Call to Arms (Black Fleet Trilogy, Book 2) (14 page)

She then sucked all the joviality out of the conversation when she casually told them how they’d flown the ship through Xi’an’s atmosphere at high velocity. As the command crew walked away, the Tsuyo team looked at Wolfe as if he were criminally insane.

“You could have left that last part out, Commander,” Jackson complained as they climbed onto the moving walkway.

“They’d have found out anyway when they reviewed the logs of the engagement, sir.” She shrugged. “Throwing out something like that shocks them enough to allow us to escape the conversation. Otherwise they’d have followed after us, asking about every aspect of the ship’s performance.”

“Ruthless.” Jackson smiled with approval. “You’re very quickly learning what it takes to be a captain.”

The Tsuyo engineers ended up being only the precursor to a whole series of people waiting to greet the hero crew. Pike, dressed in his role as Aston Lynch, made outrageous claims about the bravery of the crew as he greeted his “boss,” Senator Augustus Wellington, and six other members of the Confederate legislature. Now that he knew what to look for, Jackson could see Wellington’s jaw clench at Lynch’s ridiculous embellishments and foppish demeanor.

Jackson let Celesta run interference as people came up to greet and question the command crew, a task she had taken to naturally and was quite good at. She was not only more personable but was far more diplomatic than he could ever hope to be. Not only that, but her crisp Britannic accent didn’t offend sensibilities like his very obvious Earther dialect.

As they escaped the greeting parties and rode one of the transparent tubes to billeting, Jackson looked down at Haven. It was the first time he’d been back since leaving, after his exoneration in the loss of the
Blue Jacket
(and weeks of intense physical therapy), for a secret Tsuyo shipyard to take command of the
Ares
some forty months ago.

For some reason, whenever he saw Haven from space, it gave him an intense longing to see Earth again. Maybe he’d talk Pike into taking him back there when things settled down since flights to and from the birthplace of humanity were few and randomly scheduled. He figured the agent might enjoy a trip back as well, as he’d begun to have suspicions about the man’s carefully guarded origins.

****

“Enter!” Jackson called out when he heard the chime.

While he’d been in command of the
Blue Jacket
, he always consoled himself during trips to Jericho Station with the fact that Officer Billeting was far more luxurious than his sparse ship’s quarters. Tsuyo ship designers had addressed that disparity, however, and compared to his suite aboard the
Ares,
the quarters on Jericho now looked rather dated and worn.

“I was going to go grab dinner.” Singh walked in and keyed the door shut. “You want to put your leg on and join me?”

Jackson gave him an unfriendly glare as he reached over and grabbed his prosthetic. “You’re actually going to spend time on the station and not watch over the shoulders of the Tsuyo techs as they crawl all over your ship?” He engaged his leg into its socket with a metallic
clack
and waited for the nerve sensations to come alive. The strangest part was that it genuinely felt like he’d sat on his leg wrong, and the circulation was coming back—pins, needles, and all.

“If you must know, they’re digging into some parts of the power plant that I don’t have clearance to see,” Singh said. “We were all asked to disembark in no uncertain terms.”

“I still can’t believe they’re playing these games with their technology, all things considered.” Jackson stood and smoothed his pant leg over the metal of his prosthetic.

“Old habits, I guess.” Singh shrugged, trying very hard to pretend that the snub didn’t bother him. “The more irritating part is that I don’t even think it’s a matter of security clearance. I think they view Fleet engineers as little more than over-qualified machine operators. The insinuation was that it served no purpose for me to be there since they’d brought their own techs to fetch tools and parts, and I’d just be in the way.”

“Ah, the forever-running cold war between scientists and engineers.” Jackson managed not to laugh as he ushered Singh out into the corridor. “I think maybe you’re being a little oversensitive about it.”

“I’m being nothing of the sort.” Singh sniffed.

“You heard the one about the scientist and the engineer who were locked into separate workshops and told they weren’t allowed to come out until they’d built a simple radio receiver?” Jackson asked as they walked down the near-deserted corridor.

“Why do I have a feeling this joke will be at my expense?”

Jackson ignored him and pressed on. “So a scientist and an engineer are tossed into separate rooms, stocked with tools and parts, and told that they aren’t allowed out until they’ve produced a working prototype for a radio receiver. After two days, the scientist has covered the walls in scribbling and looks like a mad man, raving about how not only is it impossible to build a receiver with the parts given but that he’s proven that radio is theoretically impossible anyway.

“When they check on the engineer, they find that he’d built the receiver in less than a day, fashioned a crude speaker and antenna, and had found a radio broadcast he liked and hadn’t bothered to tell them he’d finished.”

Singh chuckled at the anecdote despite himself. “I’m assuming there’s a point to this anecdote?”

“The point is that you do your job, and you do it very well,” Jackson said. “Try not to worry about how they do theirs. The old dividing lines are falling, but it seems Tsuyo Corporate isn’t about to hand over the keys to the kingdom over something so petty as an interstellar war that threatens to wipe out the human species.”

“So clever,” Singh deadpanned. “I hope they have something with a little more zing than the
Ares
’
s
officer mess serves.”

“Not everyone likes pain-flavored food,” Jackson said to his friend as they walked into the beautifully decorated mess hall.

Singh’s strong South Asian lineage—an archaic Earth term for what used to be India—meant that he normally preferred food with a level of heat that made it almost inedible for someone like Jackson, who grew up on the much milder North American-style fare.

“It toughens you up.” Singh walked up to the line and checked out the menu.

“My stomach lining would disagree.”

They had no sooner sat down and began eating when a fresh-faced ensign walked into the hall and walked up to their table, snapping to attention.

“Senior Captain Wolfe,” he said, “Your presence is requested on the surface of Haven at Chief of Staff Marcum’s home.”

Jackson settled his napkin on the table. “When do I leave?”

“Your shuttle departs in sixty minutes, sir. Details of your departure will be sent to your comlink momentarily.”

“Thank you, Ensign.” Jackson pushed his tray back. “I suppose I’ll need to change into dress blacks if I’m heading down to the surface.”

“I wouldn’t presume to know, sir,” the ensign said, mistaking the rhetorical question for a literal one. “If I may say, it was an honor to meet you, sir.”

Before Jackson could respond, the young officer spun on the ball of his foot and marched out of the mess hall.

****

After a bumpy shuttle ride from Jericho Station to an air base on the coast of Haven’s northern continent, Jackson was met by another aircraft that whisked him away to the residence of the CENTCOM Chief of Staff. He tried to ignore the electric turbines whistling outside the window as the lush, green landscape of Haven’s northern hemisphere in summer streaked by. His agitation at being called off of Jericho began to morph into a simmering anger as he suspected that he was heading for some formal dinner with a group of dignitaries instead of getting his ship ready to head back out to the Frontier.

It was like a low-grade headache, the constant buzzing just on the edge of his awareness that kept reminding him that every hour wasted was another hour they’d never have back to prepare for the Phage when they decided to come full force. And come they would.

Unlike a lot of the CENTCOM brass who had the luxury of speculation, Jackson believed down in his core that the clock was quickly running out until their enemy did something even more horrifying than sending in a single Alpha to attack a handful of frontier planets.

The pitch of the motors changed and they descended rapidly for an open patch of lawn just north of the sprawling home that was the traditional residence of the Chief of Staff for the last seventy years or so. The pilot goosed the power on the down-canted turbines just enough to flare the small craft before it bounced gently on its landing gear and rolled forward.

“Sorry for the aggressive descent, Captain,” the pilot said through the intercom. “We were told it was urgent to get you here quickly.”

“I’ve been through worse, Lieutenant Commander.” Jackson waited as the crew chief popped open the hatch and stepped aside so he could disembark.

As soon as his feet hit the grass, a small, open air vehicle tore across the lawn toward him. A bit of curiosity peeked through the anger he’d been carrying from the air base. He had a hard time believing something like another dinner with politicians would be treated with so much urgency.

“Senior Captain Wolfe,” the Marine corporal driving the vehicle managed to sit at attention as it slid to a stop. “If you’ll please come with me, sir, it’s urgent you join the Chief of Staff as quickly as possible.”

Jackson slipped into the passenger seat and hung onto the armrest as the corporal stepped on the accelerator hard enough for the tires to chew up the manicured turf.

Jackson was ushered inside, and his stomach growled at the remnants of what had obviously been a lavish buffet that had hardly been touched. As he watched the servants put away the food, he wished he’d been able to eat on Jericho before being summoned.

As someone who had lived most of his life on a starship, he didn’t understand the need dirtsiders had for face-to-face communication. It was far more efficient to talk over a secure video channel, especially at such close range where there wouldn’t be any lag.

He was led past the reception area and through a heavy security door where he was scanned by three Marines with handheld devices, each looking for separate threats. His prosthetic leg caused them some consternation until the ranking Marine’s comlink chirped. When he answered it, Jackson could clearly make out the voice of Marcum shouting to let him in. Unruffled, the sergeant pocketed the comlink and gestured for his subordinates to stop.

“Sir, if you’ll just enter the first lift on your right, it will take you to where you need to go.” He indicated down the bleak hallway with his right hand.

“Thank you, Sergeant.” Jackson walked toward the lift quickly, having a very bad feeling about what he would find when its doors opened again. The lift accelerated downward rapidly enough to make Jackson’s stomach do a flip. As a lowly captain, he wasn’t privy to the secrets of the Chief of Staff’s home, but he’d never even heard any rumors about such extensive underground levels.

When the lift braked to a stop, and the doors opened, he was even more surprised. The large, dimly-lit room could have been mistaken for the CIC aboard a
Tundra
-class fleet carrier. Computer terminals ringed the perimeter while the center of the room was dominated by a large, circular table that looked to be a newer generation holographic display. Tsuyo had originally fitted such a display on the bridge of the
Starwolf
-class prototype but removed it after Jackson complained loudly and often that it was an unnecessary distraction.

“Wolfe! Get your ass in here!” Marcum shouted from the far side of the table. He was wearing his formal dress uniform, jacket hanging unbuttoned and the tie half torn off in a testament to the hasty nature of his departure from the planned dinner. “This is a fucking disaster!”

“What’s happened, sir?” Jackson stepped up to the table and tried to figure out what he was seeing in the three dimensional display.

“CIS com drone came in while your shuttle was descending,” Marcum said. “The Phage have retaken the Xi’an System, and it looks like they were trying out some new toys.”

“Retaken?” Jackson said. “We conceded the system to them.”

“Yeah… well they’ve made sure we have no reason to go back,” Marcum said. “They’ve destroyed Xi’an.”

“Destroyed—”

“Yes, goddammit! Keep up, man!” Marcum shouted. “They moved in with those new Charlie constructs you found near Zulu and completely destroyed the planet. Look.” As Jackson’s mind reeled from the impossibility of the statement, Marcum replayed the high resolution optical feed from the automated drones they’d left in the Xi’an System. What he saw chilled his blood and made him grip the edge of the table in case he fainted.

“That’s impossible.”

“I’d suggest you forget you even know what that phrase means, Captain,” Marcum said, as the video repeated again. “Watch it a few more times, and then snap out of it… we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Chapter 8

The evidence on the drone feed was beyond conclusive. The Phage “Charlie” units, as they were blandly designated, were planet killers in every sense of the word. Jackson’s mind simply wasn’t prepared to accept that something built by intelligent beings would have the power to make an entire planet cease to exist.

From the vantage point of the stealthy CIS drones, he watched the Charlies appear in the system and maneuver themselves in a low orbit around Xi’an, equidistant from each other and in crossing orbits that allowed them to maximize their coverage over the planet. Each Charlie then accelerated along their orbital paths and unleashed a veritable hell upon Xi’an. The superheated plasma streams from the three moon-sized Phage units blasted away the atmosphere and began boiling the bedrock of the planet’s crust.

The details of the process were quickly obscured as Xi’an became nothing more than a slow moving comet on the drone sensor feed. The tech controlling the feed sped it up so that when the image showed only the cooling molten core of the planet surrounded by three lifeless Charlies, nearly thirty-two hours had elapsed. The fact that they could sustain that level of firepower for that long seemed implausible, but there was no denying what he’d seen on the sensor feed.