The Terminal War: A Space Opera Novel (A Carson Mach Adventure) (10 page)

The contempt in the guardian’s voice was obvious. Mach traversed down the steeper path, digging his crampons into the increasingly softer ice. His helmet light beamed into a wider space below. He dropped to his ass and slid the last four meters into a cavity the size of a regular human house.
 

Two metal crates bulged out of the ice on the opposite side of the cavity. Both had jagged rips along their centers. Mach wasn’t an expert in alien text, but he recognized black vestan symbols stamped on both of them.
 

Beringer slid down the tunnel and landed in a heap. He brushed slush off his suit and stared at the two crates.
 

“What do you make of that?” Mach asked.
 

“It’s their old style of writing. I can’t translate it.”

“Luckily we’ve got a voyeur who can.”

Mach swept his manacle—bracelet didn’t seem the right term anymore—across the crates, ensuring Kortas got a perfect view of the symbols. Mach edged forward and aimed his laser through the dark crack in the closest crate. The jagged rent edges of metal had been forced out to create a large gap. Nothing lay inside. He moved across to the second one. This one had been forced inwards.

A single black muscular arm, the length of Mach’s body, lay propped against a solid bench. It looked exactly like the limb that had wrapped around the guardian’s neck in the holographic footage. A pool of frozen yellow blood surrounded the stump; more of it had spattered against the interior walls.
 

“Are you still there, Kortas?” Mach asked. “Something’s been ripped to pieces down here.”

“Reception isn’t possible.”

Mach rolled his eyes. “An opinion would be helpful. What does it say on the crates?”

“The text says nothing. It’s a standard shipping container.”

“There’s nothing standard about it,” Adira said. “It must say something.”

“You also said no vestan had intentionally gone beyond the walls,” Beringer added. “It seems there’s a lot of things that have happened here that you don’t know about.”

“Millions of containers have the same code,” Kortas replied. “They’ve been used for hundreds of your generations to transport goods. Please investigate further.”

Beringer focused his helmet light on the severed limb. “Are you sure you know the history of Terminus? That arm’s one hundred percent vestan, and it might have been down here a very long time.”

“Retrieve the arm after you’ve found Afron,” Kortas replied in a neutral tone. “We’ll conduct tests on it to establish its origin.”

“Are you blind?” Adira said with more than a hint of irritation. “Look at the evidence. Here’re two vestan containers. Something has broken out of one and probably murdered the occupant of the other. The arm clearly matches your form.”

“Don’t lecture me on our sacred land. I’ve been here since before humans left their home world.”

Mach shook his head. “What dirty little secrets are you hiding?”

Kortas didn’t reply.
 

The tunnel descended further past the containers. Its melting walls widened and brightened in the distance. Mach knew if they wanted to complete their mission, the only option was to continue down, find the dead vestan and kill the alien responsible for the attack. Their beliefs blinded the Guardians, but that was irrelevant.
 

A deep roar echoed up the tunnel.
 

Mach and Adira crouched and aimed their weapons. Beringer staggered, his back slamming with a thud against the cavity wall.
 

“You need to start talking,” Mach shouted into his manacle.
 

The pinhead light flashed in rapid succession. The manacle tightened around Mach’s wrist, making him wince with pain. It vibrated and whistled a high-pitched tone.

“Proceed with your mission,” Kortas said. “This is your final warning.”
 

“Final warning for what?” Mach replied through gritted teeth. “We’re here to sort out your shit, at you request, remember? Why don’t you ask your supposed Saviors about the containers?”

“Beyond the walls, vestans don’t have influence. Your theories are unsubstantiated and blasphemy. This discord will not be tolerated.”

“Tolerated?” Mach asked. “Open your eyes, Kortas. Whatever came out of this container was put here by one of you lot, whether in the distant past or more recently.”

“Your statement is dangerous. We can’t permit that. How dare you accuse us!” Kortas snapped.

The manacle’s blinking light changed to solid green. Adira winced and dropped her laser. Her light had also changed. She screamed, grabbing her wrist with her other hand, her eyes shut tight against the gripping pain.

“Stop!” Beringer called before he too collapsed to the ground, holding his wrist.
 

Mach’s manacle continued to tighten. He thought it would crush his bone. Pain shot up his arm and into his shoulder, and for a brief moment he thought he might pass out.
 

Babcock eased himself back into the captain’s chair and ran through horan and lactern battle simulations on his smart-screen. He had never expected to be captaining an advanced ship on an intercept mission during his exile but knew when he had accepted the offer to freelance in Mach’s crew, anything was possible.
 

Squid Three hovered over his shoulder, extended its tentacles, and chirped.
 

“Go to engineering,” Babcock replied. “I’d rather you run diagnostics from there if we encounter any problems.”

Sanchez smiled and leaned over the back of his chair. “Does your little machine speak, or was that just for our benefit?”

“Why would it be for your benefit?” Babcock asked although he suspected the big hunter was teasing. “I stopped trying to impress people thirty years ago.”

“You impress the hell out of me!”

Squid Three drifted out of the bridge, and the door hissed shut.
 

Distant stars streaked across the bridge’s main viewscreen. A 3D image on the navigation console showed a small outline of the
Intrepid
rapidly approaching Erebus’ heliosphere.

Lassea deftly manipulated the holocontrols and spun the central cube to the engine systems. “L-jump deceleration in ten seconds. Preparing the gamma drive.”

The crew ran like a well-oiled mech. Babcock hardly had to lift a finger after he gave coordinates for a rendezvous location agreed upon earlier with Captain Steros. The CWDF destroyer’s L-drive was no match for the
Intrepid’s
, so they had ten minutes to scan the area before it arrived. This suited Babcock. It gave him a chance to assess the situation before the hot-blooded young captain showed up.
 

Tulula activated the laser controls and peered at the target screen. Sanchez did the same at the ion cannon console. They glanced at each other for a brief moment. It was nice to see they had formed a meaningful relationship. Babcock had always believed that coming through adversity together formed stronger bonds between humans and aliens, and these two were living proof of his theory.
 

A high whine from the fusion engines descended to a low hum. The viewscreen momentarily blurred and cleared to a view of the immediate area of space in the Erebus system.
 

“Scanning for energy sources,” Tulula said.
 

The comms system pinged five times in quick succession. Tulula slid across to it. “We’re picking up multiple signals on the galactic distress frequency.”

“Where from?” Babcock asked.

“Two seconds.” Tulula scrolled through the streams and turned. Her shiny black facial features contorted. “Escape pods from Orbital Hibock. They’re still in location.”

“Overlay its position on the scanner,” Babcock said.
 

Tulula returned to the controls. A red spherical image appeared on the screen.

Babcock zoomed on its position. A small energy-reading registered, but nowhere near the size he expected from a vestan orbital. The conclusion was obvious, and it showed on all of the crew’s faces.

Lassea looked over her shoulder. “Do you want me to…”
 

“Set a course,” Babcock replied, finishing her sentence. “We’ll collect any survivors and sweep the area.”

“You got it, Captain. It’s not far from here.”

The title never sat comfortably with Babcock, and he’d already told the young former CDWF pilot. But for the sake of brevity, he kept his mouth shut. Everybody who served the Commonwealth had an echo of its formalities in their mannerisms. Lassea’s were the loudest, as she was reasonably fresh out of the Fleet.

“Make sure you stop a few klicks short,” Babcock said. “We don’t know what else might be waiting for us.”

The gamma drive groaned, and the
Intrepid
thrust toward their destination.
 

Steros would just have to catch up once his destroyer arrived in the system. Vestan escape pods could survive for a long time in space, but that wasn’t Babcock’s main concern. Cloaked Axis ships might still be in the area or even picking the pods off one by one.
 

*

Lassea engaged the retro thrusters, slowing the craft.
 

Babcock zoomed the main viewscreen on the former position of the vestan orbital station.
 

Twisted chunks of debris scattered around two huge blast-scarred sections of the dull metallic station. One of the sections gently rotated and revealed the charred skeleton of the forty inner decks. Babcock had seen the aftermath of post-war Axis raids on Orbitals before, and none had gone this far. Whoever attacked had significantly more firepower than a typical horan or lactern skirmish squadron, and they stayed around to complete the job.

“Holy shit,” Sanchez said. “Looks like they deployed a grand fleet.”

Lassea spun in her chair to face him. “When did that last happen?”

The big hunter shrugged. “Thirty years ago. I dunno.”

“They’ve been preparing for something,” Babcock said. “I never guessed they’d announce their intentions in this part of the Vestan Empire, though.”

“Why here?” Sanchez asked. “It’s the ass-end of nowhere.”

Babcock tried to think of a logical explanation. Once he reported his findings back to Commander Tralis, the CWDF Admiralty would scramble to counter the threat using overwhelming force. An Axis show of strength against a small orbital in the outer reaches of the newly extended Salus Sphere made no sense. Every previous grand fleet struck at the heart of the Commonwealth. Something else was going on.

Steros’ face appeared on the comms screen. “Why aren’t you at the agreed rendezvous point? We’re picking you up at the western edge of the fourth vestan quadrant.”

“Orbital Hibock’s destroyed,” Tulula replied. “We came to collect survivors.”

Steros frowned. “I’d prefer to speak to the organ grinder.”

Babcock raised his hand toward Tulula to stop her responding. She more than any of the crew on either ship would feel the loss of the vestan orbital, but Steros needed handling with velvet gloves.
 

“A large Axis force has attacked,” Babcock said. “Head to our location. We’ll interrogate any survivors we rescue and find out enemy strength.”

“We already knew they carried out an attack,” Steros said dismissively. “I’ll sweep the area on the opposite side of Hibock.”

“Wait. We knew they attacked a manufacturing planet. This other attack is unreported. What if they wanted to draw us to a specific area?”

“Carry out your search. Let me know if you need our help.”

“Stop…”

The comms screen cut to black. Babcock took a deep breath. He decided to let the young captain’s decision slide for the moment, as Axis forces didn’t have a history of hanging around after striking. But Steros had compromised both ships by splitting in an area of recent enemy activity.
 

Sanchez shook his head. “He’ll wind up getting us all killed. Who put him in charge?”

“RHIP,” Lassea said.
 

The big hunter gave her a vacant stare.
 

“Rank has its privileges. It’s a Fleet saying. His dad was president. That’s how he rose through the ranks.”

The corners of Tulula’s mouth drooped as she half-smiled in her inverted vestan way. “Not anymore.”

“Never underestimate the desire to rush to judgment when confronted with a problem,” Babcock said. “It’s been killing people for centuries.”

“So what’s our next move?” Lassea said.

“Proceed to the escape pods and keep our eyes on the scanner. Deflector shield at twenty percent.”

Lassea raised the shield, and a green outline enveloped the 3D image of the ship on the holographic status display. The
Intrepid
thrust toward the debris field.
 

Tulula and Sanchez both had the scanning screen patched through to their weapons consoles. They searched for any new energy readings.

Distress messages continued to ping on the comms system.
 

Babcock gazed at pieces of wreckage bouncing off the
Intrepid’s
shield as they neared the two large sections of the shattered orbital. It reminded him of a previous mission with Mach when they were tracking down a supposed mythical ship. The myth turned out to be very real, and dangerous.

Dim lights winked amongst a jumble of floating junk.
 

Babcock caught sight of one of the red oval pods and its flashing beacon. It would be easier to send out one of the
Intrepid’s
drone fighters to pull the small craft in, rather than risk the
Intrepid’s
deflector shield bouncing them into deep space.

Sanchez bolted upright from his usual slumped position. “We’ve got company.”

Two energy sources had appeared on the scanning screen on the opposite side of the orbital, either side of Steros’ destroyer, the
Chester
. The signatures matched typical readings of lactern frigates. Both closed in on its position.

Babcock jumped from his chair, not wanting to waste any precious seconds fiddling with his smart-screen, and raced to the comms system. He hit the CWDF channel transmit symbol on the pad. “Steros, put your shields to full and hold them. We’ll be there shortly.”