StarFight 1: Battlestar (14 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Jacob’s quarters were small but adequate. They consisted of the entry slidedoor, a long room that served as an office with a fold-down sleep rack on one wall, his fold-down comp desk on the other wall, then the entry to the toilet and shower space. Two rooms. It was enough. The hard wall felt good as he sat on his bed rack, his vacsuit pulled off, his hands on his lap, his legs in the aisle that ran down the room’s middle. He stared at the images that were hidden by his desk when it was folded up against the opposite wall. Now, it was lowered.

His Mom’s flat photo showed her smiling at him from within their home’s partly automated kitchen. She wore a flowered spring dress of green and yellow, with a white cook’s smock hanging from her neck. She loved to bake fresh bread. He loved to eat it. He remembered that day, back when he’d been 14 and had just started attending Binghampton high. After a day spent ignoring the hall bullies, then defending his tablet from a nasty classmate who had chosen him for her target of the day, he had walked home after being dropped off by the school’s airbus. When he’d walked into the house and headed for the kitchen, he’d seen her there. His tablet still in his hands, he lifted it up and snapped the photo.

Beside her image was a flat pic of the old barn in the back of their property. A brown gelding horse was standing in front of the barn, his reins tied to a lonely post. The horse had been the first large animal he had ever seen or spent time with. The gelding had seemed to like him. And it had not insisted on changing from a trot to a fast run. Riding a horse while it ran fast over the land was something he had felt only once. It had scared him. That had happened while he rode with his mom on her Arabian stallion, Butch.

Below the images was the fold-down metal desk plate. His comp pad sat on it, closed for the moment. Sitting atop the comp pad was a holo cube. It showed him just as he posed for his father, right after his graduation from the academy. Two admirals, a captain and two Army colonels stood near Jacob. They were friends of his father. The man had shown him off to them. He had kept the holo cube because of the green forested Rocky Mountains that rose in the background of the graduation field. That day had been Southwest blue sky touched with puffy white clouds. He’d always loved being in nature, and the Rockies near to Colorado Springs were a totally different kind of nature from what he’d seen near Binghampton. Now, inside his quarters, he felt alone, distant from what mattered to him. The fact he had five friends on the
Lepanto
, friends who had accepted his choice to take command, friends who had stood with him in the face of death, that felt good. He should remember that whenever he sat in the admiral’s seat under the vidcom eye of the ship’s AI. A series of bings came from above his slidedoor.

“Jacob, you in there?” called Kenji’s voice. “Can I come in?”

What was he doing here now? Jacob glanced at his finger watch. It said the time was noon. His friend should be back in the Mess Hall, providing hot food to the ten percent of the crew who were now able to take a quick break before heading back to their posts so another ten percent could eat. Or whatever they needed to do.

“Sure. Door, admit Kenji Watanabe.”

The slidedoor swished open.

Kenji stood there, dressed in a vacsuit with helmet pushed onto his back, both hands supporting a food tray. On it, uncovered, were plates with brown croissants, jam, three link sausages, some green grapes, a slab of cheddar cheese and a glass, real glass, that held brown liquid. Likely the ice tea his friend knew he liked. His stomach rumbled.

“Hey,” Kenji said as he strode in. “Looked for you at the admiral’s quarters, then the captain’s place, then the XO’s. No reply at any place. So I tried here.” The tall, slim, black-haired young man pushed the holo cube to one side and put down the tray on top of his comp pad. Then he stood back and eyed him. “Jacob, you gotta eat. Can’t be any good to the rest of us if you starve yourself. Low blood sugar and all that, remember?”

Jacob recalled the story his friend had told of how his mother had had diabetes for 30 years and how she had to eat frequent small meals to keep up her blood sugar. He’d met the woman in the orbiting shipyard when she had come up to stay goodbye as her son the line cook headed off into deep space. The woman had treated Jacob as if he were just another young ensign whom her son had befriended. It was a good memory. He smiled, then gestured at the tray.

“Yeah, I remember. And thanks for the food. I was feeling a bit famished. How are things in the Mess Hall?”

“Busy,” Kenji said, standing there as he looked around Jacob’s small quarters. His friend looked up. His attention fixed on the hologram of the Milky Way galaxy that Jacob had told the room’s stupid AI to always create just below the room’s ceiling. It provided the same light that could be had from the light strips that illuminated every room on the Battlestar, and anyway, it was fun to look at in the dark, before he dropped off. “Neat holo. I like.”

Jacob gestured at the swing out plank that served for a sit down place before his desk. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks.” Kenji sat and faced him, his pale white face showing little expression beyond normal alertness. His friend hated the old ‘Asian inscrutability’ term, but did nothing to be boisterous the way Daisy did. He nodded aside at the tray. “You gonna eat?”

“Soon.” Jacob gave his friend a thumbs-up. “Really, thanks for looking me up and bringing me the tray. I just needed time here to cope with all that’s happened in the last three hours. You know.”

Kenji squinted. “Actually, I don’t know. You’re the officer. You and Lori and Daisy and Carlos. Me and Quincy are the honorary jokesters.”

“Wrong!” Jacob sat up and leaned forward, putting just two feet between him and Kenji. “You and Quincy are Spacers. You are just as valuable to the
Lepanto
as me or anyone else. What’s the chatter in the Mess Hall? About the death of the top brass and what I’ve done to protect us?”

Kenji’s expression grew thoughtful. “Everyone was shocked at the Cloud Skimmer images. Some of us wondered why we had not heard back from the ensigns who’d gone down with them. You weren’t the only ensign to hang with Spacers. Though you are the nicest,” his friend said quickly. Jacob nodded, encouraging him. “When you took command, there was surprise. Then when we saw over the All Ship vidcom that the wasp ships were coming our way, plenty of folks got scared. You being up there, with the Bridge crew and our friends, that helped a lot of them cope with it. When the ship status changed to Alert Combat Ready, folks ran out to their posts. We in the kitchen shut down the flammables, locked the food storage, then took our fire-fighting posts on Habitation Deck.” His friend paused. “Was really good being able to see and hear over the All Ship vidcom just what was happening, what you folks were doing, what the other ships were doing. Me, it gave me the sense we had a chance.”

Jacob felt relief. Then appreciation. Kenji, though a Japanese national, had always treated Jacob and their other friends as if Kenji had grown up with them, rather than in Yokohama. Where he’d attended an American base school in order to learn English. His friend said his time on base had convinced him to join the Star Navy. “Good to hear. But it’s not over. We’ve got nearly two days time before we get to the magnetosphere and make tracks for Kepler 10. I expect the aliens to attack us again.”

Kenji shrugged, then stood up. “So, we’ll fight them again. Maybe kill another ship of theirs. And I’ll head for my fire-fighting station once we get the word from the Bridge to head to combat stations.”

“I know you will.” Jacob stood up. Kenji stepped back toward the slidedoor. He grabbed his friend’s vacsuited arm. Kenji stopped, his look puzzled. “Kenji, thanks for bringing the food. I’ll eat it soon. Then it’s back up on the Bridge for the duration. Take your Awake pill when your chief hands them out. We all may have to stay awake until we go Alcubierre.”

“Will do. Guess I can sleep during Alcubierre. We’ll be safe there.”

“Yes, we will be,” Jacob said, letting go his friend’s arm. “Maybe I’ll bring our friends down to the Mess Hall for a round of beer and dried seaweed once we enter Alcubierre. Sound okay?”

Kenji smiled big. “Very okay! Later.”

“Later,” Jacob said to his friend’s back as the man exited through the slidedoor.

The hiss of its closing told him it was time to eat, then to head back to the Bridge. The image of him sitting in the admiral’s seat, in command, was clearly an image the
Lepanto’s
crew needed to see. And likely, an image the new captains on the other ships needed to see. Sitting down, his mind swirling with images of a close run against the giant wasp ship, he took a bite of a cold sausage link. Spicy it was, but Italian in flavor. Just what he liked.

♦   ♦   ♦

Hunter returned from sucking in liquefied fliers in the Nourishment Chamber of his flying nest. He saw that all twelve of his Servants were present, seated on their benches, their attention focused on the wall perception imagers and the colors flowing across their control panels. He moved his abdomen over his bench, lowered until his four footpads could lift from the chamber’s cold surface, then inhaled deep the aromas of the chamber.

Aggregation pheromones dominated, along with a strong flow of territorial, trail and signal scents. They were what he expected. And what his Servants knew they should emit if they were to survive his displeasure. “Speaker To All, send the Attack Ready pheromone to all other flying nests. In six hundred wing beats we will attack the Soft Skins!”

Excitement and curiosity pheromones now joined the chamber’s air mixture. Those pheromones would be transmitted to the other flying nests, just as he would scent the responding pheromones from those nests.

“Attack Ready pheromone sent,” the young male scent cast to him.

Hunter swung his head, fixing all five eyes on the young female who managed their stinger weapons. “Stinger Servant, are all our stinger tubes ready to kill the invaders?”

“They are ready,” she scent cast back to him. “Repairs were made. The hole in the forward head shell has been filled with quick hardening nest liquid.”

“All Servants,” he scent cast, knowing his scent orders would be inhaled on the other flying nests. “Prepare to attack the Soft Skins. Our flying nest will lead the way. The nests of Support Hunter Seven and Support Hunter Nine will come close to our nest, the better to hide them from the perception of the Soft Skins.” Excitement scents now dominated. “We move to the attack. While most of us will stay beyond the reach of the black sky light carried by the largest Soft Skin nest, the two nests closest to us will suddenly dart forward and attempt a killing sting against the largest Soft Skin nest. That is where their best Fighter Leader must now hover. When we kill that nest, we kill the other nests ability to fight us. It will then be simple to sting them all to death!”

The responding pheromones from the other six flying nests were uniformly excited and eager to attack. Even the scent from Support Hunter Seven, whom he suspected of planning a Challenge, came through loaded with aggregation pheromones. So. The youth would wait until the Swarm completed the destruction of the Soft Skins before mounting his challenge. Well, Hunter would await his arrival with sharp mandibles and deadly sting!

♦   ♦   ♦

“Captain!” called Rosemary from Tactical. “The enemy is coming!”

Jacob reached back, pulled his helmet over his head and spoke. “Melody, change ship status to Alert Hostile Enemy. All decks, prepare for combat. All ships, move to the positions we discussed.” He scanned the several holos in front of him. One showed an overhead view of the Bridge. Lori and Carlos were at their seats in the rear, making their vacsuits air-tight. Below him Daisy and O’Connor were doing the same. Up front, his nine Bridge crew were either pulling helmets shut, or had done so and were now leaning forward to scan their control pillars and status holos. In front of him was the situational holo that was a copy of the one Daisy always kept in front of her. “Tactical, report disposition and range.”

Rosemary tapped her control pillar. The red enemy ship icons in his holo now gained additional text, along with arrows indicating the vector angles.

“The largest wasp ship is in the lead, sir. Flanking it are four other ships. Which makes five.” She paused, looked up at her holo, then back down to her Tactical pillar readouts. “That’s five ships. There were seven survivors. I do not see the other two in either radar, infrared, ultraviolet or by our ship scope. As for range, the ships are at 11,432 kilometers and closing. Their approach speed is 900 kilometers per minute.”

He checked the holo. It showed the
Lepanto
at the base of their formation, with the other seven ships arranged in two tiers above him, which put them slightly further away from the oncoming aliens. A separate green icon was the
Salamis
. It was coming in fast. It might arrive before the wasps began firing. Or soon after.