Ronan: Ziva Payvan Book 3 (42 page)

“Initial scans were unable to locate exterior shield generators,” the admiral replied. “There are three of them
inside
the vessel, and they appear to be regenerating shields for all the enemy fighters in the vicinity as well. I’ve never seen anything like it. We’re not going to make any progress until those generators are dealt with, and I’ve sent runners in with strike teams to take them out.”

“Any of those strike teams come from Noro?”

“They very well could have.”

Ziva and Aura exchanged a glance.

“
Intrepid
, I’m adding you to the network,” announced another voice on Ostin’s comm channel. “Good luck out there.”

“Thank you,” Aura said. “
Intrepid
out.”

“What the hell does he think he’s doing?” Ziva muttered, watching Aroska’s blue dot on the screen. The majority of the dots around it – including the one it was headed for – turned red as the
Intrepid’s
central computer connected remotely to the GA fleet’s network. The blips representing the Haphezian ships turned green.

She turned her attention back to the controls, glad to have a better idea of who was who – not that it was that hard to look outside and see the difference between the GA’s sleek silver ships and Ronan’s matte gray ones. They were in the thick of things now, caught up in a tangle of opposing fighters while most of the larger ships hung back and fired on each other from a distance with heavier artillery. Just as Ostin had said, streams of translucent purple energy were projected from the largest Resistance dreadnought at intervals, restoring the shields on their fighters to full strength before the agile ships could be destroyed. Even after such a quick observation, it was plain to see that the GA fighters were struggling to penetrate.

The thought struck her that after several years of studying the captured fighters on Forus, Ronan probably knew every single one of their weaknesses. Or, if not their weakness, at least how to best defend against their strengths. The Resistance had come prepared. Ziva muttered a curse.

“Our shields are at full power,” Aura announced. A sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead and her face appeared to be carved out of stone as she maneuvered the
Intrepid
through the foray, narrowly avoiding the beams of plasma that came at them from all sides.

“Weapons systems are online,” Ziva replied, prompting the targeting computer to pull its data from the scanner. “Auto-targeting engaged.”

They pressed forward, allowing the ship’s guns to target any vessels not deemed friendly by the scanner. The runner Aroska had finagled his way aboard must have been the ship his landing craft had docked with. Ziva studied its position on the screen and strained to catch a glimpse of it outside, but it was far enough ahead that it had already been swallowed up by the dreadnought’s shadow. It was impossible to see much through the chaos anyway.

Her attention was drawn back to the foreground when the proximity alarm began to screech and the targeting reticle on the viewport’s heads-up display zeroed in on a downed fighter headed straight for them. “Watch out!” she exclaimed, squeezing the trigger.

Aura veered away as the guns locked on and tore the damaged fighter into hundreds of tiny pieces. The
Intrepid
shuddered upon impact, but the shields held fast and they were back on course within seconds.

“See what you can get on that dreadnought,” Aura ordered.

Ziva selected the ship from the dozens of red dots crawling across the screen. A three-dimensional image was projected from the console, and she abandoned the controls long enough to manipulate the hologram.

“There’s an open hangar,” she said, positive that was where the GA runner had gone.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aura risk a glance at her. “What do you want to do? It’s your call.”

For several seconds, all she could do was stare out at the sea of silver and gray and plasma and debris. Until a few days ago, she’d never imagined battling the Resistance, much less having such a personal stake in that battle. Aroska, a man she’d vowed to never care for, was aboard that ship, and more likely than not, so was Ronan, the Nosti leader she’d never expected to cross paths with. It was too late to turn back now, and the only way to stop all of this was to finish what she’d started.

She shrugged, sighed, and nodded for Aura to continue on ahead. “Here goes nothing.”

-55-

Resistance Battlecruiser
Marauder

Noro System, Fringe Space

If he held very still and listened, Aroska could feel the distant vibrations brought about by the raging battle outside. For the most part though, the Resistance flagship was so large and its shields so thick that he wouldn’t have even known there was a battle on if he hadn’t seen it himself. The runner his squad flew in on had been agile enough that he’d missed most of the excitement anyway.

He snorted to himself when he realized he’d just thought of the group of GA troops as his squad. They’d gotten him this far, and that was all he needed. He wasn’t even sure where they all were now. A total of two runners had been sent in, each containing two six-man strike teams commissioned with infiltrating the dreadnought and taking down its shields. The two small generators responsible for maintaining the fighters’ shields wouldn’t take them long to deal with, but the big one that actually protected the ship would be harder to reach. He had to give the Resistance credit for thorough architecture; if anything, it would give him more time to complete his own task.

He’d decided his main goal would be to find some sort of central computer aboard one of the Resistance ships that contained information the Federation might find useful. What better place to find such a thing than the flagship itself? He’d been ecstatic when he’d learned that was his squad’s destination, though the term was relative to the situation. In truth there was nothing whatsoever to be ecstatic about. This was huge, bigger than anything he’d ever expected to be involved in even once he’d been bumped to full-time spec ops. None of the Haphezians should have been involved in this. This wasn’t their fight.

But what was it Emeri had said?
“Whether we like it or not, it is now.”
Aroska reminded himself that was the very reason he needed to follow through with this little mission: it shouldn’t ever
have
to be their fight. Obviously some Nosti forces had survived the first Federation eradication. If he could get into a database and send the Feds detailed information on all the previously-unknown Res activities, they’d be able to make sure nothing like this ever happened again. The Nosti would never be able to bounce back and innocent Fringe civilizations would never have to suffer again.

He paused and listened as he came to an intersection in the corridor. So far the majority of the crew had been focused on the threats outside the ship rather than the ones inside, and those who did focus on the ones inside only seemed to care about the GA strike teams heading for the shield generators. Aroska wasn’t even sure if they were aware of his presence. He hadn’t informed any of the soldiers of his intentions; he’d simply helped himself to their weapons cache under the pretense of joining them on their mission before splitting off. He wasn’t using them, per se, but if the Resistance troops just happened to be distracted by their presence – therefore allowing him to move about undetected – then that was fine with him.

The sound of approaching footsteps reached his ears and he flattened himself against one of the steel supports that ran up the wall of the corridor. Hushed voices. Two people. They were moving at a brisk pace, possibly responding to sightings of the strike teams. Aroska held his breath and strained to hear their conversation.

“What do you
mean
we’re not getting any support from the Core?”

“That’s just what I heard. Ronan’s pissed and has been briefing everyone – says we’ll need to revise our strategy if we want to hold out against this fleet.”

Aroska shrank further back into the shadows as the two of them jogged by.

“Is the Core refusing to send help? Are they really disregarding a direct request from Ronan?”

“They can’t get
through
,” the other man said. “The Federation has blockaded all the FTL lanes that would get them out here in time, and they’re hesitant to fight their way through for fear of compromising the rest of the plan.”

The first man swore. “It’s like the Feds already knew we would be here. The Haphezians, too.”

Their voices trailed off as they rounded the corner and disappeared. Aroska held still for several more seconds and listened for anyone else who might be approaching before slipping out of his hiding place and continuing on his way. As far as he knew, they
hadn’t
known the Resistance was coming until just a few hours ago, but they’d at least known who they were dealing with, and that was half the battle. Still, he was surprised to hear the Federation was cutting off Res forces coming from the Core. Yes, they typically did everything in their power to keep the Resistance contained within the Core, but if he understood correctly, the Feds were
deliberately
preventing any additional Res resources from reaching Ronan’s fleet. They were protecting the Fringe. Protecting Haphez.

That didn’t make any sense. Thanks to the neutrality agreement, the Federation was obligated to stay out of all Haphezian military affairs, positive or negative. On top of being unlikely to interfere, Aroska had no idea how they’d even
know
to interfere. He highly doubted anyone from Haphez had called for help; his people steered clear of the Federation just as much as the Federation steered clear of them. Besides, blocking all the relevant FTL lanes wasn’t something that could be done in mere hours or even overnight. No, this undertaking had been going on behind the scenes for at least a couple of days and had required a reasonable amount of planning. It had also required someone with inside knowledge of the situation.

His communicator buzzed as he crept along and he reached down to switch it off, glancing at the screen as he did so. Ziva again. She was no doubt in Haphor by now, wondering where the hell he was. Part of him felt awful for leaving her behind, but the rest of him knew this needed to be done. He’d gone back and forth on the trip out trying to decide if he should have revealed his intentions – surely she wouldn’t have actually tried to talk him out of coming out here. She understood as well as anyone how high the stakes were, and if she was caught up in all of the Royal Officer’s red tape and unable to make a real contribution, he’d just have to do it for her…and pray he didn’t regret it.

He was deep within the heart of the ship now, and he imagined any sort of control room with a computer console would be near the bridge. That was also where he was bound to run into the highest concentration of Res soldiers. They were either there, manning the weapons systems, or gearing up to board any crippled Haphezian vessels they came across. It left all the corridors relatively clear, but it also left crowds in all the places he wanted – and needed – to go.

More voices approaching. Aroska stopped and took a knee, bringing his finger to rest on the trigger of the assault rifle he’d selected from the runner’s weapons cache. He and the GA troops had opted to arm themselves with plasma rifles, partially to prevent excess noise but also because everyone had heard the old stories about how a skilled Nosti could stop a bullet in mid-air and propel it back toward the shooter with enough force to kill them. In theory, they could do the same thing with a plasma bolt, but he’d donned an anti-plasma shield and wasn’t too worried about what might happen if they tried.

He’d be safe as long as long as he managed to maintain distance and cover, the latter of which he was currently lacking. The two Res soldiers who had passed earlier had both been armed with service pistols, and he thought he recognized the generic black bars that somehow transformed into deadly kytaras secured to their belts. He had a knife, but he didn’t have much faith in its ability to withstand an attack from one of those sleek blades. His best bet was to catch them by surprise and take them out from afar. They’d be perfectly capable of shooting back, but he had his shield and he’d at least been trained for such situations. Anything was better than being impaled by a sword that wasn’t even supposed to exist anymore.

Another glance around revealed no sign of cover. He’d emerged from the corridor and found himself in a wide circular space where three other hallways converged. The voices were approaching from the one on his left. The one directly across from him appeared to lead to a bank of elevators, but even if one were standing open for him to duck into, there was no possible way he’d make it across the room without being seen, and retreating would only carry him further from his destination. Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead as it dawned on him that facing these people head-on was his only real option. If he had any intention of keeping his distance, he’d need to move now before they got any closer.

Aroska raised the rifle, keeping the stock pressed firmly into the crook of his shoulder, and moved in a wide circle around the room until the four Resistance soldiers entered his sights. Their eyes grew wide when they spotted him, but they didn’t have time to stare as the plasma bolts began to fly. The one in the front of the pack went down first, his center of mass riddled with smoldering holes. The other three were impressively quick and dove to the floor, though not before one of them took a hit to the shoulder. Their compact, agile bodies rolled easily and they were back on their feet within moments, closing the distance with the same fervor with which Aroska was trying to maintain it.

His pulse spiked.
Sheyss
.

He continued pulling the trigger as fast as he could. It was clear that they weren’t wearing shields, but some unseen force was tugging on his rifle barrel, throwing off his aim. He’d made sure the weapon’s strap was secured over his shoulder for exactly this reason, but if he couldn’t hit anything, he might as well have the gun ripped from his grasp anyway.

Okay, maybe that was a little bit of an exaggeration. The first soldier was upon him and a pair of kytara blades engaged with a familiar metallic
shink
. It was all Aroska could do to turn the rifle sideways and use it to block the oncoming blow before one of those blades found his shoulder. He brought his knee up with the intent of catching the shorter man in the stomach, but the Nosti danced away, kytara spinning as he adjusted his grip on it.

Aroska turned his attention to the other two men as they came at him from opposite directions. Now it was his turn to drop and roll. He rose back up and took aim, straining to keep the rifle steady in this invisible tugging war. These men all wore black reinforced suits identical to the ones worn by the crew of the
Vigilance
; it had been established just moments before that the armor wasn’t plasma resistant, but it did seem to be designed to withstand superficial piercing. That was fine. Firearms were his weapon of choice, followed by his own two hands. He’d save his knife as a last resort, or, if need be, a stolen kytara.

A stolen kytara
. He rushed forward, once again using the rifle as a shield as he lowered his head and rammed his shoulder into the chest of the Nosti he’d first tangled with. He spun around and fired while the man was still staggering backward, sending him to the floor with a mass of charred flesh where his face had been just a few seconds before. From the new vantage point, he had a clear view of the first man he’d shot. The black kytara hilt gleamed on his belt, free for the taking, but now Aroska had one right at his feet, already engaged.

He wasted no time in slinging the rifle around to his back and snatching the sword up. Assuming he survived all of this, he imagined he’d look back and laugh at what a ridiculous predicament he’d found himself in. At the moment, it was no laughing matter. His heart was thundering in his chest and his hands were slick with sweat as he gripped the kytara. If he was going to fight these people, it would be best to even out the playing field. He thrust one end of the weapon forward, blocking a blow from the man in front of him, then spun around, deflecting another from the man behind him. HSP put all its ops agents through basic melee combat training, but they used metal poles. The worst they could do was leave bruises or maybe fracture a bone. He simply pretended he was wielding one of those poles and tried not to think about the fact that these swords could take his head off if he wasn’t careful.

The kytara was surprisingly lightweight. Aroska recalled the few minutes he’d spent holding Ziva’s; he’d expected it to somehow feel heavier with the blades extended, but the bulk of the weight seemed to be located within the hilt. He had no idea how the technology worked, and now was not the time to find out. Relying on two pieces of razor-sharp metal that felt light as air to defend him was nerve-wracking, but the blades held fast despite the continual clashing.

His height and weight were proving to be an advantage. Neither of these men stood any taller than his shoulders, but they were quick. He could block their attacks and take his own swings, relying on sheer strength to carry him through, but the two of them seemed to be everywhere at once. Feet shuffled behind him as he crossed blades with the other Nosti. He swept the kytara around, hoping the move would ward off a rear attack for at least a couple of seconds. It did – the man sidestepped and jumped away – but the one in front of him wasted no time in taking advantage of his defenselessness. The hilt of a kytara caught him under the chin the moment he turned around. His head snapped back and he took a staggering step, slashing his own weapon back around to counter what the Nosti had likely hoped to be a finishing blow. The thought occurred to him that his back was now completely exposed, and he expected to hear the sound of a blade penetrating his flesh, feel it pierce his heart. A brief echo somewhere in the back of his mind told him coming here had been a bad idea.