost a pilot today, and several multimillion dollar fighters. More than that, we discovered alien life that tried to kill us.”

He shook his head very seriously, “no, I’m afraid that I can’t risk this ship or the people and information it carries without something to leverage against the risk.”

“What leverage?” Milla asked softly. “What is it you hope to accomplish?”

Eric shifted his attention to her, “One of your central worlds, as you say, will have the authority to send a diplomat back with us. Someone that our government can talk with, someone who can perhaps make deals.”

“Deals?” Milla blinked.

“He means, negotiating for our technology.” Saraf muttered.

Eric shrugged, “there is that, there is also the possibility of you receiving some of our technology. There is mutual defence. Though, to be honest, I wouldn’t expect that for a while.”

“Why not?” Saraf asked with a wry twist.

“Because our military power, at this time isn’t prepared to project past our solar system,” Weston answered her evenly, despite Roberts stiffening behind him. “The point is, that the only way I can see my way through to remaining out here for any longer, is to bring back someone who can speak with authority. And that means going to the source.”

Milla fell silent for a moment, while Saraf just shook her head.

“This isn’t done,” the older woman said firmly, “it’s not an…”

“I’ll tell you,” Milla spoke up softly.

“Ithan!”

“He is right,” Milla sighed. “He has his own Council to answer to; we cannot expect more than he has given us already. I will tell him how to find Ranquil.”

Saraf’s eyes widened, “you cannot.”

“What does it matter now? The Drasin have penetrated our borders. What will these people do, that they won’t?” Milla asked sharply. “I am sorry, Titualar Saraf, but I am with fleet, and you are not. I will give him the coordinates.”

Eric Weston let out a low sigh, as he settled back in his seat, wondering if he’d done the right thing.

*****

Sometime later, on the refugee decks Milla found even more problems to consider, at the moment, as she was trying to get the refugees on the recreation decks to accept sedation prior to the ships transition.