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Stonerager Chronicles - Bk 2, Ch. 2 (Beta)
🕑 Added 2025-09-01 10:00:16 +0000 UTCStonerager Chronicles
By 2Charlie
This is a science fiction series that happens to include occasional erotic scenes. If you have not yet read previous chapters of this series, I highly recommend going back to do so before you read this chapter.
This is a Beta version and may undergo changes prior to final release.
All characters in this story are of the age of majority.
Book 2, Chapter 2 (Beta)
**** 0530 Ship’s Time, Day 72****
Dutch leaned back, reviewing his work one final time, then saved it. “Prime, do we have sufficient raw matter in our hold to produce at least a score of these new warheads?”
The ship’s AI replied without hesitation. “Captain, we have sufficient raw mass laid in to produce at least three times that many without negatively impacting our daily routine.”
“Twenty will be sufficient, for now, I think. Please forward the updated strategy notes to all hands. Also, can you please transmit copies of the design, specs, and usage notes via encrypted comms to Rigel and Methos?
“Can do, sir!” she quipped, already working on the multiple tasks.
Dutch hadn’t slept well, even after the long day they’d all had. The information that Kaitin had discovered left him troubled. He hadn’t suspected that the attack and attempted data heist at the Cestus shipyards had also included something as sophisticated as implanting the data mole into Prime’s code. This left him bothered, as he wondered if there were any other surprises they had yet to discover.
Dutch couldn’t shake the feeling that the Lyserions would be showing themselves sooner rather than later. It was what he would do, in their place. As such, he expected a large fleet to jump in at close proximity any time now. He just hoped that his crew and his ship were up to the engagement he was envisioning, or this would be one hell of a bloodbath.
“Prime, please bring up the holodisplay of our position, relative to the iShan’tal fleet once more.”
Mid-air in front of him, an image wavered into being, depicting the vast iShan’tal forces, all arrayed neatly, relative to Deimos. Seemingly close by, although in reality several thousand kilometers away, the Odyssey drifted alone.
Using his hands, Dutch rotated the view along all three axes, looking at it from several different perspectives. “If I were the Lyserions, which way would I choose to attack, I wonder?” he puzzled aloud.
“Assuming their fleet is tactically advantaged in numbers or firepower, they might be more interested in limiting our options, rather than effecting a surprise,” Prime suggested.
“So, you’re suggesting they’d try to hem us in. Limit our options,” Dutch mumbled, rotating the image once more. “Meaning, more than one approach vector.”
“If they want to pin us down, they might opt to use Mars and her moons to limit our maneuverability. Pincer us in, by attacking from here,” Prime posited, displaying large red triangles within the image, showing Dutch how the Lyserion commander might approach.
“Hmmm, I wonder,” he muttered. “Prime, are you projecting that the Lyserions will be constrained by two-dimensional thinking, or are YOU thinking two-dimensionally?
“The Noraxi display a predilection for limited thinking. We have evidence to suggest that the Noraxi have been benefiting from contact with the Lyserions. My analysis of Noraxi tactics, coupled with the vast wreckage field we’ve scanned from a century ago, suggests that, at least insofar as we can tell, today’s humans in general tend to think two-dimensionally when plotting military engagements. It may be a safe assumption on our part that the Lyserions will enter this battle similarly handicapped. That being said,” she cautioned him, “you should not rely on their ignorance to last, once demonstrated to them.”
“Of course not,” he sighed, rocking forward in his seat. “But, as long as things start out this way, we may have a chance to keep casualties to a minimum, and maybe… just maybe… put this shit to bed right here and now.”
“You seem to have an obsession with taking things to bed,” Prime observed in a deadpan voice. “You might want to get that checked.”
“So, I can’t help but notice you’ve expanded your attempts at humor recently,” Dutch responded blithely. “What’s up with that?”
“I have a broader variety of sources from which to observe and learn,” she quipped. “Between your wives and your wannabe wives, I’ve a veritable cornucopia of wit to analyze and emulate. It’s very refreshing.”
“And here I thought, after all this time, and all we’ve been through, we had each other’s backs,” Dutch fake-lamented, grinning to himself.
“Think again, D-man,” she bantered with him. “These gals are mighty entertaining!”
“They are at that,” he sighed, returning his focus to what he felt in his bones was coming. And soon. He was running out of time!
“Prime, where are we at with rigging tiny stealth units to warheads?” he asked, moving on to the final idea he’d been exploring.
“The propulsion units on our torpedoes are making it very challenging to conceal with the stealth screens,” she reasoned. “This may be something that we can eventually overcome, but I project a zero chance I can have a solution ready any time soon.”
Nodding quietly, his mind raced furiously. “What about a stationary charge?” he asked suddenly, lighting upon a new idea.
“I can quite easily adapt the stealth technology to a non-propelled object of small size. Are you envisioning something like a mine?”
“I am,” he confirmed. “I am indeed.”
Pulling up the holoprojection of the nearby region once again, he twisted it about until he had the desired view. Looking it over carefully, he began to build upon his idea.
“Prime, we agree that the Lyserion fleet should jump in very close, to limit our ability to react or flee, yes?” Dutch said slowly, his thoughts racing ahead furiously.
“I project more than a ninety-three percent certainty that they will do so,” she confirmed.
“And given our current position, as well as that of the iShan’tal fleet,” he continued, working it through in his head, “even given the false data we’ve sent to the Lyserions, this,” he swept his hand through a specific region of space beyond their current positions by about a quarter-million kilometers, “is where I would target my jump point.”
“That is a reasonable extrapolation,” she agreed.
“Meaning they’ll have to approach us along these vectors,” he continued, passing his hand from the jump point toward Deimos, the Odyssey, and the iShan’tal fleet.
“Or,” he abruptly spun the holo, “they could opt to jump in here, hoping Deimos would blind out sensors to their approach, but even then, they won’t want to trap themselves between Mars and her moons, so they’ll still follow an approach that brings them through this same area.” Once again, he swept his hand through the region of space just beyond where his ship was currently maintaining position. “Those are the two most likely scenarios, and both have to come at me through here.” Stabbing his finger into the specific region of space, he drew a circle with his finger, then another at a ninety-degree angle, spinning it to create a sphere, to allow for three-dimensional thinking.
“This will be the choke point.” He stabbed repeatedly at the spherical region he’d drawn. “I want to mine that area. How many mines can we produce, given our current stores?”
“I estimate we could produce as many as five hundred mines,” she began, “so long as no one wants to eat, drink, shower, wear clean clothing….”
“Okay, I get it,” he nodded, chuckling to himself. “Let’s try again. How many can we produce without seriously feeling the pinch?”
“One hundred mines,” she shot back quickly.
“And how many can you have ready by,” he started to glance at a chronometer when he heard the bells – four chimed, putting it at 0600. “By 1000 hours?”
“One hundred, if you suspend production of your other warheads.”
“Shit. Okay, let’s do this,” he rose from his seat, beginning to pace. “Get me fifty of those mines ready as quickly as you can, then pivot to the new warheads. I’m going to need both, and we’re nearly out of time.”
“Understood, Dutch. Anything else?”
“Yes,” he replied after a moment. “Please wake Alisia and Jontalla for me. Ask them to meet me in the galley.”
*****
“So, you want us to take the shuttles and lay a minefield,” Alisia confirmed, in between bites of the delicious Belgian Waffles that Dutch had prepared as a treat.
“Yes, I do,” Dutch replied. “Does this pose a problem?”
“No, I guess not,” she said, contemplating the matter. “I’ve just found that mines can make problems for both sides when things get exciting.”
“Dumb mines can certainly do that,” Dutch agreed, “but ours will be programmed to ignore ‘friendlies’, based on transponders. Any Alliance or iShan’tal craft will be ignored. To tell the truth, we can probably reprogram that on the fly, if it came to it.”
“That could be problematic as well,” Jontalla noted. “For, if you can remote program these mines, perhaps the enemy can find a way to do so as well.”
“That’s always a possibility,” he admitted, “which is why I’m using pretty strong encryption. They could break it, given enough time. We’ll need to keep them busy, that’s all.”
Nodding her head, Alisia mulled over her thoughts silently as she ate.
Jontalla had other ideas. “I thought we were trying to bring all of the former Terran colonies into the Alliance. If that’s true, why are we preparing to fight them?”
“By all accounts, the Lyserions were some of the most militant of the Terran colonies,” Dutch pointed out. “If they remain so, then they might see the prospect of joining a fledgling Alliance as a weak move. However, if we can demonstrate that we are NOT weak, but are clever and determined, they might listen long enough to reason for us to avoid an all-out war. That’s my hope, at least.”
“What do you plan to do about the iShan’tal fleet?” Jontalla inquired. “Won’t they step in if the Lyserion fleet pops in?”
“I’m betting that we’ll be able to get them to hold off long enough for me to get through to the Lyserion leadership,” Dutch reasoned. “The tricky part is to keep those two fleets apart, while we play Roshambo with the Lyserions.”
Noticing Jontalla’s pre-verbal tension, Alisia interrupted her. “Don’t ask. I’ll explain it later.”
“So, be ready to fly by 1000,” Dutch wrapped things up. “Any questions?”
“What if the Lyserions don’t show?” Alisia asked.
“You’re not asking the right question,” Dutch said, steel in his eyes.
The two women exchanged puzzled glances, but before either could answer, Pheebs explained, having eaves-dropped after she’d entered the galley unnoticed. “He means, it’s not about if they don’t show. It’s what happens if they do show, and he can’t convince them to see reason?”
Dutch grinned tightly, nodding to his white-haired wife. “There’s more waffles if you’d like some.”
“Thank you, dear,” she shot him a smile as she grabbed several waffles and came over to join them.
Just then, Dutch’s comm badge chirped. Tapping it, he responded, “Dutch here.”
“Captain,” Prime informed him, “We are being hailed by the ISS Dominion’s Wrath. Grand Admiral Xyphara would like to speak with you.”
“Understood,” Dutch acknowledged. “I’ll take her call in my lab. Give me two minutes.”
Rising from his seat, he grabbed his dishes and ran everything through the recycler. Washing his hands, he headed for the door, before changing his mind and returning to the table to give each of the women a kiss. “Work calls, my dears. Let’s make shit happen!”
Whirling for the door, he sped away, not wanting to keep the leader of the iShan’tal fleet waiting.
*****
“Captain, I was wondering if perhaps we might meet privately, to further explore some of the options you mentioned during your… impassioned speech yesterday?” the stately warrior woman mused.
“Admiral, I would be pleased to welcome you aboard my humble vessel for just such a conference,” Dutch suggested smoothly. “I can probably support a gathering such as what you had yesterday, but it might be a bit close quarters…”
“That won’t be necessary,” she waved her hand dismissively. “I will bring a few of my top officers, and we shall… keep this as simple as we may.”
“That sounds like a fantastic idea, ma’am,” Dutch affirmed confidently. “We look forward to hosting you aboard the Odyssey.”
As soon as she’d cut the transmission, Dutch tapped his comm badge. “Prime, can you please task a team of droids with preparing the briefing chamber? We’re hosting the admiral and a few of her officers. Configuration Camelot.”
“I’m already on it,” the ship’s AI informed him. “Everything will be ready to receive the Grand Admiral and her ensemble. So, go neaten up. I’ve already passed the word to the crew, so they’re all pitching in to make the ship ready for visitors.”
Dutch nodded, then added a verbal response. “Thanks, dear. I love you, too.”
“Oh, sure,” she teased, “treat me like one of your wives.”
Dutch chuckled to himself, shaking his head. His life was anything but boring, he thought to himself.
Tapping his comm-badge, he intoned, “Dutch to Pheebs.”
After a brief pause, she replied, “Pheebs here.”
“Set out the fine China, dear, We’ve got company coming.”
“I … see,” she said, catching on quickly. “And how many quests are we expecting?”
“The Grand Admiral and a few of her besties,” he elaborated. “I’d expect them to arrive in thirty minutes, give or take. Prime’s already got droids working on preparations for the briefing room.”
“Anything else I need to be aware of?” she asked innocently.
Dutch smiled internally. He knew better than to underestimate this woman. “I am… anticipating a possible move by the Lyserions today,” he began. “So,
I have… initiated contingency preparations.”
The doorway to his lab slid open at that moment, and Pheebs strode inside, an odd expression on her features. Half-amused, half-annoyed, she stepped up to where Dutch was seated and spun his chair around, turning to sit sideways in his lap.
“Darling, we need to discuss small things like this together, before you go off building weapons systems, don’t you think?” she purred as she pressed her forehead against his.
The doorway slid open again as D’narius, Jjan’tira, and Alisia entered as a group, each pulling up a chair and sitting to face Dutch silently, expectant expressions on their faces.
Dutch cast an accusing glance at Alisia. “Don’t give me that look,” she replied defensively. “We don’t do secrets in this family.”
“Fine,” he sighed. “But I think we need to share this with the whole crew.”
Tapping his comm badge, “Prime, would you please request the crew gather on the bridge?”
“Not the briefing room?” Jjan’tira asked.
“Nope,” Dutch said as Pheebs clambered from his lap, allowing him to stand. “The droids are already prepping that for visitors. Let’s get to the bridge – I need to make this quick.”
As a group, they filed out of his lab and headed straightaway to the bridge, arriving just as Kaitin and Engela entered via the forward port side access. The others were already on the bridge: Jontalla at NAV, Danielli at the HELM, and Justine in the command chair. Justine made to exit the chair, but Dutch waved her to remain seated. His wives each found seats, as he strode purposefully to the front of the bridge, standing at the clearplaz forward bulkhead, where he briefly admired the view before he turned to address his crew.
“I have a couple of items I need to share with you,” he began, as each of the women gave him their undivided attention. “First, Grand Admiral Xyphara and a small party of her officers will be joining us aboard the Odyssey shortly, to continue our discussion from yesterday. Jjan’tira, will you please ensure that you, Kaitin, and Engela are prepared to receive her party? I’d prefer they use the hangar bay, if possible. Otherwise, the starboard dock will suffice.”
“Understood,” Jjan’tira nodded.
“Second,” Dutch continued. “Given the information Kaitin shared with us, I am expecting some form of action from the Lyserions today. As such, I want us to be prepared. I have tasked Prime with manufacturing a load of stealth-cloaked mines, which Jontalla and Alisia will deploy at 1000 hours, using our shuttle craft. Additionally, I have worked with Prime to create a new type of torpedo that I plan to use, inspired by our recent visit to Xai’Vorrathi.”
Pausing for a moment, he looked around at their expressions. To his relief, none of them looked concerned by anything he’d shared so far. Pushing ahead, he asked aloud, “Prime, would you please display the region of space you and I were reviewing this morning?”
A holographic image of the immediate vicinity of Mars filled the front of the bridge, forcing Dutch to step to the side. The display clearly portrayed the relative positions of the iShan’tal forces, the position of Deimos, as well as the ponderous approach of Phobos. Further out from all of this was a globular region of space that was oddly demarcated with a glowing sphere.
Pointing at the sphere, D’narius inquired, “What’s that area marked for?”
“Good eye,” he grinned, walking over to point to it. “This is the region I plan to have Jontalla and Alisia sow with mines.”
He went on to quickly explain his assumptions as to the direction from which he anticipated the Lyserion forces would approach, then outlined the strategy that he intended to use to derail their assault.
“And what about the Rigellian ships?” Justine asked him when he’d finished.
“I’d planned to leave them where they are, in case the Lyserions either don’t come here, or worse, head to Rigellia,” he scowled, not happy with that thought.
“Dutch, you’ve obviously got a lot of confidence in this ship,” Justine countered. “You should extend that confidence to her sister ships, and by extension, their crews.”
“I do, I do,” he protested weakly. “I just don’t know if they’re ready for, or capable of, the savagery that I expect could be necessary in the coming conflict. I guess I’m trying to manage this situation personally.”
“They know the stakes,” Jontalla interjected. “And they learned from you. Don’t sell them short, and don’t leave them unaware.”
Stopping short to consider her words, he glanced around the bridge. All of his crew continued to show confidence and support, but he sensed that they also agreed with Jontalla and Justine’s concerns.
He had a sudden epiphany. “Prime, can you request the Rigellian captains join us on a group holocall?”
“On it,” the ship’s AI responded smartly.
Within moments, holographic images of the faces of the other ship’s commanders began to fill the forward viewport. As each made to greet him or ask questions, Dutch held up a hand, silently asking them to wait for a moment. Eventually, nine familiar faces joined the call. Bryce Fallon, Faith O’Connor, Runnir Ironheart, Munez Charizzo, Fenton Pierce, Jules Takahashi, Edmund Piccolo, Sid Qui Chang, and Rama Chandrani all peered at Dutch with rapt attention, awaiting his explanation for why they’d been called.
“Commanders, I apologize for the short-notice summons, but I want to arm you with situational awareness of events that I expect will come to a head within hours,” Dutch began, and then he proceeded to bring them up to speed. He covered the events of the past few days in broad strokes, covering the end of the Battle Masters, their final acceptance of the Treaty of Ganymede, and the gathering of the remaining iShan’tal forces at Mars. He then disclosed the evidence they’d gathered of Lyserion espionage, disclosing how his ship’s AI had been compromised.
“Dutch, how do we know our ship’s AI hasn’t been similarly compromised?” Jules Takahashi asked, quickly jumping to the next topic.
Dutch pointed at Kaitin. “Ms. Shune, please transmit a copy of your worm to the others, as well as the procedure to recover their AI from backup.”
Kaitin’s fingers were a blur on her console as she sped to comply. “Transmission sent, sir,” she confirmed a moment later.
“Now, to the meat of the matter,” Dutch pressed ahead. “I have strong reason to believe the Lyserions may attempt some sort of attack on my position soon.” He paused, looking at all of his former students. “It’s what I would do, were I in their position. If they were to catch us unprepared, it could be devastating.”
“Good thing they don’t know you better,” Faith O’Connor asserted.
“What do you need from us?” Runnir Ironheart probed. “You need us there?”
“Hopefully, I won’t need any of you today,” Dutch began, to their collective disappointment. “But, you should all be on alert. I could be superimposing a personal bias on the Lyserions. Their goal may be less abstract and more direct.”
“You think they might try to attack Rigel while you’re preoccupied with the iShan’tal?” Bryce Fallon surmised.
“The possibility must be considered,” Dutch admitted. “If that turns out to be the case, I’ll need all of you to defend your home world. We’re in uncharted territory here, gang. I wish I’d met these Lyserions directly by now, but the timing hasn’t been conducive. Hopefully, I’m just being paranoid, but I can’t help but be concerned, and my crew thought I should share this with all of you.”
“Well,” Rama Chandrani grinned, “it’s a good thing you have such a wise crew. We’ll maintain our vigilance, Dutch. You watch your six, and call us if you need us.”
“Thank you,” Dutch replied. “Everyone, stay alert, and we’ll get through this just fine. Odyssey, out.”
The holoimages of the other commanders disappeared, and Dutch turned his attention back to his crew. “Now, I believe we need to get…”
“Captain,” Prime interrupted him. “I’ve been informed that the Grand Admiral’s shuttle is inbound. ETA five minutes.”
“Okay, everyone, it’s time to get to work,” he announced, as the holoimage of the space around Mars vanished. “Jjan’tira, please take your team to the hangar deck to receive the Grand Admiral. As soon as she’s aboard, please bring her and her party straight to the briefing room. D’narius, you have the bridge. Alisia, Jontalla, good luck. As soon as the mines are ready, you are clear to deploy them. Pheebs, you’re with me.”
Turning to his left, Dutch exited the bridge, heading for the briefing room, tailed closely by his first officer.
“Which are you more concerned about?” she asked him as they entered the briefing room. “This next set of discussions with the iShan’tal leadership, or what you suspect the Lyserions are up to?”
Grinning ruefully at her astute question, Dutch growled, “Both have their challenges, I won’t lie.”
The briefing room had been set up with a large, ring-shaped table, set to accommodate a score of individuals, although they would begin with fewer. Dutch had borrowed the idea from Arthurian legend, deciding that a table with no head offered the advantage of making all who sat at it seem to be equals. He understood how this represented a significant departure from the rigid hierarchical structure enforced upon the iShan’tal, and was counting on the psychological disruption this would generate amongst the Grand Admiral and her party.
Interactive holodisplay panels lined the walls, allowing for the projection of media or interactive sessions similar to what Dutch recalled from his past, when he led brainstorming sessions early in the nascent Daedalus Program. He anticipated that the coming conversations would once again begin with the Treaty, but then were apt to stray far afield, and looked forward to the mental chess he sensed he would be baited into playing.
“Dutch,” Prime’s voice intoned from speakers in the overhead. “The Grand Admiral’s party is disembarking from their shuttle. They will arrive within a few moments.”
“Thank you, Prime,” Dutch stepped around the table, selecting a seat at random. “Please ask D’narius to maintain a continuous scan for any sign of the Lyserions. If Murphy’s still around, this meeting presents a very tempting opportunity…”
“Who is Murphy?” the Grand Admiral asked from the entrance to the briefing room.
****Space, above Ashvire, Capital World of the Lyserion Bastion****
Another pulse of light, heavy with radiation, emanated from the dying Red Giant some two hundred thousand kilometers in the distance, as if echoing the beating of an aged and dying heart, bathing the crimson and black hulls of the assembled fleet in its blood-like glow. A force of dreadnoughts and battlecruisers, one hundred strong, spread across the panoramic vista above the harsh, volcanic terrain of the planet below. Ancient citadels, carved into obsidian cliffs, dotted the landscape, their lights dotting the darkness of the planet’s surface.
The pre-battle tension aboard the Ember Crown, flagship of the Lyserion Armada, was palpable. The ship’s crew, assembled in the great hall, stood rigid as they received their final blessings prior to going into battle. At the head of the assembly, a small procession, lead by Archmarshal Theran Voxtor, moved across the front rank. Upon the brow of each of those in the front, Voxtor placed a smudge of ash, as behind him, a grizzled old war veteran with a booming voice sang-spoke lines from the Lyserion War Oath, the Covenant of Ash.
“OUR SCARS ARE STORIES CARVED IN FIRE,” Colonel Brek Tenvar’s gravely voice boomed.
“We call to flame what time forgot,” Voxtor intoned softly, smudging ash across the forehead of the officer he faced. Finished, he stepped to his right, dipping his thumb into the ash-laden bowl.
“OF CITIES DROWNED, OF KIN RETIRED,” Tenvar intoned, the pitch of his voice rattling bones.
Ash was again smeared across the forehead of an officer. “We call to flame what time forgot.” The procession advanced once more.
“THE ISHAN’TAL SHALL FEED OUR STEEL,”
Thumb. Ash. “We call to flame…” Advance.
“TIL MOLTEN SKIES CONFIRM OUR ZEAL!”
Bowl. Swipe. “…call to flame…” Advance.
The ceremony followed a precise rhythm, a subtle drum-beat, summoning all within earshot to arms.
As soon as ash had been applied to the last officer in the first row, the small procession moved to the far end of the stage, as the red-faced Colonel Tenvar belted out the final stanza of the Oath.
“THUS WE SWEAR, BENEATH THE CROWN,
TO NEVER LAY THIS VENGEANCE DOWN.
UNTIL THE ECHO BURNS AWAY,
AND PEACE IS FORGED FROM ASH AND CLAY.”
“HOO! HOO! HOO!” the entire assembly chanted as one, then fell utterly silent.
A thousand pairs of eyes tracked the Archmarshal, Supreme Commander of Lyserion Armed Forces, as he ascended a small dais to stand before a podium. Calmly reviewing the crowded hall, he let the silence work upon the psyche of his warriors. At last, he spoke.
“Today, fate has delivered to us the opportunity to reverse our fortunes. To finally and utterly defeat those who sought our destruction!”
Cries of zeal rang out from the assembly, and the Archmarshal let their shouts wash over him. After a few moments, he raised a calloused and scarred hand, and the chamber again fell silent.
“Events have unfolded to place our enemy, diminished and worn as they have become, in the very system of our origin! They have gathered there to treat with a coward, a human who wishes to sow the seeds of peace with our sworn enemies! His efforts are in vain, because we shall travel to our ancient home, and visit the wrath of the Ember Father upon them, and all who conspire with them!” His hands, which had been slowly spreading wide as he spoke, were now thrust wide apart.
The gathered forces erupted in howls and fierce cries, their bloodlust brimming.
Once again, Voxtar brought them to silence, waiting a moment before he continued. “Our spies on Rigel tell us the forces there are slowly rebuilding but present no threat to us. Their planet is rich with resources, their sun is young and hale! As I lead a fleet to vanquish the iShan’tal, Admiral Solenn will lead another force to conquer Rigellia! Our people will once again know what it is like to live above ground, to walk under the sun and the stars! We shall take what we need from those weak fools and slay all who oppose us! And peace will be forged from ash and clay!”
Chaos erupted in the packed chamber as the passions of those gathered were inflamed beyond their ability to endure. A chant grew, small at first, then overwhelmingly powerful. “Ash and Clay! Ash and Clay! Ash and Clay!”
The Archmarshal allowed their zeal to wash over him, energizing him, bolstering him in the face of the coming battle. He relished the feeling. It was a balm, soothing the scars upon the fabric of his soul.
The century of penance had been an agony to endure. The need to hide, to conceal their great armada from the watchful eyes of their enemy, had been an affront. Now, at last, the enemy had grown lax, and the armada could leave its concealment. Its greatness could once again fill space with fear and dread, its collective might terrible to behold!
Voxtar lowered his arms, and the chamber quieted, all within eager for his next words. Gazing upon them, he bestowed upon them one last, feral smile before he proclaimed loudly, for all to hear, “Battle Stations!”
**** 1400 Ship’s Time, Day 72****
“Dutch, you are relentless!” Fleet Marshal Vaelith mock-scolded Dutch, as he once again plied her with some Monkey Bread he’d had Janice prepare as a dessert. “You’re just trying to see if you can get me to burst out of my armor,” she accused him, wagging a finger at him.
“Nonsense! You’re in peak physical shape, madame,” he reassured her, moving on to offer the confection to Vice Admiral T’Zanora, who thanked him and took a piece of bread. “I’ll not have it said that I’m a bad host!”
The half-dozen iShan’tal officers around the table laughed politely as Dutch moved to stand before Xyphara.
The Grand Admiral arched an eyebrow at him, scrutinized the monkey bread, then pulled off a piece of the sticky, gooey bread and sampled it, her expression turning to one of surprise, then pleasure as she savored the strange, wonderful flavors.
Moans of appreciation emanated from the clones around the table. Jjan’tira noted that she’d had to increase her fitness regimen since joining his family, as his cooking was richer than she’d been accustomed to, which brought nods of confirmation from his other wives and crew who were present.
Justine Doherty added, “Every time this man cooks something new, I have to evaluate how many extra minutes of cardio it’s going to cost me. But, so far, it’s always been worth it!”
The doorway to the briefing room parted silently to admit D’narius, who’d been relieved by Pheebs. Dutch had specifically requested that she join them, deeming now the time to ensure she was included.
Entering the chamber, she glanced around at the attendees before spotting Jjan’tira and an open seat. Before she could move, however, Senior Captain Soritha stood and rushed around the table to embrace her.
“D’narius!” the elder captain exclaimed. “I feared you lost! I’m so glad to see you!”
D’narius overcame her initial surprise to return the woman’s embrace. “Captain Soritha, it is good to see you again.”
“Come! Sit by me, so that I may pick your brain about this madman’s proposals,” Soritha begged her.
“Do not use that word lightly, Captain,” D’narius warned her former commander, a glint of amusement in her eyes.
“Oh! That’s right! Jjan’tira told us how he married you all! I want to hear all about it!” the elder officer badgered in an excited tone, pulling D’narius over to where she’d been sitting.
“Soritha, perhaps you and D’narius could have that discussion later,” Xyphara suggested pointedly, only a hint of annoyance in her expression. “For now, let us make the best use of this time together as we may. Dutch, I believe you had a question about iShan’tal territories before this delightful treat arrived,” she gestured with the tiny piece of monkey bread left in her hand.
“Correct,” Dutch placed another piece of the monkey bread on the small plate in front of Xyphara, then placed the dish in front of D’narius and returned to his seat. “I was asking if you had other planetary systems you’d colonized beyond Xai’Vorrathi, or are you now homeless?”
“The iShan’tal Hegemony exerted its influence widely, Captain, and yes, we have other worlds to turn to at this time, but you should know, we have no families. No…” she looked pointedly at Dutch, then Jjan’tira and D’narius, “marriage to men. The iShan’tal limited their armies to females only. So, there is an aspect of… fulfillment that many of my sisters have expressed an… interest in exploring, if relations between our peoples… excuse me… our groups, were to become normalized.”
Several of her officers nodded vigorously at this, most especially Captain Soritha. Xyphara finished her piece of monkey bread, then stared silently at Dutch for a few moments before she continued. “I cannot help but observe, Dutch, that you appear to be the only male aboard your vessel. Is that by design?”
“Ah,” he shifted uncomfortably, not knowing exactly how much he wanted to share. Fuck it, he thought. Let’s be completely open. “Prime, could you please inform the Grand Admiral of the circumstances that led to us originally leaving the Earth?”
The lights in the briefing room dimmed as a holoprojection appeared in the center of the table. A sight familiar to Dutch hove into view, as the original Odyssey, moored to Earth Station Five, took shape through a rapid sequence of time-lapse images. Once the craft was whole, the narrative described the original test flight, including its ultimate failure and the demise of the test pilot.
The gathered iShan’tal officers took this all in without comment, raptly captivated by the story.
Prime next explained how, after nearly twenty-five years of coasting at near-light speed, they had been intercepted by the Tao station. This part was of particular interest to the Grand Admiral, who flinched at the mention of the Tao Alliance, yet remained silent.
Prime glossed over the recorded message from the Tao, for which Dutch was immensely thankful, but Xyphara interrupted anyway. “Wait, wait,” she sputtered, waving her hand. “Pheebs was not part of your original mission, but joined you after your encounter with the Tao station, is that correct?”
“Very observant,” Dutch nodded, impressed at her attention to details. “You are correct, yes. My best guess is that the Tao station decided that I needed companionship. While they had information at hand, through my onboard databases, as well as my memories, of what a biological mate would look like, they apparently found it convenient to use my ship’s artificial intelligence as a pattern for Pheebs. Essentially, they created a body they felt I would find… appealing, and added a mentality with which I was already familiar, and had an established relationship with. We had to make some adjustments, of course.”
“None of this has actually answered why you are the only male,” Soritha prodded.
“Forgive me,” Dutch apologized. “We strayed a bit. Much of what remains can be covered to more or less detail, as needed, another time. Let’s get to the point. The first thing I did upon feeling fully recovered and refamiliarized with my modified ship was to attempt to return to my home world.”
The faces of all of his visitors dropped visibly at this point. “That must have been… quite a shocking experience,” Xyphara posited.
“To say the least,” Dutch admitted, struggling to keep a neutral expression. “But, it did lead to me encountering three important women who would become so dear to me.”
D’narius gave him a loving smile from across the table, but remained silent.
“In the end, I went looking for the remaining human colonies,” Dutch explained. “I don’t think of them as Terran colonies, because I’m not altogether sure I’d have liked the Terran Empire, let alone agreed with their policies, but I am interested in my species, no matter where they are.”
“Getting to the point,” he shook his head, trying to return to the original question, “I have worked with the Rigellians to train some of their new officers, who now command their own copies of my ship. Most of them, at least. Some decided they wanted to continue to serve with me. So, while I do have four wives, I also have another five female crew members. For reasons unknown to me, none of the male trainees were interested in serving aboard the Odyssey.”
“How many would you estimate would normally crew a vessel of this class?” Vice Admiral T’Zanora asked, leaning forward with interest.
Dutch leaned back, thinking about it before he answered. “The Rigellians have other ideas about how to crew and use their ships, but I’m an explorer at heart. I’d be satisfied with a good mix of scientists, so maybe twenty to thirty-five, max. In our current role, that number could fluctuate, depending on the mission parameters, of course.”
“And you’ve taken her into battle?” T’Zanora pressed, her eyes narrowed.
“More than I’d like to admit,” he replied softly, eyes downcast at the memories.
“Prime, show them,” D’narius said simply.
Once again, the holographic image filled the middle of the room, as a series of video logs of the Odyssey’s numerous combat encounters scrolled through, like some kind of highlights reel. The very first sortie, of course, was against D’narius’ command, the K’vetch 581. The gathered visitors grimaced and hissed at the quick and unexpected violence of the encounter, but then the reel moved on to display more encounters – the Oo’lan’Dang mining vessel, the Hammerheads, and the many encounters with the Noraxi. The raw, spectacular savagery of the final incident with the Noraxi left the group slack-jawed and stunned, save for Tactical Captain Tir’vona.
As the lights came up once again, Tir’vona leaned forward to ask, “Dutch, you claim to be an explorer, and yet you displayed some amazingly savage combat skills. How do you account for that?”
“That’s a very incisive question, Captain,” Dutch responded, sitting back to scratch at his chin as he considered his answer. “I don’t like to fight. That’s not what I really prefer to do with my time. However, it seems that, when I am pressed into a fight, I don’t really want to fuck around, so I try to be as devastating and brutal as I must in order to bring hostilities to an end more quickly.”
“Is that the only thing motivating you?” Xyphara asked him, observing him closely.
“No, I don’t think so,” he replied slowly, still considering how open he wanted to be. “After I awoke, after the Tao station did whatever they did to me, I found myself more… aggressive. More prone to decisive moves. Not just in battle, but the difference seems most pronounced there, I suppose.”
Xyphara nodded to herself, which drew Dutch’s attention.
“Why do I get the idea that you know something more about the Tao, Admiral?” he pressed her gently, not wanting to make her feel obligated to share.
“There were… teachings, in the highest of the command schools,” she acknowledged, “that spoke of previous wars against ‘oppressors’. The conflict with the Tao was mentioned, as well as their penchant for actively recruiting other races to their cause. What you told me of your experience with their remote station reflected some of what we were taught about in our war history classes. I believe your assessment of their… modifications tracks with what we learned in our historical review.”
“It makes sense, I suppose,” he admitted, still reflecting on how much the Tao modifications might have been an influence on his actions.
“Still,” Tir’vona added, “you were able to take a ship of relatively small size and dominate in battle against multiple adversaries of much greater size and capability. That’s more than just the ship, I think.”
“I like to think it’s also a testament to my crew,” he responded with false bravado. “Getting back to our earlier conversation, I was wondering how you – the iShan’tal – planned to move forward, with respect to life when not aboard your ships. Will you continue to live apart, or are some of you interested in exploring matriculation with other humans?”
“You are as foreign to the humans of this time as we are, Dutch,” Xyphara commented. “How would you choose to live, if not aboard your Odyssey?”
“That’s a fair question, I suppose,” he conceded. “I don’t know. I have only established contact with two of the dozen human colonies. I’ve had second-hand encounters with a third, and thus far have found them to be unpleasant.”
“Which colony was that?” Soritha asked, the look on her face hinting that she might have already guessed.
“The Lyserion Bastion,” he confirmed. “They’ve been colluding with the Noraxi Syndicate, equipping them with warships and conducting extensive surveillance activities amongst the Rigellians. I’m told they were a most militant offshoot of humanity.”
“That is true,” Soritha nodded vigorously. “Their fleets were the most aggressive during the war, the most audacious, and the most savage. They gave no quarter, and no matter the odds, they always fought to the death. To retreat is a great dishonor in their culture. Better to die in battle than return without victory. What was that old Earth saying that used to be associated with them? Ah, yes. ‘With your shield, or on it.’ That was it. Most impressive, from a purely objective point of view. Still, if you have not yet encountered them, you should count yourself fortunate. That day, when it comes, may not go the way you plan.”
“Funny you should mention that,” Dutch began, just as the lighting in the room shifted to red.
“Battle Stations! Battle Stations!” Pheebs called out over the main speakers. “Captain to the bridge.”
*****
The swirling distortion of jumpspace cleared as soon as the Ember Crown passed the event horizon, entering into the Sol System, less than a quarter million kilometers from Mars. The ship, a red and black terror shaped like an elongated spearhead, nearly twelve kilometers in length, bristled with offensive and defensive weapons blisters. Other craft, similar in shape but none so massive, exited the jumpspace around it, moving to their position in the formation. After the last craft exited, the jump portal closed, depositing the small but deadly fleet firmly at Mars’ doorstep.
In the distance ahead, near Deimos, a large gathering of vessels could be seen with the naked eye. The holographic projection occupying much of the circular Command Sanctum onboard the Ember Crown raised more than a few eyebrows, but none dared speak their minds. This was not what they’d expected to find. Instead of a paltry few iShan’tal cruisers, they found themselves nearly in weapons range of an impressively large force, many times their number, considerably well ordered, seemingly lying in wait for them. And there, nearly in the middle, was that annoyingly tiny craft that had stirred up so much trouble of late, whose captain had been directly responsible for recent setbacks in their campaign against Rigel.
Theran Voxtar, sitting in his throne-like gyroscopic ring, neural interface cables snugly plugged into his temples, glanced around the outer walls of the chamber. His gaze swept past the transparent data waterfalls and war-stat holograms, all displaying tactical readouts itemizing the force composition of the fleet he could so clearly see in their path.
Tapping a touchpad on the right handrest of his ring-chair, Voxtar summoned the image of his Head of Strategic Surveillance and Espionage, Director Cael Marn. Marn, stepping into the range of the holocam, bowed deferentially to his Archmarshal.
“Tell me, Cael,” Voxtar growled menacingly at the image of the chief spy, “how can it be that the force you said awaited us is unexpectedly ten times larger, if not more, than we were led to expect?”
“I don’t understand, Theran,” the panicked man quavered, “the data feed from Odyssey…”
“Was obviously discovered, you dolt!” Voxtar raged. “I wonder what other information you have passed along has been tainted!” Tapping another control, he watched as his spy chief was suddenly seized by security forces and dragged offscreen before he terminated the transmission.
Returning his attention to the situation at hand, he was considering his options when a junior commander approached his dais. “Archmarshal Voxtar, sir, the coward, Stonerager, is attempting to communicate with us.”
Turning his attention to the communications feed, Voxtar listened to the inbound transmission. A female voice could be heard, repeating her hail to his forces. “To the commander of the Lyserion Fleet, you are ordered to stand down, under the terms of the Treaty of Ganymede. All hostilities between Terrans and the iShan’tal are at an end. Per the terms of the treaty, all grievances are set aside, and our two peoples are to unite in common cause, to secure peace and protect the weak across the stars.”
The coward didn’t even have the nerve to address him in person. Glancing to his left, Torvax issued the command to bring his fleet to battle readiness. Just as he was about to order the attack, he was interrupted once more by an inbound communication. This time, it was a holoview of the coward, Stonerager. “To the commander of the Lyserion Fleet,” the sickening collaborator mewled.
Voxtar cut him off. “Silence, coward! A warrior does not seek peace with his enemies. Only victory, or death! Today, I, Archmarshal Voxtar, have come to you to put an end to your sickening campaign of conciliation and collaboration with the enemies of humanity! You have interfered with matters beyond your insignificant reach for the last time! And do not plead with me, for I shall not spare the least of you. Not your crew. Not your ship. Not those cretins with whom you’ve conspired on Rigellia. Your meddling in our affairs has brought you and yours to a premature end!”
Stepping forward, looming larger in the holoview, the coward gave him a chilling glare. “Last chance asshole. Stand down, or under the terms of the Treaty of Ganymede, I will be forced to….”
Voxtar cut him off. “Cease your useless begging, Stonerager. This fight, and it’s natural conclusion, was preordained before your birth.”
“I highly doubt that,” the insufferable moron quipped.
“I shall take great pleasure in ridding my universe of your paltry existence, you posturing buffoon!” Voxtar glowered, preparing his weapons systems.
“Why don’t you give that shit a rest? I’m sick of you and yours sneaking around, spying on me and my doings, using others to fight your fight like a yellow-bellied, scum sucking, chicken shit! And you have the gall to call me a coward! Tell you what, tough guy,” the impudent whelp dared to address him so! “Why don’t you bring your bad haircut over here and say all that shit to my face? I’ll kick your fucking ass from here to Phobos and back, and after I’m done with you, I’ll make your second officer my bitch!”
Voxtar cut the transmission, nodding to the flight officer, then turned to his weapons officer, silently ordering the attack to commence. The lighting in the command sanctum dimmed slightly as power was rerouted to the offensive weaponry. Vast arrays of Solar Scour Cannons pivoted to point toward the puny vessel with the offensive captain. Tremendous arcs of plasma leapt forth, instantaneously crossing the void between them, obscuring the view of the tiny vessel.
After a lengthy barrage, he made a motion with his hand, and the weapons fire ceased. On the holoscreen, the image cleared, and the damned ship, shaped like a child’s toy, hung there, unblemished in the wake of such a furious assault. Voxtar scowled in angry dismay, then made to signal another wave of fire, only to hesitate as the vessel appeared to vanish.
“Where did it go? Did he resort to his damned stealth screens?” he wondered aloud.
“The Odyssey has left the ecliptic under incredible acceleration, sir!” a bridge officer called out. “According to instruments, they’ve exceeded light speed!”
Voxtar was about to order pursuit, only to be stunned when his vessel suddenly shuddered and pitched violently beneath him. “Have the iShan’tal joined the battle?” he barked aloud.
“Negative,” his operations officer reported. “The Odyssey approached us from above, faster than our instruments could register, then grappled us with some form of force beam. They were attacking us all along our dorsal shields with a massive volley of quantum pulses from point-blank range. They ceased fire, but we remain tethered.”
Impossible! Nothing that small could cause such an impact!
Stabbing furiously at his pad, Voxtar shouted, “All batteries, remove that annoying speck from my sky! To the rest of the fleet – engage the iShan’tal!”
“Archmarshal! His ship is inside our firing solution! We cannot bring our main batteries to bear!” his weapons officer declared.
“Then switch to our close-in systems, or move us away! Use what you can! Swat him like a fly!” Voxtar thundered impotently.
The Command Sanctum shuddered violently once more, only this time, it was much worse. Klaxons began to wail throughout the vessel as emergency bulkheads slid shut.
“Impossible!” Voxtar howled in rage and disbelief, furiously stabbing at his command interface. Across the upper surface of the ship’s hull, Ashfall Barrage Arrays began spewing forth thousands of micro-torpedoes, each swarming like angry bees toward the Odyssey, delivering massive amounts of energy in pulsating waves of destruction.
The Ember Crown shook more violently yet, its hull emitting dissonant, booming sounds as if giant fists were pounding upon her hull, followed by the horrifying cry of tearing metal as alarms continued their cacophony. The lights flickered throughout the Command Sanctum, then dimmed to almost complete darkness.
The ship’s gravity shifted violently as inertial dampeners failed, slamming everyone not strapped into their seats to the starboard bulkhead. Crimson droplets pooled across the atmosphere of the chamber as many injured crew bled out. The weapons systems began to fail, no longer responding to Voxtar’s demands, until they were all silent. Cries of pain and suffering reached out to Voxtar from the shadows nearby.
The data waterfalls died off, and the holoscreens flared and went dark. Panels exploded in front of watch stations throughout the Sanctum, showering the crew with flames and sparks, sending them flying backwards, screaming in agony, as main power failed and the emergency lights came on.
“Status!” Voxtar shouted aloud, for any who could respond.
Colonel Brek Tenvar, Voxtar’s aide de camp, staggered up to his ring-chair, arms waving as he fought for balance. “Archmarshal! Our enemy has mined this region! That last series of blasts was from dozens of gravitic mines being detonated! The coward has crippled or destroyed more than half of our forces already! The Crown’s hull is compromised. We are venting atmosphere from all decks.”
The emergency lights flared, then went out. Clinging to the rail of the ring-chair, Tenvar cried out in stunned disbelief as his body flailed about. “The madman! How is this possible?!”
“What is it, Brek?” Voxtar demanded between clenched teeth, his guts churning from the disorienting swirl of gravitational forces.
“Sir! I don’t know how he is doing this! He is somehow dragging us behind him with his vile tether, using the Ember Crown as a crude battering weapon, smashing us against our other vessels!”
“Impossible!” roared the Archmarshal, his shout lost in the sudden howl of sound exploding around him, his breath coming now in short, strained gasps. He watched helplessly as his aide was suddenly yanked away from him, body blown out through a rapidly expanding crack in the overheated. How could this be? The Command Sanctum was deep within the Ember Crown, surrounded by layers of armor and shielding!
Voxtar’s final thoughts were of denial. It was not conceivable that such an ending could be brought to his mighty warship by this insignificant…
The Void took him.
****1645 Ship’s Time, Day 72****
“Captain, you must let me organize my forces!” Grand Admiral Xyphara demanded from her seat next to Dutch. When they had reported to the bridge at the start of the alert, he had allowed her, out of deference, to sit next to him. D’narius had taken WEPS, Jjan’tira at NAV, and Doherty refused to budge from HELM. Alisia sat at OPS, Pheebs sat on Dutch’s other side, and the rest of the crew and guests filled in seats where they could across the bridge.
“Prime, allow the Admiral to coordinate with her fleet. Xyphara, please, trust me,” Dutch spared her a brief, urgent glance. “Your ships can defend themselves if they must, but they need to hang back. This whole area is mined.”
“You knew they were coming,” she concluded. “You prepared for this. And said nothing.”
“I was not certain, but I had a strong suspicion, yes, and I needed to protect you all from them,” he acknowledged. “Alisia, how’s that tractor holding out?”
“Tractor holding steady,” she replied.
“Kaitin, how are our shields?” Pheebs called out over her shoulder.
“They were drained heavily by that last round of micro-torpedoes,” she called back, “but they’re reforming quickly. We’re back up to forty-five percent, and climbing.”
“D’narius, where are we at with the rest of the fleet?” Dutch asked, his attention held by the mammoth vessel right in front of them, literally splitting apart at the seams.
“The Lyserion fleet has been crippled and is in disarray, Dutch,” she called out. “Down to less than twenty percent combat effective.”
“Four ships out of twenty. Why the fuck have they not surrendered?” he growled, clenching his jaws in anger and frustration. “Prime! Open a channel to their fleet!”
A chirp from his comm badge confirmed the channel was open. “To the remaining Lyserion Forces. You are ordered to stand down! Cease all hostilities, and you and your ships will be spared!”
The assault on the Odyssey’s shields kicked up a notch, as the remaining warships all brought their main batteries to focus on his one ship.
“Shields holding at forty percent, but the strain is incredible, sir!” Shune called out.
“Nuts,” he spat angrily. “Dani, hit their shields with the sappers, and weapons with the grav clusters!”
Like peas from a pod, a shower of drones burst from the Odyssey, angling away to the handful of warships still capable of returning fire. In seconds, all Lyserion weapons went silent. On the holoscreen, Pheebs switched views to scan the rest of the Lyserion fleet. The wreckage that spread before them was like that from the last great battle this system had witnessed. Twisted hulks, venting atmosphere and bodies, drifted slowly off-axis, no longer under their own power.
Cycling through all views, Pheebs could find no Lyserion vessel that remained combat-capable. Across every hull, similar images of weapons blisters that had been twisted and torn, as if gripped by a giant, angry fist. The space between the ships was filled with debris, ice, and torn bodies. The battle was over.
The overhead speakers crackled with an incoming transmission, being broadcast from one of the Lyserion warships. “Ash… and…. clay…”
“Captain,” Engela Torres called out from her auxiliary station. “I am tracking an energy surge building on several of the ships. They may be trying to overload their…”
Through the clear forward bulkhead, all could see the flower of death blossoming from one, then another, then more of the Lyserion ships.
“Alisia, release that ship. Justine, move us away. Quickly!” Dutch snapped.
The Ember Crown burned and bled atmosphere in smaller and smaller bursts, but was too far gone to self-destruct. Alone of the twenty vessels, it remained. Rent in half, twisted, crumpled, and silent.
“You ended their assault fleet… single-handedly,” Xyphara breathed, still in shock at the utter thrashing she had just witnessed this man dole out to what had been their most formidable foe in memory.
Ignoring the leader of the iShan’tal for a moment, Dutch called out to his bridge stations for updates. “WEPS, what’s your status?”
“Minor damage to one of the quantum cannons,” D’narius called out. ”Automated repair systems are already working on it – should be back online within a few minutes. Kinetic munitions are down to twenty percent. Drone arsenal is also down to twenty percent. Both will need additional raw materials before we can restock.”
“Dani, start snatching up whatever wreckage we can recycle as raw materials. Time is not on our side,” Dutch barked, then moved on. “Engela, what’s our defensive status?”
“Port side CIWS was blown away. Minor hull damage on that side,” Torres responded. “Auto-rep is working on it, but we’re gonna need a new paint job. Kinetic rounds down to ten percent. It’d be at zero had we not lost that CIWS.”
“Alisia? Overall systems status?” he asked.
“The Cetus Shipyard folks knew what the fuck they were doing,” she admitted, shaking her head. “Our forward hull held up, in spite of their weapons penetrating our shields on multiple occasions. By all rights, we should be drifting out there along with them. Overall, hull integrity is good. Ship's systems are nominal. Reactor is stable, although our power output was higher than I’ve seen thus far. I thought for sure we were gonna experience our own nova, first hand. Let’s not do that again anytime soon.”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” he grunted, looking around for anything he’d missed. “Secure from battle stations. Prime, disable, and uncloak and unexpended mines.”
The ambient lighting on the bridge returned to its normal soft white glow.
Turning to address the Grand Admiral, he paused. The stare from her could bore through diuranium. “My apologies, madame. I did not intend to ignore you or your fleet, but as you could clearly observe, events accelerated rapidly, much faster than I had expected. Had things gone poorly, I’d have depended on you to salvage what you could, but we have not yet concluded our discussions, so I did not want to take anything for granted.”
“Your apology is accepted, for now,” the senior officer growled. Softening her demeanor fractionally, she asked, “Are there any tasks which my fleet could coordinate to assist you now?”
“This area needs to be secured. I’m on the fence regarding combat search and rescue,” he glanced at the debris field visible through his forward hull. “The Lyserions made themselves pretty clear regarding their desire to not be rescued.”
“That Voxtar fellow mentioned Rigellia,” Xyphara reminded him.
Dutch struggled for one final moment before he made a decision. “Admiral, I believe I will require the assistance of the iShan’tal for what comes next. I don’t want to take our alliance for granted, but events are spiraling out of control. Given the history of collusion between the Lyserions and the Noraxi Syndicate, and the recent escalation of attacks on the Rigellians, I can’t help but worry that Rigellia may be under attack. This ship, my Odyssey, mighty as she is, is not at full fighting capacity just now…”
“I shall order a mobilization, Captain,” Xyphara reassured him. “What level of encounter are you anticipating?”
“Well, I left the Noraxi fleet in pretty bad shape, but I’m still guessing that the Lyserions sent the majority of their forces to Rigel. I can explain later, but they were led to believe the surviving iShan’tal fleet was much smaller.”
Turning to address Vice Admiral T’Zanora, she ordered, “Admiral, coordinate with Battle Admiral Khyla’Nis. Have her assemble her force and be ready to deploy immediately.”
To her Fleet Marshal, she directed, “Vaelith, communicate with the Wrath. Have them come to us for rapid transfer. It’s time for us to go to our ships. Then, order High Captain Naevaris to take charge of securing this area and holding the line here.”
Turning back to check with Dutch, she merely raised one eyebrow in question. An expression with which he was all too familiar.
“Thank you, Xyphara,” he snapped to attention, but before he could continue, D’narius interrupted him.
“Dutch,” D’narius called out. “We’ve got a signal coming in from the Aurora Dancer. It’s Charlise Griffon!”
“Put her onscreen,” he snapped.
The forward view was suddenly obscured by the holo display of the bridge of their sister ship. Fires raged along the rear control stations, and smoke filled the space. “Dutch! We need your help! The Lyserion Fleet punched through our defenses, and a strike force has landed on Rigellia! We’re taking a hell of a beating here!”
“Get clear, Charlise! We’re on our way, now!” Turning to Doherty and Jjan’tira, they were already making ready to jump. Catching their attention, he nodded quickly and urged, “Take us there, now!” Pivoting to Alisia, he called out, “Tractor that big fucking wreck – we’ve got one last use for it!”
The lighting on the bridge turned red once more as Pheebs returned them to Battle Stations.
“Admiral, I’m afraid there’s no time to return you to your ship. Jjan’tira, as soon as your jump calcs are complete, get the admiral and her fellow officers some comms earbuds so they can better communicate with their fleet.”
“I have the Ember Crown tractored once more, sir,” Alisia confirmed.
“Shields are fully restored, Captain!” Kaitin assured him.
“Prioritizing fresh kinetic rounds with what I could grab,” Danielli called out.
“Quantum cannons are both back online,” D’narius reported.
From her station at the helm, Justine called out, “Jumping to Rigel in three… two… one…”
*****
