In the Presence of My Enemies (2 page)

   “A bundle if it’s spaceworthy. Sector Command still has these in their inventory, but they’ve been drastically upgraded. You can still find these older models on a lot of border worlds, though, but in far fewer numbers. I know a guy on Minos that would pay a fortune for this little beauty.”

   The navigator walked quickly around the craft,
noting a series of chains holding it to the deck, but finding no evidence of damage to the hull. He then noticed that one of the two fusion drive engines was missing. He relayed as much to Gandar. “It’s probably down for maintenance.”

   “Who
cares? You can strap just about anything to this baby and she’ll fly.” He looked down to his computer, noting that the atmosphere in the hangar was the same consistency as the space outside the hulk. “Let’s work on getting one of the hangar doors open. The area looks pretty clear of debris, so we shouldn’t have a problem at all with attaching the
Bo’tham’
s
tow beams to it.” 

   “Sounds good,” the navigator replied, then took the
cargo droid with him to the door release mechanism as Gandar continued to ogle the prize they were about to reap.

   Tapping the communications link on his wrist, Gandar tried to raise his engineer.

   “Chursa here,” the engineer replied.

   “We’ve found a fighter in the hangar, and we’re preparing to open the landing door. What is your status?”

   “I’ve located what I believe to be the armory, but the door has been previously forced.”

   Gandar grunted. “The crew must have tried to break in after the ship lost power. I assume the compartment is empty, then?”

   “Yes, it is. But . . . I don’t think the crew forced this door. At least, not by any means I’ve ever seen.”

   “What do you mean?” Gandar asked as he watched
the hovering droid work feverishly to gain access to the hangar door’s manual override machinery.

   “This door wasn’t cut open with a laser torch, nor was it imploded using the fail-safe charges built into the frame. This looks like
. . . well, it looks like brute force. Like something just grabbed the doors and crushed them apart.”

   “Extreme times call for extreme measures, Chursa. Who knows what the crew o
f this ship was thinking as it was dying around them? You understand as well as I do that they could have used anything . . .
would
have used anything . . . if they were in fear of being boarded.”

   Chursa sighed heavily into the intercom. “
I spent a lot of time on board a lot of ships in my time with the service. Even after they screwed me out of my pension and I had to go freelance . . . well, there are just some things you never forget. I can tell you, in all my years in damage control, I’ve never seen anything like this.”

   “Forget about it, Chursa. If there are no weapons, there’s no need for you to remain there. You can muddle over your sensor readings
, your past accolades, and your theories all you like when we get back to the
Bo’tham.
For now, drop what you’re doing and get down to the hangar. We have
real
work to accomplish.” As he finished speaking, Gandar watched as the cargo droid removed the panel it had been working on, then jammed two of its four limbs into the open cavity. “Did you copy that, Chursa?”

   There was a brief moment of silence before the engineer responded in a distracted tone. “Yeah. Yeah,
I copy.”

   “Is there a problem?”

   There was another pause before the engineer replied. “I . . . I don’t know. I don’t think so. I just thought . . . I saw something move at the end of the corridor.”

   “Stop imagining things and get your ass down here, Chursa. The hangar
door is going to be opened any minute and I’ll need you to help the secure the fighter.”

   “There it is again,” Chursa’s
worried voice echoed through the speaker in Gandar’s helmet.

   “These things are full of
junk floating around the passages. Stop messing around and get down here.”

   “Who’s there?” Gandar heard Chursa ask
, but not to his captain. The worry in his voice had moved up a notch to actual fear.

   “Don’t be an idiot, Chursa. Every compartment on this ship is depressurized. In case you’ve lost every bit of engineering knowledge you’ve ever attained, sounds don’t propagate in a vacuum.
Even if something were there, it couldn’t hear you—”

  “I can see you!” Chursa screamed into his headset. “Come out
. . . or so help me, I’ll fire!”

   “Chursa! Everything on this ship is dead. Have you gone space-
crazy?” Gandar noted that the exchange with Chursa had drawn the navigator’s attention away from his task. There was a moment of static-filled silence before the captain got another response.

  
“I can see it.” Chursa’s now-terrified voice cracked. “What . . . what the
hell
is
that
?”

   Suddenly, every muscle in Gandar’s body tensed. Whatever it was, Chursa
both didn’t seem to be imagining it, and was likewise utterly horrified. “What is
what
, man?
What do you see
?”

   “It’s coming at me!” Chursa screamed, then there was a rapid succession of thumps over the intercom. Gandar knew it was the sound of Chursa’s machine gun flapping against the side of his spacesuit
as he fired round after round at the target.

   “Chursa! What’s going on?”

   “Oh God . . . Oh—God, no!” There was a deafening shriek, followed by a series of grunts. The channel went dead.

   “
Chursa! Come in!
” Gandar screamed, but was met only with silence. He looked down at his wrist computer, noting that Chursa’s bioreading was no longer present on the sensors. Frantically, he turned to his navigator, who had since stepped up to the captain’s side.

   “We’ve got to get out of here, Gandar. There’s
—there’s something
here!
”

   “Impossible! There were
no
bioreadings on this hulk before we got on board.”

   “Forget the damn readings, Gandar! Whatever it is, it got Chursa, and it’s going to come after us next!”

   Gandar looked down at the computer, already knowing that their return path to the
Bo’tham
would take them dangerously close to Chursa’s last position. Regardless, the heated exchange with Chursa had left his suit dangerously low on air, and the only way it could be replenished was back on his ship. He turned, gazing toward the unclaimed prize sitting in the middle of the hangar, a small fortune in unrealized profits. He reached out and ran a gloved hand down the side of the fuselage, his three fingers leaving furrows in the light sheen of ice surrounding the fighter. Cursing his misfortune aloud, he pivoted back to his navigator and withdrew his pistol. “Let’s go! And get that damn gun of yours out!”

“If you believe the doctors, nothing is wholesome;

i
f you believe the theologians, nothing is innocent;

i
f you believe the military, nothing is safe.”

—Lord Salisbury

   Watching through inch-thick transparent windows, the
Rhea
’s towering first officer, Commander Odaka Ashdoe, closely scrutinized the incoming Kafaran shuttle carrying Admiral William Graves and a contingent of Kafaran officers. Stationed on the hangar deck for nearly an hour, two dozen Marines from the 92
nd
Unified Marine Expeditionary Unit waited patiently for what they hoped would be a quick apprehension. A small number had been placed in various positions surrounding the hangar, fully armed and ready to repel any invaders, while the majority of the formally dressed Marines were standing at attention near where the shuttle would finally set down—a tactic the
Rhea
’s captain, Richard Krif, hoped would convince the admiral and his alien escorts that the assembled officers’ intentions were benign.

   After the battle with the Meltranians high above Second Earth had ended several hours ago, the
Rhea
’s hangar bay was in shambles. Though the ship had been spared a direct assault by the Meltranian isotonic cannon, it had nonetheless taken multiple rounds from smaller emplacements on the intruder’s hulls. Now, with several of the landing doors either without power or jammed, numerous fighters, bombers, and surveillance craft had to be quickly organized around the cavernous compartment as they came in. With over half the
Rhea
’s combat wing destroyed in the battle, space was no longer at a premium, but with damaged bulkheads and smaller debris clogging the floor, making room for the craft was still a slow process.

   A large section of the deck near one of the three remaining operational landing doors was hastily cleared and made ready for Admiral Graves’s shuttle. Captain Richard Krif’s orders had been specific on the matter, and several damaged fighter craft that had
needed to be moved to clear the landing area were still nearby—plainly visible to anyone exiting the incoming Kafaran shuttle.

   Standing apart from the
Marines, in no less formal attire, was Captain Krif, flanked on the left by Commander Rylani Saltori of the 435
th
Red Skulls, and one very disgruntled Lieutenant Commander Shawn Kestrel on the captain’s right. Still fuming over the imprisonment of Melissa Graves, Shawn was beside himself knowing that in just a few short minutes, her father and whoever else was aboard the Kafaran shuttle would soon be receiving the same fate.

   “I can’t believe you’re going to arrest him,” Shawn murmured to the
captain.

   Krif’s eyes never left the still
-closed hangar door. “It’s protocol, Kestrel.”

   Shawn scoffed at the choice of words. “Protocol my a—”

   “Classified Unified Collaboration material has fallen into the hands of the enemy,” Krif snapped under his breath. “I’m doing my job, commander, and you know it. In fact, if it were anyone else other than William Graves out in that shuttle, you and I wouldn’t even be having this discussion—which, incidentally, is now over.”

   Before Shawn could argue, the voice of the ship
’s operations officer, Commander Caitlin Hayes, came over the hangar’s loudspeakers. “Hangar bay, prepare to receive shuttlecraft.”

   As soon as Hayes finished her announcement,
Commander Ashdoe turned to the assembled officers. “All hands, stand at attention!” he barked.

   As instructed, all hands came to attention near the shuttle
’s assigned landing spot, an area hastily decorated with dark blue carpet.

   From beyond the large hangar door, Shawn heard the distinctive sound of the
Rhea
’s outer door slowly closing. Once it was sealed against the vacuum of space, the large airlock was pressurized, and the hangar’s inner door slowly parted. There, hovering nearly silent not fifty feet away, was a fully armed Kafaran attack shuttle. Shawn hear the distinctive intake of breath of the assembled Marines, and that of Krif standing beside him. He felt his own pulse quicken as the sleek, silvery-green shuttle began hovering forward, its lethal port and starboard cannons aimed directly at the Marines on the deck. The forward view port—or what Shawn assumed was the forward port—was blacked out, refusing him a view of who or whatever was behind the controls.

   The twenty-five
-foot-long vessel came to a slow halt before the assembled group, pivoted ninety degrees to port, and then slowly set down on four pads that folded out from the undercarriage. Out of the corner of his eye, Shawn watched as the nearly eight-foot-tall Ashdoe gave a silent command to the snipers stationed in alcoves in the overhead.
Please, let them not do anything stupid.

   When the craft
’s engines had shut down, a panel in the side of the vessel split vertically, then two doors parted outward and a set of steps folded down to the deck. Shawn could clearly see that no one inside the craft was standing in the doorway. A moment later, a tall, shrouded figure appeared. It was impossible to tell who or what it was as it descended the steps and, once clearing them, stood just to the side of the opening. Slowly lifting its gloved hands to its hood, it folded the material back to reveal the pallid face of a Kafaran—the first any of the
Rhea
’s personnel had seen since the end of the war. The Kafaran’s red eyes scanned the small crowd of humans, then it craned its head up to the overhead—as if aware of the snipers waiting there. Looking down to its wrist, it activated a small transmitter, signaling to the rest of the shuttle’s occupants to disembark.

   The first out was Admiral William Graves. Shawn failed to repress a wide smile as his old friend and commanding officer caught his eye. William didn’t return the gesture, instead stepping to the side of the craft and wait
ing for the rest of the shuttle passengers to unload. William was followed by three more Kafarans, one dressed more formally than the others. Shawn assumed this was likely the Kafaran that Graves had mentioned by name in his last communication—Commodore Savath. Graves nodded to his companion, and the two strode side by side the thirty feet it took them to come within arm’s reach of Krif, Kestrel, and Saltori.

   “Captain Krif,” Graves started formally. “Request permission to come aboard?”

   For whatever sadistic reason, Shawn could see that Krif wasn’t about to hatch his plan. “Granted, Admiral. Welcome aboard,” the captain said just as formally.

   “Thank you,” Graves
replied warmly. He motioned to the Kafaran on his right. “This is Fleet Commodore Savath of the Kafaran Alliance.”

   Savath’s dark
, ruby eyes seemed to search Krif’s for a moment before the Kafaran bowed his head gracefully. The alien made a series of clicking and grunting noises—the Kafarans’ idea of a language. A small device attached to the side of his uniform crackled to life as it translated the sounds into Galactic standard. “Thank you for welcoming us aboard, Captain Krif,” the device echoed.

   Krif
response was cold and without emotion. “Commodore.”

   William then motioned to the Kafaran beside Savath. “This is Colonel Tausan. He’s the commanding officer of the Kafaran war carrier
Kokan
.”

   Krif’s eyes shifted to Tausan, but for some reason the Kafaran’s gaze was fixed solely on Shawn.

   “Colonel,” Krif huffed.

   Tausan, taking a lingering look at Shawn, shifted his gaze to the captain in his own good time. “Captain,” the
colonel’s translator spat back.

   Krif nodded his head in the direction of the Kafaran still standing beside the shuttle. “And him?”

   “A guard for the shuttle,” Graves said. “We would call him a grunt.”

   “A
Marine?” Krif acknowledged.

   Shawn didn’t like the look in Krif’s eyes as he said it.

   “That’s correct, Captain,” Graves replied. “I’d like to get to the nearest briefing room as soon as possible. We have a great deal of information to go over, and time is dangerously short.”

   Krif’s eyes were still locked on the shuttle guard, sizing him up. “I’ll bet you would.”

   Both the admiral and Shawn cocked their heads in disbelief. “I’m sorry, Captain. What was that?”

   Richard then stared coldly at Admiral
Graves, and Shawn knew what was about to happen, powerless to do anything about it.

   “I said I’ll bet you would,” Krif repeated sarcastically. “Unfortunately, the only place you and your friends here are going is straight to the brig.”

   Graves’s face went instantly red. “This is outrageous! You have no authority!”

   “Like hell I do, and you should know it.”

   Graves’s eyes turned to Shawn. The look he received from his former protégé told him what he needed to know: Shawn wasn’t happy about this at all.

   “On what grounds, Captain?” Graves replied as he found a semblance of composure.

   “I can name a half dozen off the top of my head, but the only one that really matters is treason.”

   William cast his eyes to the deck briefly before looking back to Krif. “You have no idea what you’re doing, Captain.”

   “Oh, yes. Yes, I do. I’m safeguarding my people against further contamination. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you roam these corridors a free man, to say nothing about these . . .
aliens
.” Krif then turned to his executive officer and gave the leathery-faced commander a nod.

  
Ashdoe took measured steps toward Graves, produced a set of laser manacles, and then clasped the admiral’s hands behind his back.

   “Admiral Graves, you are hereby charged with treason under Unified Sector Command law, title sixteen of the Code of Military Justice,”
the executive officer said formally. “You are to be placed in the brig, pending the outcome of a formal investigation.”

   It was all Shawn could do not to jump between the two and defend Graves with anything he could turn into a weapon. The
lieutenant commander swallowed hard, then shot a glance at William. The admiral’s silent plea for Shawn to remain in place was the only thing that kept Shawn’s feet planted firmly on the deck. Shawn watched as the Kafarans were also subdued, the cuffs looking distressingly small on their muscular wrists. The prisoners put up no resistance as they were led silently from the hangar deck. Not long after, the entire assembly of Marines and honor guard filed out unceremoniously. Within moments, Krif, Kestrel, and Saltori were the only ones in the massive bay.

   “This is about the worst idea you’ve ever had, Dick,” Shawn quipped.

   “How’s that?” Krif asked, looking toward the empty Kafaran shuttle.

   “Maybe you’ve forgotten that a Kafaran carrier and destroyer are out there right now!” Kestrel shouted, pointing in the general direction of Second Earth. “This is just the kind of excuse they need to start blasting away at us. And if the Meltranians decide to send someone looking for their lost ship—”

   “We’ve got their commodore and their carrier captain, Kestrel,” Krif replied calmly. “They’re not going to do so much as empty their garbage in our direction. I’m not concerned about these so-called Meltranians either.”

   “Sir,” Saltori began nervously. “Begging your pardon, but I think the
lieutenant commander may have a point.”

   Krif turned to him sharply. “I’m used to this insubordinate questioning my orders,” he said, throwing a thumb in Shawn’s direction, “but I’m not used to it coming from one of my senior wing leaders,
Commander
.”

   Saltori’s posture stiffened. “Yes, sir. Of course, Captain. I’m only thinking that, with the
Agincourt
destroyed and the
Breckenridge
damaged—”

   “I’ll do the thinking around here, Commander. The
Duchess of York
and her escorts will be here in less than twenty-four hours. I’m sure we can hold the Kafarans at bay until then. Now, it seems to me that you’ve been hanging out with this space-hauler too long. Why don’t you go get some R&R on the observation deck for an hour or three? Do I make myself clear?”

   Saltori looked from Krif to Shawn and then back to the captain. “Yes, sir. Perfectly clear
.” He then strode briskly away.

   Krif then reeled on Shawn. “And, as for you
. . .”

   “I know when I’m not wanted, Dick.” Shawn slowly turned away from Krif, then made his way in the direction of
Sylvia’s Delight
, parked neatly at the forward edge of the bay.

* * *

   Melissa was lost in thought when the doors leading into the brig’s lobby hissed open. She’d been sitting patiently in her cell, one of the dozen in this part of the
Rhea
’s underbelly. With very little to do, her mind was processing everything she had learned up to this point—all the data from Toyotomi Katashi, what she and Shawn had discovered on board the
Icarus
, and what they had found on Second Earth. There were still so many unanswered questions, and she hoped that by rearranging the various pieces something might fit. None of it was.