The Terran Gambit (Episode #1: The Pax Humana Saga) (32 page)

“Indeed. You are listening to a band called the Tiny Titans. They were popular on Old Earth about two hundred years ago. Twenty-fifth century. They started out as a heavy-metal crew, but as the story goes, they went backpacking in the Smokey Mountains one weekend, got lost, and didn’t emerge from the wilderness for a month, during which time they holed up with a Shinto Shaman who lived alone in the woods. When they returned to the music scene, they all claimed spiritual enlightenment, and completely changed their style of music. This is the result.”

“How very … interesting, sir,” said Titus, unable to think of any other adjectives he’d like to use in the Admiral’s presence. In truth, he hated the music. Hated most of the music that the Admiral played in his vain attempt to understand their adversaries. For all the good it had done him, he thought sarcastically.

Trajan swiveled toward the viewscreen. “You don’t need to play dumb with me, Captain. You may speak your mind. If you are wondering, you will never end up like the Chief Engineer. Like his assistants. You are far too valuable to me. So please. Tell me your thoughts.”

Too valuable?
It suddenly struck Titus that Trajan almost never referred to someone by their name, or even by their rank. He always used their position, or their assigned station. Chief Engineer. Comm. Tactical. Captain—that last one the Admiral used often, but it could be a position, not just a rank. People only mattered to the man insofar as they were useful to him.

“It’s atrocious, sir. Musically, I suppose it works, but it sounds like the result of mastiff mating with a poodle,” said Titus, momentarily nervous that the Admiral had been lying about his ability to speak freely.

The chair swiveled back, and the eye opened in surprise. “Such vulgar thoughts, Captain. I’m surprised.” He held up a hand when he saw Titus’s mortified expression. “But thank you, Captain, for finally speaking your mind. I will require that of you in the coming weeks and months as we exterminate the rest of the Resistance.”

“So, our work is not finished? Our sources say over ninety-five percent of all registered Resistance fighters were on those nine ships.”

“Captain, we may have lost this battle, but the war is nearly won.”

“Lost, sir?”

“Yes. Lost.” For a moment the Admiral looked incredibly annoyed. “Mercer and the
Phoenix
got away. And the
Heron
, inexplicably. We captured only one. The
Roc.
The plan was for every ship to be either destroyed or the crew captured and put to death. We lost two times today, and if we don’t track down those ships … let’s just say there are too many loose ends hanging out of the cloth. We need to finish this task once and for all. The Emperor demands it.”

“Yes, sir,” said Titus. “What do you have in mind?”

“Nothing yet, Captain. That is why I am studying this music. It is one of Mercer’s favorite musical groups, after all.”

Titus noticed that Admiral Trajan used the Rebel captain’s name, and wondered why only that man had earned the honor so far.

“And you think studying it will give you insight into his character? His strategy?”

“I do. It already has.” He stood up and walked over to the Panreh pipe hanging in its customary position on the wall. Titus’s back went tense. The Admiral took it off its mount and wiped a smudge with his sleeve. “Really, Captain, you needn’t be so antsy.”

Titus swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Please get on the comm and get in touch with Imperial intelligence services on Earth. I need the ranking operative on board within two hours. Dismissed.”

As Titus nodded and turned away, he looked at the deck plate and saw the vague outline of the stain of blood. Trajan had only carelessly wiped it away. As Titus left through the sliding doors, he vowed to let that be the last needless pool of blood carelessly spread by the madman. He’d find a way to protect his men.

Somehow.

* * *

Ensign Ayala hurried down the corridor, weaving through the debris still scattered on the floor, avoiding eye contact with the crew members as they rushed past her, only occasionally nodding a vague greeting to someone that recognized her. It was easy to recognize her, she knew. She was used to it. Being from Belen meant being a constant celebrity. Almost like a mascot. And it rankled her.

But
he
didn’t treat her like a mascot.
He
was different.

“Hello, Willow, coming to the memorial tonight?” Ayala froze. She forced a smile onto her face and turned to face Commander Po. Would the woman see through her? See her secret?

“Hello, Commander. Blessings.” She took a step forward, but crossed her arms, which, after a moment, she decided looked too defensive and she lowered them to her side. “I will. I just need some rest. I’ve been on duty for so long …”

Po smiled, and reached out a hand to her shoulder. “Of course, Willow. Get some rest. You deserve it. Great job on the bridge today. I don’t know if we would have made it out without you there.”

Ayala couldn’t tell if the praise was genuine, or if the commander was just trying to be a good XO. Apparently Po didn’t know that XOs were supposed to be gruff, fearsome, no-nonsense. Not grandmotherly. The XO was never your friend.

“Thank you, sir.” She took a step away before finishing with her usual Belenite farewell. “Blessings be upon you, Commander.”

She arrived in her cramped quarters sweating, having broken into a run after she left Po in the corridor, and she hadn’t stopped until the door slid shut behind her. Why had she run? She swore at herself, wondering why anyone would want to be with such a wreck—her hair was both fizzy from static and wet with sweat. One of her earrings had ripped free during the battle, and dried, crusted blood covered her ear and part of her neck. What a sight, indeed.

“You finally made it. I’ve been wondering when you’d return.”

She turned to face him. And smiled. “I couldn’t wait to get back.”

“What’s the status? Are we out of danger? How’s the ship?”

Ayala approached the bed and sat next to him. “We’re fine. We made it out. The ship’s in a bad way, but we’ll muddle through somehow. Mercer seems capable enough.”

“Mercer? Who’s that?”

“The new Captain. Watson is dead, you know.”

“Well you Rebels had it coming. Fighting us like this? And all my work for nothing? You all ought to be ashamed.”

She turned to him, and pressed her chest into his. “Sorry, Senator. It’s just, it’s just you’re so sexy when you chastise …”

Senator Galba pulled off Ayala’s uniform top and squeezed her breasts. “And you’re … you’re simply irresistible.” He kissed her, and she tingled. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this way. Except she did remember. Five months ago, on Corsica. He’d noticed her, and winked at her, and for three nights they’d somehow had their tryst unseen by his aides and by her roommates. How had his aides not known about her? Maybe they did. She didn’t care.

But at the thought of the senator’s aides, she pulled away. “Are you sure you’re ok with this? You just lost your staff. And that man on the Fidelius? Was that your double?”

He nuzzled her ear. “One of them. I have two. Jaques was the best, though. I’ll miss him, poor bastard. Now come here, my Belenite goddess.”

She hadn’t heard that one before, but let him press down on her. Was she betraying her friends? Was this wrong? No. It couldn’t be. The man was the head of the Reconciliation committee, after all. He
wanted
good relations with the Resistance. And isn’t that what she was doing right now? Forging good relations?

Their time together flew past, and after an hour Ayala looked up at the old-fashioned clock hanging above her bed—a miniature grandfather clock that her mother had given her. An actual relic from Belen, before it was destroyed.

“I’ve got to be at this memorial in four hours. I need to sleep, Harrison.” She cocked her head towards him, resting on the pillow next to her. “Or is it Demetrius? Or Senator? I’m still never sure what to call you.”

He kissed her forehead. “Call me what you want.” He pulled the blanket over his bare chest and turned over. “So Willow, tell me. What’s our next destination? Anywhere you can arrange to drop me off? I need to get back to the Senate.”

“Really? They have no idea you’re here. And if they did, well, I have no idea what Mercer would do with you.”

“Take me hostage?”

Ayala rolled her eyes. “Please. That’s not what the Resistance does.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard stories, my dear, that would curdle your blood. But no matter. I need to get off this ship.”

She looked him in the eye. “And I’m telling you that it’s not going to happen for awhile. There’s no way to get you off right away without someone seeing you.”

His eyes narrowed, as if he were about to protest, or to yell—she still didn’t have a good handle of what kind of man he was—but he set his head down and put on a thin smile. “Very well. I’m sure you know best, my dear.”

She noticed his brow still furrowed, as if he were still lost in thought, planning or plotting his escape, but she let it be.

For now, though, she was in heaven, though the ship had nearly been blown to hell.

Thank you for reading!

Please sign up for the mailing list at
smarturl.it/EndiMailingList

Subscribers will get all my short stories free.

And you will get the very best deal on new releases in this series, which will be set at a lower initial price for a few days just for mailing list subscribers.

Will you please consider
leaving a review?
That is the best way to help an author whose work you enjoy. Reviews help books get visibility on retailer sites, ensuring that many more people get the chance to read the books you love.
 

LOOK FOR EPISODE #2 IN MAY, 2014

The Terran Gambit (Episode #1)

CHAINS OF DESTINY (EPISODE #2)

INTO THE VOID (EPISODE #3)

THE SONS OF OBERON (EPISODE #4)

10 episodes total

ABOUT THE AUTHOR 

Endi Webb has lived in Los Alamos NM, Seattle WA, Salt Lake City UT, and currently hangs out in Huntsville AL. He has a Ph.D. in experimental physics, loves science--both fiction and otherwise, and has a strange fascination with tomatoes.

At work, he gets to make nano-materials (really small things) with giant lasers and highly pressurized gas. His clients include NASA, the defense department, and many other government agencies that don't like to be advertised.

A lover of all things Star Trek, Star Wars, and Battlestar Galactica, Endi spends his time either blowing stuff up in his lab (true story), reading and watching Sci-Fi, or playing with his kids and bringing them up in his nerdy ways. Live long and may the force be with you.

Contact him on twitter
(@endiwebb)
, Facebook
(www.facebook.com/endiwebb)
, or his website
(www.endiwebb.com)
.

Table of Contents

Start