The Terminal War: A Space Opera Novel (A Carson Mach Adventure) (6 page)

Marble-like stone made up the structure. Cream colored with veins of gold and titanium, the material twisted upward in a cone shape. Following around the inner surface was a glass tube running on the vestans’ anti-gravity technology, taking various robed dignitaries to varied levels.
 

“Wait,” the first guard garbled when they approached the fancy tube elevation system. The guard whispered into his collar, the words in a language Mach had never been able to pick up: Vestan Minor—a purposely difficult language with untold metaphors layered one upon another until the original meaning had been abstracted to the ass-end of the Sphere and back.
 

“Going all the way up?” Mach said as they waited.
 

“Something like that,” Morgan said. “Defense.”

The guard stopped mumbling and stepped back. The door to the glass tube opened.
 

“In,” the guard said.
 

Mach shook his head and smiled. “You guys seriously need to work on your concierge skills.”

Their rifles twitched.
 

Mach quickly hopped inside. Morgan chuckled and followed.
 

“Later, fellas,” Mach said.
 

The door closed, and they were off, flying up the transtube to the defense department with surprising speed. Mach realized then that not only did the system have anti-gravity propulsion, but also the carriages themselves had localized gravity to equalize the g-force.
 

“Takes some fun out of things,” Morgan said.
 

“What does?”

“The lack of G-force.”

“I’m not sure about that. I can happily do without it; it reminds me too much of planet entry during the war. My guts developed an aversion to that.”

“I remember,” Morgan said. “I was often the one who had your vomit on my shoes.”

The carriage stopped just shy of the very top of the twisting marble tower.
 

They got out and walked down a short corridor, also made of marble. The whole place looked as if carved from of a single piece. The veins of gold and titanium matched from the outside wall surface to the inner contours of the corridor.
 

“The clever little buggers built this out of a single piece, didn’t they?” Mach said.

“Probably.” Morgan stopped outside of a set of double doors. They were made opaque, smoky. Morgan’s body language stiffened, and he leaned into Mach.
 

“Listen,” Morgan said, his voice hushed. “There’s no room for negotiation here, okay? Consider this an orientation, or a briefing—from a superior. In other words, Mach, keep that cakehole of yours shut.”

Mach held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, whenever have I been known to be insensitive? It’s cool. I never have a problem with accepting a mission from an old friend—and now the CW president—on shady terms, with a price that’s conveniently the same as my fines, and with so little detail it could be anything. Why would that make me inquisitive?”
 

“I mean it,” Morgan said. “These guys are vestan thoroughbreds. We fought against them and their kind in the war. Those tensions run deep. But on this, we need each other. Just hear them out, be respectful, and you’ll soon be on your way. Just trust me, okay?”

“You know,” Mach said, “the last time you told me to trust you, I nearly died—as did the rest of my crew.”

“The emphasis on nearly. It’s because of the nearly-ness about you that you’re here. Now do me a favor, for old times’ sake, and just shut the hell up and listen for once.”

Mach indicated closing a zip across his lips.
 

Morgan sighed and shook his head before opening the two double doors and leading Mach inside.
 

“Beautiful place you’ve got here,” Mach said as soon as he stepped inside. “I like what you’ve done with the drapes.”

There were no drapes.
 

Morgan elbowed him in the ribs. “You couldn’t even be silent for one fucking minute, could you?”
 

Two vestans sat at the base of a phallic table. Mach smiled to himself, unable to resist the schoolchild humor. The vestans didn’t have that kind of anatomy, so to them it was just a practical shape. To humans—and Mach especially—it appeared as though they were sitting around a pair of particularly bulbous testicles. Probably better there than at the other end, he thought.
 

“Don’t you dare mention it,” Morgan said out the side of his mouth.
 

Mach could see the beginning of a smile on the old man’s face. Even being a war veteran and the president of a massive empire didn’t make one immune to a good dick joke. But for the sake of brevity, Mach kept quiet.
 

“Is this the agent?” The first vestan said. Morgan introduced him as Desolt. He was the younger and shorter of the two aliens and wore a cream robe that contrasted brilliantly against his dark skin.
 

“This is,” Morgan said. “Carson Mach—my finest agent and the perfect man for the job.”

Desolt slow-blinked, then scrutinized Mach in the bright room. The area must have easily been a thousand square feet. It was circular, and tall windows lined the walls, letting in the diffuse light of the Vestan sun.
 

A dense, foggy cloud obscured any further detail on the home world. Even getting this far was some achievement. The vestans were usually hyper-vigilant of who had access to their planet. Despite recently joining the CW from the Axis, they still hadn’t grown to trust the CW enough to allow carte blanche access to their planet.
 

As far as Mach was concerned, trust worked both ways.
 

But then everyone knew the CW only really wanted the vestans because of their tech. It provided an advantage over the Axis powers if war broke out again.

The other vestan stood from the ornate wooden testicles and approached Mach with long, elegant strides. He held out his hand in a more traditional greeting. Mach took it and shook it once before letting go.
 

The alien’s skin felt like mushrooms.
 

“We were enemies, once,” the vestan said in almost perfect Salus Common. “But now we’re here, working together. I welcome you to our home. I’m Ferban Maieesta, the councilor for defense. And this is my co-councilor, Desolt Lzaretti. We thank you for responding to our request. Please, take a seat, we have much to discuss and little time. We have a shuttle waiting to take you right away.”

The discussions were indeed brief. Mach made sure to pay attention to their request as they repeated to him what they had discussed with Morgan. Mach, naturally, had the same questions, but all they would tell him was that there was a threat on their secret planet called Terminus, and they needed a non-vestan to investigate.
 

Mach, knowing there were no negotiations, politely nodded and made mental notes as they explained that a shuttle would take him plus two members of his crew to the planet on a week-long L-jump.
 

“And you don’t know where Terminus is?” Mach said, unable to remain silent. He found it unbelievable that the planet from which their most important insights and technology came from remained unknown to them.

The two vestans shook their heads, mimicking the human gesture.
 

“No,” Ferban said. “Only the Guardians of the planet know. They send shuttles with programmed coordinates and bring resources as they need them.”

“And no one’s tracked one of these shuttles?”

“They’re designed to take obfuscated routes in such a situation. Besides, the planet itself has certain… defenses.”

That was it; that’s all Mach could get from them. They knew nothing else about this threat; only that something had killed one of the Guardians.
 

The discussions came to a swift end, and the Guardians escorted them from the tower. Mach was given fifteen minutes to speak with the
Intrepid
crew before he had to leave for Terminus.
 

Morgan disappeared to another part of the star port to talk with some of the CWDF fleets that had arrived ready for their patrols on outer vestan space. Mach rejoined the
Intrepid’s
crew in the mess—their natural appointed meeting area, mostly because of the availability of food and various stimulant-based beverages.
 

“Well,” Adira asked. She sat languidly at the end of the mess table, her feet up on the surface. The Bardoom-inflicted bruises on her face had almost faded to nothing. “What’s the situation?”

Mach relayed what he could to the crew.
 

Babcock looked over his steaming mug of coffee. “So, who’s the lucky pair to join you?”

That was a great question. Mach had thought about it since leaving the meeting.
 

He scanned around his motley crew and assessed them one by one:

First there was young Lassea, a former junior pilot of the Commonwealth Academy. Since joining his crew, she had grown from strength to strength and had become one of the best pilots he had ever known. She would stay, the
Intrepid
would need her—especially as Mach had reluctantly agreed to have the
Intrepid
join the rest of the CWDF fleet on their vestan patrol duties.
 

It would be a good experience for them, he had concluded. The mission he was going to undertake would require at minimum three weeks. He didn’t want his crew sitting around getting drunk, lazy, or fat in the meantime. Better to have them out there, working together, making a good impression with Morgan and the CW hierarchy. Perhaps then, they would get off their backs and give them some freedom.
 

Next to Lassea sat Sanchez, Mach’s oldest friend. The big, hulking hunter had recently undergone some seriously invasive surgery, and although Sanchez would argue that he was as fit as ever, Mach didn’t want to take that chance.
 

Babcock was Mach’s most intelligent member. Able to hack almost anything—often to his detriment—and a former exile, Babs wasn’t much of a people person. The
Intrepid
could do with his technical skill and experience. He too would stay and captain the ship in Mach’s absence.
 

Tulula, the vestan engineer—and somewhat romantic interest of Sanchez—had to stay. That was the vestans’ rules, so that was an easy choice. That left just two others: Adira, who he had always known he would take.
 

He loved her deeply, and if anything happened to her while he was away, he couldn’t live with himself. Besides, Adira had threatened to kill him in his sleep if he tried to leave her behind.
 

Which left just one more, and someone who strictly wasn’t part of Mach’s crew, Beringer.
 

“Okay,” Mach said, “here’s the deal. Everyone apart from Adira is staying here on the
Intrepid
and joining up with Tralis’ CW fleet. For the next foreseeable, you’ll be carrying out patrols—and possibly some combat, so Sanchez and Tulula, you’ll have some fun with the ion cannons and laser batteries.”

They whooped at that though Mach could see the disappointment on Sanchez’s face. But his mind wouldn’t be changed. His old friend, as skilled and as perfect as he would normally be for this kind of mission, was in no right state physically, or even mentally, yet.
 

Beringer looked at Mach, confusion written on his face. “What about me? I didn’t pay you your fee to be some military lackey.”

“That’s quite right,” Mach said. “How would you like it if I told you that you could come to the home of the vestans’ technology—and see their very origins.”

Tulula looked away, disgruntled, but she more than anyone knew she couldn’t go.
 

Beringer, however, perked up. “Really?”

“Really.”

“I need two crewmembers to go with me. Your historical and archeological knowledge might come in handy. Besides, we owe you a trip, and while it’s going to take us a while to get your sphere, we can at least show you something cool.”

Beringer stood and raised his glass of Fides single malt. “I’m in!”

So that was that, then.

Mach issued basic orders, knowing Babcock would take care of the crew. He said goodbye to the others and left with Adira and Beringer to meet Morgan and the others by the awaiting shuttle.
 

But as they got into the small, boxy windowless craft and settled into their vertical stasis units for the weeklong L-jump, Mach noticed tension on Morgan’s face. The president leaned through the shuttle door, smiling at Mach and saying some usual protocol bullshit, but his attention and gaze were off somewhere else.
 

“Hey,” Mach said, leaning out of the front of his unit. “What’s up?”

Morgan snapped back to the present. “Oh? Nothing. I realized that we’re treading new ground here.”

“Is that all?” Mach had known Morgan for longer than anyone. Fought with him, under him, and against him at times. He knew when Morgan was holding something back, and it gave Mach a cold feeling in his guts.
 

Just what the hell had the old man got him involved with this time?

“That’s all,” Morgan said. “Trust me, you’ll be fine. Just make sure you get back in one piece, okay?”

“Don’t I always?”

“Yeah… you do.”

That tension again.
 

Mach didn’t have time to tease it out of him. The door of the shuttle closed and it started its countdown procedure. There was nothing to do; the whole thing was automated. With Adira and Beringer next him, Mach relaxed back and waited for the warmth of stasis sleep to come.

But as he drifted off, he knew in his heart something about this mission was very wrong—and that Morgan knew it too.

Babcock gripped the arms of the captain’s chair. The
Intrepid
, along with four CWDF destroyers and a capital ship,
 
came out of L-jump a few AUs outside of Palios, the factory planet named after its giant sun.