In the Presence of My Enemies (3 page)

  
And why the hell hasn’t Shawn been down here to see me?

   Silently hoping it was him, she looked up in time to see two
Marines glide past her cell. Wondering if they were going to power down the barrier separating her cell from the hallway, Melissa stood and moved toward the door. As she did, she watched as her father was placed into a cell across from her. Instinctively reaching out for him, her hand encountered the invisible barrier, and a jolt of electricity surged into her fingertip. Pulling away, she cradled her now-numb hand.

   “Daddy?”

   William didn’t say anything as the guards moved him into his cell. Activating the barrier, the guards then placed two Kafarans into nearby compartments. When all the prisoners were secure, the handful of Marines left the brig, leaving one present to keep watch over the detainees. William turned, and he and Melissa stared at each silently for a long moment.

   “What are you doing in here?” William asked in astonishment.

   Melissa blinked in confusion. “Is—is that all you have to say? I thought I’d never see you again.”

   William smiled faintly. “I’m quite al
l right, as you can see.”

   “I’ll hold off on believing that until I can wrap my arms around you,” she said, trying to hold back tears. “I thought you were dead.”

   Her father let out a shallow sigh. “There was a time where I thought I was going to be, but everything seems to have worked out all right since then.”

   Melissa waved her hands around the brig. “You call this ‘al
l right’?”

   William leaned against the door frame, careful not to br
eak the force field. “To be honest, I half-expected Krif to put us in here.” He then tilted his head in the direction of the Kafarans in the next cell. “I explained as much to Commodore Savath.”

   Melissa was beside herself, but still refused to acknowledge the Kafarans
’ presence until she had all the facts from her father. “Then why did you request to come aboard the
Rhea
?”

   Her father smiled, then reflected on the words before he spoke them. “Because I had to. It was the only way to make certain assurances were met.”

   “Assurances?”

   William nodded slowly.

   Melissa looked beside her father to Savath’s cell. The Kafaran was on his knees, with his large head bowed, and appeared to be in deep meditation.

   “You mean an alliance,” Melissa breathed, then turned back to her father. “With the Kafaran
s. A permanent one.”

   William sighed, his body sliding down the doorframe slightly. “I’m not sure
permanent
is the right word . . . at least, not at this early stage of negotiations.”

   Melissa looked at him dubiously. “But there are no formal negotiations with
—,” she started, but then stopped herself. The look on her father’s face told her that the exact opposite was true. Things were now moving too fast, and Melissa was trying hard to catch up. She need to stop, to replay everything before it spiraled out of control. “I need you to start from the beginning.”

   “First things first. You still haven’t told me how you got placed in the brig.”

   Melissa leaned against her own cell wall. “Captain Krif and I had a difference of opinion on whether you should be placed in here or not. I lost.”

   William smiled, then pivoted his shoulder from the frame, leaning his back fully against the cell wall. “I don’t see it as that way at all. In fact, it’s very convenient that you’re here. I just wish Shawn was, too. This is a conversation I wanted to share with the both of you.”

   “So do I,” she said wistfully. “He’s gotten pretty close to being a resident here himself.”

   William chuckled. “I don’t doubt it.” 

   “Well, for now, anyway, it’s just you and me and a couple of Kafarans. That’ll have to do.”

   The admiral took a heavy breath, then focused his eyes on a point well beyond the walls of the
Rhea
before beginning.

   “
Approximately two years after the end of the Galactic War, the far side of Kafaran space was invaded by the Meltranians.” He then turned to Melissa to emphasize the weight of his next words. “They are a vicious, plague-like species, my dear. Completely devoid of emotions . . . brutal . . . savage.”

   “Where do they come from?”

   Commodore Savath startled Melissa as he began speaking. “They come from the Darkness, an area of unstable spatial pockets on the far side of the Kafaran Empire.”

   “And what do they want?” Melissa asked, still startled over the fact that she was able to have a conversation with the alien.

   “They live off the heat generated by other creatures and planets,” Savath said. It was nearly impossible to detect what emotions the Kafaran was feeling, but Melissa got the distinct impression his words were spoken with subtle regret.

   William then spoke up, drawing Melissa’s attention back to him “
Their isotonic cannon is designed to completely drain all the heat and energy from targets, which then gets absorbed back into their ships. Those ships, just likes the one we destroyed in Second Earth orbit, are known as Collectors. When a fleet of Collectors are on the move, they are said to be extending the shadow of the Darkness.” He paused, giving Melissa time to absorb the information before continuing.

   “
Near the end of the Galactic War with the Unified Collaboration of Systems, the Kafarans began prototyping their experimental shielding. It never moved beyond that phase until after the war with us had ended, which is why Sector Command forces never encountered it. However, when the Meltranians invaded, it was used to some effect against their more powerful weaponry. The design of the shielding has been marginally improved since then, but the Kafarans can’t withstand the Meltranians for very long. So when the Kafarans began suffering heavy casualties—namely to several of their key shipyards and colonies—they began requesting assistance from some of their former allies.”

  
“The Army of Light,” Melissa guessed correctly.

  
Savath then spoke up once again. “A crude but accurate translation. In any case, with the aid of some of former allies, the Meltranians were slowly being pushed back into the Darkness. That is when our enemy became aware of a powerful weapon that had been created by the humans.”

   “The Project Windstorm biospheric torpedo,” Melissa said with a nod.

   The corners of Williams’s mouth turned upward into a near-smile, evidently proud that his daughter had correctly followed the clues he had left behind for her.

   Commodore Savath
’s response was more subtle, giving Melissa a slow nod. “It is widely believed that the Meltranians felt that, if they were to detonate this weapon on the various home worlds of the Army of Light, the alliance would fracture to protect its own interests, thus leaving them defenseless against a future influx of Meltranians.”

   “
How did the Meltranians come by this information, and how did they know to look at Second Earth?”

   Savath looked over to William’s cell, and Melissa saw her father shake his head.

   “I still don’t know,” William replied dejectedly. “In any event, that’s when the Kafarans tried to head off the Meltranians here at Second Earth. So with two large alien forces moving on a direct course toward Unified space, and with the growing concern over the rumors of the Army of Light, Unified Sector Command—under orders from the OSI—sent a covert insertion team to Second Earth in an attempt to reclaim the weapon.”

   “You?” Melissa asked.

   William nodded. “Myself and six specialists. We were initially dispatched to Second Earth, but once there we began making frequent trips to the planet Corvan to check the Windstorm backup mainframes. The last time I was on Corvan, the Meltranians showed up at Second Earth. They disabled the orbiting security satellites, then killed all the specialists who were there gathering data.”

   “Did they retrieve anything about Project Windstorm?” she asked.

   William shook his head. “I’m not sure . . . I don’t believe so. From what my team could gather, most of the critical information was destroyed on Second Earth during the initial explosion that decimated the planet. The Meltranians never made it to Corvan.”

   “Because that’s when the
Valley Forge
showed up looking for you.”

   “It would seem so,” William said, and there was no mistaking the sadness in his voice. “The Meltranians must have been waiting for them on the far side of the planet. Not long after the
Valley Forge
began sending teams down to the surface to collect evidence, the Meltranians attacked. My guess is that they acquired everything the Sector Command forces lifted from the surface after they obliterated our fleet.”

   Melissa nodded. “Several days ago we came across the remains of the cruiser
Icarus
. I was able to extract some of the captain’s logs, and they corroborate some of what you’re saying. But how did you end up on the Kafaran carrier?”

   “I waited on Corvan for as long as I could,
and then took my transport back to Second Earth. On reentry, the shuttle had a guidance malfunction, and I was forced to crash land on the far side of Crystal City. I made my way back to Addison Field, and that’s when I found that my team had been murdered, and nearly every scrap of data had been stripped from the base.”

   “That’s when you made the recording for me?”

   William smiled. “I’m glad you found it. Yes. And, as you should have deduced by now, that’s when the Kafaran fleet arrived.”

   “They took you prisoner?”

   William looked at Savath and nodded. “Yes, at first.”

   “What convinced them that you were not a threat?”

   “When they learned that I had the knowledge of Windstorm that they needed.”

   Melissa’s jaw went slack and her eyes became like saucers. “You used classified information as a bargaining chip for your life?”

   William didn’t answer; he just cast his eyes to the deck.

   “What were you thinking?” Melissa scoffed. “That
is
treason!”

   The
admiral’s eyes locked back onto Melissa’s. “Perhaps it was . . . perhaps it
is
, and that’s how it will be looked on by historians.”

   “But
. . . why?”

   “Because it didn’t take much for the Kafarans to convince me that, once their empire is overthrown by the Meltranians, the intruders are going to set their sights on us. It’s only a matter of time. And b
ecause we couldn’t do it,” he said, paused, then continued. “Because of the restriction in the UCS, our hands are effectively tied with respect to Windstorm. By the time the bureaucratic red tape could be legally removed, the Meltranians would already have a foothold into our territory. But the Kafarans are not bound by such rules.” He sighed, then shook his head. “The decision was made: it was the only way to safeguard our continued existence.”

   Melissa was furious. “Regardless of your rank, you didn’t have the authority to make that decision. You should have found a way to contact Sector Command!”

   Despite her obvious frustration, William couldn’t blame her. She was absolutely right. “The
Duchess of York
and her strike group will be here in the morning. Until then, we’ve got nothing but time on our hands.” He watched as his daughter sighed heavily, then looked to the overhead as she contemplated what to say. She was so much like his long-departed wife at times, more now than ever. William watched as she began pacing the small cell. There was much more he wanted to tell her—so much more that had to be said. For the time being, he could live with her assumptions about his actions, no matter the truth that only he and a select few were aware of. To tell her at this juncture would be unwise and, in light of their current surroundings, quite useless. “How’s Shawn taking his reactivation? I haven’t spoken to him in—”

   Melissa stopped her pacing and stepped to within an inch of the cell barrier. “You leave him out of this!” she fumed. “The only reason he’s here at all is because of you. Besides, whatever has happened between Shawn and
me is our own business, and has nothing to do with you!”

   William cocked his head, and one eyebrow slowly lifted. “Something
. . .
between
you two?”

   In the cell beside Commodore Savath, Colonel Tausan let out a slow grunt. Melissa had no idea what it meant, but found herself reciprocating it.
 

“In the military you don't get trusted positions just because of your ability. You also have to attract the notice of superior officers. You have to be liked. You have to fit in with the system. You have to look like what the officers above you think officers should look like. You have to think in ways they are comfortable with. For some reason,
in the case of Shawn Kestrel, promotion happens when you fit into the exact opposite categories.”

—Meloetz Suthso, PhD.

President, School of Science and Mathematics, Unified Sector Command Academy, Satellite Campus Four, Thress.

The Meltranian Invasion: A History of Galactic of Warfare, 2
nd
Edition

   The entire area of space beyond the
Rhea
lit up with a brilliant burst of light. The eruption was so bright, in fact, that it obscured Shawn Kestrel’s view of Second Earth spinning slowly and serenely a hundred thousand miles above and astern of the observation deck. Just as he was about to shield his eyes, the bright light was quickly extinguished, leaving in its place a small flotilla of Sector Command warships. The
Duchess of York
and her escorts had arrived exactly on schedule.

  
Well, at least it’s not more Kafarans . . . or those damn Meltranians.

  
The
Duchess
had come through the jump gate first, and it was she that led the strike group on their intercept course with the
Rhea
. Slightly smaller than the
Rhea
, the
Duchess
was a great rectangular shape. Her flanks were tapered on both top and bottom, with a large indented section three-quarters of the way down the length on both sides. Between the indents, aligned on the graceful centerline, was the tower-like command superstructure, with a large communications and radar array just behind it. As the carrier closed in, more and more surface detail became clear, until finally Shawn could see a thick band of blue paint near her bow, itself wide enough to hold a half-dozen fighters wingtip-to-wingtip. The stripe was embellished with the great seal of Sector Command and its stylized eagle, as well as the ship’s registry in large numbers. Its color was not too far off from the accent stripes on
Sylvia’s Delight
, and the image of his own ship flashed briefly through his mind.

   “USCS
Duchess of York
,” Shawn read aloud as the ship’s registry came into view.

   “What’s that?”
a voice asked from beside him.

  
Having thought he was alone on the upper deck, the voice startled him slightly, yet it was also welcoming. “I thought you were down in the hangar working on increasing
D
’s sensor range.”

   “Clarissa’s making the final adjustments right now,” Trent Maddox said with a dismissing wave of his hand in reference to Shawn’s maintenance officer—and the object of Trent’s affections.  “Besides, when you told me you were coming up here, I thought I’d follow and get you a beer. You looked like you could use one.”

   “It was that obvious, eh?” Shawn asked with a smirk.

   Trent chuckled. “Well, with Admiral Graves and Melissa in the brig, Captain Krif running around with his nose in the air
. . . not to mention a pair of Kafarans on board . . . let’s just say it’s easy enough to see why you’re a little jumpy.”

   “Jumpy? I’m not the least bit—
,” Shawn began, but there was an unexpected crash from a nearby table. Shawn had his sidearm drawn in a split second, aiming it at the broken glass innocently dropped by some inebriated ensign. The young man, his face white as a ghost, was wide-eyed and holding his hands up in supplication. Shawn slowly holstered his pistol and went back to looking out at the
Duchess
.
Why the hell am I still armed?

   “And I rest my case,” Trent said as he folded his arms and followed Shawn’s gaze.

   “I just . . . I just feel so helpless, you know. Like there’s something I should be doing.”

   “There is. It’s called ‘take a deep breath, exhale slowly, and drink your beer
.’” Trent held out a cold drink to Shawn. “Because there isn’t a damn thing you can do to change Krif’s mind on this.”

   The Lieutenant Commander regarded it for a moment before taking a tentative sip. Shawn had to
acknowledge that the ale was a good choice. “Thanks.”

   “Besides, you have to admit that old Dick has a point.”

   Shawn rolled his eyes. “Oh, good Lord, not you too.”

   “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not civilians anymore, remember,
Lieutenant
Commander
?”

   “And?”

   “
And
Krif’s just following protocols. Look, I know you and Old Man Graves go back a ways, but you have to give this thing some time.”

   Shawn sipped at his beer before speaking. “I don’t recall giving you permission to take his side.”

   “Sorry. I guessed I’ve learned how to mutiny from the best,” Trent remarked as sarcastically as he could. When the two men had shared a brief laugh, silence once again fell between them for a moment as they looked at the
Duchess
’s escorts; the heavy cruiser
Saracen
, and the twin destroyers
Teviot
and
Hek’Lon
. As they did, two more cruisers jumped in behind them in alternating flashes of light. “What do you think’s going to happen now?” he finally asked.

   Shawn shook his head slowly. “Whatever it is, it isn’t going to be good.”

   Trent wanted Shawn to expound on that, but his words were cut off by the
Rhea
’s public address system.

   “Attention:
all squadron commanders and department heads muster on the main hangar deck in fifteen minutes. Repeat: all squadron commanders and department heads are to muster on the main hangar deck in fifteen minutes.”

   “What’s that all about?” Trent asked, still looking at the powerful strike group just beyond the glass of the observation deck.

   “The fleet admiral from the
Duchess
is coming aboard,” Shawn said, repeating what he’d been briefed on earlier that morning. “Supposedly, he’s got some VIPs tagging along for the ride.”

   “Anyone we know?” Trent asked hopefully.

   Shawn shrugged, then finished the last of his drink. “I’ll let you know what I find out.” He set the glass on the nearest table and, slapping Trent gently on the back, began the long walk down to the hangar.

   “Have you been down to see Melissa yet?” Trent called after his old friend.

   Shawn’s only response was to wave a lax hand over his shoulder.

* * *

   Shawn was leaving his cabin in a hurry, rushing to get down to the hangar deck before the
Duchess
’s shuttle had landed. Looking pristine in his dark gray service dress uniform, he barely managed to avoid running headlong into Jerry Santorum and Roslyn Brunel as he rounded a passageway.

   “Lookin’ good, Skipper!” Nova cried out in his West Texan drawl. Raven’s whistle
of offhanded appreciation wasn’t far behind.

   “As far as you’re both concerned, I’ve been down in the hangar for twenty minutes,” Shawn called back, not bothering to break his stride.

   “We didn’t see anything, sir,” Raven called back, but Shawn was already out of earshot.

   Jerry scratched at his head in bewilderment. “Captain Krif is going to tan that man’s hide someday.”

   Roslyn harrumphed. “He’s got to catch him first. Come on, let’s get to the simulator room. I’m looking forward to tanning your own hide.”

   Nova smiled
broadly. “You’ve got to catch me first, ma’am.”

   Shawn dashed into the hangar, out of sight of the assembled crewmen who were still milling about the cavernous hold. Thankfully the crew hadn’t mustered yet or he would have been caught for sure. Eyeing Commander Saltori standing near the head of the enlisted crew, Shawn calmed his breathing and walked slowly toward the commander of the Red Skulls.

   Saltori’s dark eyes caught Shawn’s and he smiled. “Didn’t think you were going to make it, old man.”

   “Me? I’ve been here for . . .” Shawn made an effort of looking down at his watch. “I’d say twenty minutes now. Just catching up with the crew. You know how it is.”

   “You can’t con a conman,” Saltori snorted. “I’ll be honest with you
: I just got here myself.”

   Shawn looked at the assembled crew. “How’s your team doing?”

   Rylani’s voice was low as he gazed at the still-closed hangar door. “I lost two of my best people in that last battle, including my executive officer.”

   An image of Roslyn Brunel flashed into Shawn’s mind, surely his best, most trusted officer. “Sorry to hear that, Rylani,” Shawn offered apologetically.

   There was an almost imperceptible shrug to Saltori’s wide shoulders. “They won’t be the last, I’m sure of it.”

   “A premonition?”

   The loose smile that briefly flashed on the seasoned commander’s face melted. “A fact.”

   Shawn nodded slowly. Hopefully the incoming
admiral was bringing good news, but Shawn highly doubted it. Still, it was always good to hope.
And it never hurts to pray.

   Not far from where the two men were standing, Commander Caitlyn Hayes, the
Rhea
’s third in command, stepped forward to a waiting podium. She straighten her long, light brown hair one final time before speaking. “Assembled personnel, get into your assigned positions and stand at parade rest. The admiral’s shuttle will be arriving shortly.”

   As soon as the
Rhea
’s outer airlock doors were sealed, Commander Hayes brought the assembly to attention with a perfunctory, “Atten-
hut
!”

   All that’
s missing is the fleet band blaring the Sector Command fight song.
Shawn muttered as much to Saltori, whose attempt to muffle his laughter was both admirable and somewhat useless. Thankfully, Captain Krif—who was standing stock-still ten feet from them—either didn’t hear or pay them any attention.

   The Unified shuttle, looking for all intents like a great silver bullet, glided through the now
-open inner hangar doors. Within moments of setting down, the doors parted and a throng of personnel exited the craft—far more than Shawn thought it could hold. By their epaulets, Shawn could see that the first of them was an admiral, followed by a pair of ship captains. Behind them were a handful of aides, both uniformed and not. None of the arriving personnel spoke to one another as they approached Captain Krif and the
Rhea
’s towering executive officer, Commander Ashdoe.

   “Captain Krif,” the
admiral began and offered a salute. “Permission to come aboard.”

   Krif returned the salute with crisp perfection. “Permission granted. Welcome, Admiral Hansen.”

   Hansen, the tips of his blond hair now silver, turned to the first of his officers. “This is Fleet Captain Ramos, commanding the
Duchess of York
.”

   Krif nodded toward Ramos, but otherwise said nothing
.

   “I’ll save the rest of the introductions for a later time,” Hansen said,
and then began scanning the well-organized cadre of the
Rhea
’s personnel. “Where is Rear Admiral Graves? I was told he was on board.”

   “The
admiral has been detained, sir, along with three Kafarans who came aboard with him.”

   Hansen turned to face Krif, and Shawn swore he saw a scowl cross the superior
officer’s face. “I see.” The admiral appeared lost in thought for a moment, then turned—not to the officers who had arrived with him, but instead to the civilians. One in particular, a well-dressed man about Shawn’s age, seemed to be the target of Hansen’s gaze. The two men exchanged a nod, and then Hansen turned back to Krif.

   “I think that confinement will
no longer be necessary. Please see to it that Rear Admiral Graves is released, as well as the Kafarans, and remanded into the custody of OSI Agent Melissa Graves.”

   Shawn watched with satisfaction as Krif looked to the
admiral nervously. “Sir, Agent Graves has also . . . been detained.”

   Hansen pursed his lips, then shook his head slowly. “See to it that Agent Graves is
also
released, Captain.”

   “Yes, sir.”

   “And, am I to assume that Lieutenant Commander Kestrel has been arrested as well?”

   Krif’s chin rose as he swallowed hard. “No, sir. Lieutenant Commander Kestrel is present and accounted for.”

   “Will wonders never cease.” The admiral looked to the assembled crewmen. When he caught sight of Shawn, Hansen nodded with a smile.