The Great Space (Scrapyard Ship Book 6) Page 4

  The intercom chimed. It was time for Ot-Mul to return to the bridge. An excited voice followed. “Chief Commander, we have an interstellar communication from Terplin.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  * * *

  Ot-Mul joined four other officers on the raised platform at the back of the bridge. Each wore a silver, copper, or bronze-colored medallion proudly around his neck. By their expressions, something was definitely afoot. Ot-Mul sat in the command chair and brought his attention to the bridge display. There, before him, was a young Craing dressed in a typical ceremonial robe and a tall, cone-shaped headdress. An overlord … and a high overlord, at that. As a whole, he never cared for any of the sanctimonious, pompous, priests. He’d make a point of lessening their involvement in government and military affairs as soon as he returned to Terplin.

  “Chief Commander, I wish to inform you—”

  Ot-Mul raised a hand, putting a halt to the Craing high overlord in mid-sentence.

  “First of all, who are you? You do not look familiar to me. Second, I am to be addressed as my Lord, or acting-Emperor.”

  The high overlord looked stunned and unsure what to say or do next.

  Ot-Mul’s annoyance was growing by the second. “Speak, or I shall cut this connection.”

  The overlord nodded quickly and said, “Chief Commander, you can address me as High Overlord Cam. I am pleased to inform you that acting-Emperor Lom has returned to the throne. Injured, still not one hundred percent, he is once again in command of the Craing people … the Craing military.”

  This time it was Ot-Mul who was at a loss for words. He glanced to the other officers only to see them return blank expressions toward him. The overlord was speaking again.

  “Lord Lom regrets not being able to speak with you directly, but with the events of the last few days, I’m sure you can imagine the demands on his time. He has outlined your orders, which are to be carried out with all due haste.”

  “My orders?”

  “Yes, our lord was quite explicit about them … You are to return to the Craing worlds at once. All fleets, including the Vanguard, will proceed to the nearest wormhole junction and return to Craing space within four days. This same message has already been delivered to fleet commanders situated around the sixth planet in the Sol system.”

  Ot-Mul was having a hard time grasping anything the overlord said. How had his good fortune changed so radically, so quickly? Lom’s ability to make intelligent decisions must surely be compromised. Ot-Mul was well aware the overlord was waiting for his confirmation of the orders. Well, he could continue to wait.

  Ot-Mul looked to the communications officer seated within the multiple rows of bridge stations. “Communications, please verify the originating location of this transmission.”

  The comms officer double-checked his readings and looked up. “My Lord, this transmission is coming from Calamine-Nu, Terplin. Two hundred miles from the Emperor’s Palace.”

  “Is there a problem, Chief Commander?” the high overlord inquired with suspicion. “I have many more of these communications to deliver.”

  “I would request that the Vanguard fleet, at a minimum, be allowed to complete their original directive, to destroy planet Earth and the other planets within this system.”

  “No. You will return to Craing space immediately. As I’m sure you are aware, Lord Lom does not appreciate his orders being second-guessed. If you are not inclined to obey—”

  Ot-Mul interjected, “We will prepare to leave this system within the hour, High Overlord Cam. Please give my best regards to acting-Emperor Lom.”

  Ot-Mul continued to stare at the display long after the smug overlord’s image disappeared. The decisions Ot-Mul reached now would impact the rest of his life and, quite possibly, change the fate of the Craing people.

  The comms officer was speaking again. “Chief Commander, the rest of the fleet is leaving the system. The Vanguard dreadnaughts are requesting your orders.”

  And right then was the glimmer of hope he’d been waiting for. The individual captains of his Vanguard fleet, seven fully functional dreadnaughts, were waiting on his command. Doubtless, they too had been informed of the acting-emperor’s orders.

  “Tell them to stand by. New orders to come momentarily,” Ot-Mul said.

  So, it would come down to this … this moment. Would he comply and follow the orders of the obviously mentally compromised Lom, or take the initiative and do the unthinkable? How badly do you want this? he thought to himself. Enough to risk everything? Yes. His rightful place was on the throne. But he could not go it alone. He looked over to his fellow officers, “Are you with me?”

  The four Craing officers remained expressionless. As if reconfirming an earlier-made decision, they glanced to one another and then, one by one said, “I am with you, my Lord.”

  Upon hearing those assenting words, Ot-Mul initiated a cue. He wasted no time. “Second in command, inform the Vanguard fleet commanders we are continuing on to Earth. Battle stations, I want their worldwide governmental seats of power, as well as their military and strategic targeting information, before we enter high orbit.

  Chapter 7

  Ricket removed the cone-shaped headdress from atop his head and turned to Jason. “Was that acceptable, Captain?”

  Jason, seated at the other end of the ready room conference table, nodded. “That was quite a performance, Ricket. I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

  “Captain, if there’s nothing else, I need to get back to the Minian.”

  Jason and Ricket left the ready room together. “Keep me informed of your progress,” Jason said, as he headed off toward the bridge.

  Jason entered the bridge, noting the logistical view of the solar system and bright red icons that represented Craing vessels on the display before him.

  Orion said, “Captain, the fleet’s withdrawing. At least, the ships around Saturn are.”

  Jason sat and appraised the situation. Sure enough, the warships parked near Saturn were making rapid progress out of the solar system. He let out a sigh of relief and sat back in his seat.

  He watched the other ships, the seven dreadnaughts sited near Mars, and muttered, “Come on, follow the others …” As if hearing his comment, the dreadnaughts also started to move. But they weren’t following in the direction of the departing fleet—they were headed directly toward Earth.

  Seaman Gordon broke the silence: “Captain, Admiral Reynolds requests a private channel.”

  Jason stood. “Send it to my ready room, Seaman.”

  Twenty-five steps from the bridge, Jason reentered his ready room and sat down. Admiral Reynolds appeared on the display. Considering their grim situation, he looked better than expected. Shaved and wearing a fresh uniform, his father bore down on Jason with a cold stare.

  “What the hell are you doing? There was nothing ambiguous about your orders … get back here to defend Earth.”

  “That was my intention. Things have changed since we last communicated.”

  The admiral impatiently waited for Jason to continue.

  “As I’m sure you’ve been informed, the Cutlass was attacked.”

  “Yes, I know all about that. And I know that Stalls has Boomer. I’m very sorry, Jason. My heart breaks for what that little girl must be going through. But The Lilly’s needed back here. Don’t forget, that fleet of Craing dreadnaughts has atomized hundreds of planets and they’re now on course for Earth. We’re just lucky the rest of their fleet pulled up stakes and left.”

  “That was our doing. We’ve figured out how to receive and transmit Craing communications. We dressed Ricket up like an overlord and ordered the fleet back to Craing space.”

  The admiral almost smiled. “Clever. Very clever. But for some reason the Vanguard fleet wants nothing to do with those orders. Perhaps they didn’t buy the act, or they’ve gone rogue, or who knows what?”

  “What’s the status of the Allied fleet?” Jason asked.

  “I’
ve just returned with what’s left … four hundred and thirty-two warships. Normally, that might be enough to combat their seven ships. But these Vanguard dreadnaughts are on a whole different level than any of us have fought against in the past. Highly trained crews, not to mention the ships are equipped with massive plasma cannons. They’re called planet killers for a reason. One direct hit from those guns and even heavy cruisers are quickly reduced to space dust.”

  “I’ve had good luck fighting dreadnaughts phase-shifting from the inside out,” Jason interjected. “Big guns or not, they’ve little defense against our phase-shifting fighters, not to forget The Lilly. Look, I can be there in minutes. Better if they’re surprised anyway. From our estimates the dreadnaughts are moving slow and won’t reach Earth for at least an hour. I need that time to deal with Stalls and his deadline.”

  “Deadline?”

  “Before he says he’ll kill Boomer.”

  “We’re playing with fire here. The defense of a planet, our planet,” the admiral said, rubbing his forehead and looking away. He loved the girls and was obviously torn on what to do. “Promise me you’ll come as soon as called,” he said.

  “We’re closely watching the situation. The priority, of course, is to protect Earth. I just need a little time to save my daughter.”

  The admiral nodded almost imperceptibly and cut the connection.

  * * *

  Jason knew he had very little time left to deal with Stalls. His father was right; he was, in a sense, prioritizing Boomer’s life above the fate of an entire world … but what else could he do? Leave his daughter in what would unquestionably be an unforgiving, extremely dire, existence? No. He’d often rolled the dice anti to what wise convention called for and, once again, he needed the gods of fate to rule in his favor.

  There’d been too many interruptions getting the Minian even minimally repaired, but Jason needed to interrupt again Ricket, Bristol, or Granger. None of The Lilly’s bridge crew had a clue how to operate the newly installed Caldurian tracking technology. This time it was Granger, along with Sergeant Toby Jackson, his ever-present guard, who’d been called to The Lilly’s bridge.

  “What exactly do you want to accomplish, Captain?”

  “I need to track down a Craing warship, or multiple warships, that have moved outside of sensor range,” Jason told him.

  Granger moved over to an open station and sat down. His fingers flew over the input device and, within seconds, the logistical display altered and contracted in, revealing a much-expanded portion of surrounding space—represented in muted, grayed-out symbols and icons. “What you’re looking at now,” Granger said, while continuing to tap away, “is actual space and probable space. The grayed-out areas are only best guesses, based on probabilities … not only from this reality, but influences taken from the multiverse as well. Based on the last incoming communications from Stalls, you can see his location was approximately twenty-five light-years away … here in this area,” he said, gesturing toward the logistical feed displayed above.

  “That was hours ago. He may have … most likely has … moved far from that location,” Orion interjected.

  Granger smiled, “And here’s what’s amazing about this technology.” Granger tapped again and another, similar feed appeared on the display. There were multiple overlays now, each symbol and icon fluctuating … sometimes flickering off, and then reappearing at the same location; other times, the positions slightly changed. Granger turned in his seat to face Jason. “We’ve had this discussion before, Captain … I want to stress again that when dealing with the multiverse and other planes of existence, what you consider reality is misleading. Reality is quite fluid, altered by such things as intention and other subjective, always fluctuating, concepts. What you’re looking at is a best guess, live, construct of possibilities. I have it set to show only the most probable, but multiple probabilities can be displayed easily enough. As you can see, according to the probability matrix, it places the position of Stalls’ three warships to now be twenty-five light-years into this area of space.”

  Jason stared at the fluctuating gray icons and felt a glimmer of hope. Quietly, he said, “Hold on. I’m coming for you, Boomer.” Jason turned to Orion: “You got this … how to work this thing?”

  “I think so. Enough so that I can hail Granger with questions, if necessary,” she replied.

  “Thank you, Granger. You can return to the Minian.”

  Granger stood, heading out of the bridge, then stopped. “Captain, I know that we’ve had our differences in the past, but I want you to know I’ll do whatever I can to help you free your daughter.”

  Jason nodded and watched Sergeant Jackson and Granger leave the bridge.

  “Seaman Gordon, please inform Ricket on the Minian, as well as Commander Douglas on the Determined, that we’re leaving. Provide them with our guesstimated coordinates of Stalls’ ship in case we run into a problem. When you’re ready, call up the interchange and request a wormhole. Ensign McBride, move us on out of here.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  As The Lilly separated from the Determined and the Minian, Jason noticed the outside hull of the Minian was undergoing a confluence of activity. Multiple repair droids had been activated and were now hard at work making repairs. A hopeful sign.

  It took several minutes to reach the mouth of the wormhole. Seaman Gordon excitedly said, “Captain, we’re receiving an interstellar communications hail … it’s Captain Stalls, sir.”

  “Don’t answer him,” Jason ordered.

  Keeping his eyes on the logistical display provided by the probability matrix Jason saw that Stalls’ ships had moved, but not significantly enough for them to alter outpoint wormhole coordinates. The Lilly entered the wormhole and then, just as quickly, exited the mouth at the other end.

  The probability matrix feed updated with no significant alterations. “Get in close, Helm, but stay outside their sensor range.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Jason kept his eyes on the three Craing warship icons. “I’m coming for you, Stalls.”

  Chapter 8

  Boomer unlocked the manacle and let it drop to the deck. She rubbed the red and raw abrasion on her ankle and stood up. She took another look around her disgusting surroundings and held back tears. It would be so easy to let the fear envelop her. Come on, she thought to herself, I’m only nine years old! Seriously, how many nine-year-olds go through this kind of thing?

  She eyed the hatch across the room but before she could take her first step, the overhead lights flickered once, twice, before everything went totally black. As she stood in the silence, her other senses came alive—most prominently, her sense of smell. Old blood, rotting flesh, and that ever-present charcoal smell filled her nostrils. With hands outstretched, Boomer moved in the direction, her best guess, of where the hatch would be.

  The floor was slick in places, sticky in others. She had a rough idea where the closest table was holding the carved up rhino-warrior. She closed her eyes and tried to picture the rest of the kitchen galley in her mind. There were at least three more tables to pass in front of her, a virtual obstacle course she’d need to traverse. After four steps Boomer exhaled in relief; she’d passed the rhino-warrior’s remains. Another two steps and she stepped on something thick and squishy. She’d been so concerned with what was above the decking she’d forgotten to be mindful of what was strewn about beneath her, on the deck flooring. The thick, squishy thing slid out from beneath her foot and, before Boomer could catch her balance, she lost her footing and went sprawling backwards. She landed hard on her backside. After first determining she wasn’t hurt, she noticed the smell. On the deck it was even worse. She retched, trying to breathe only through her mouth. Using both hands, she pushed off the deck as a slick, sticky Jell-O-like substance squished through her fingers. Worse, she felt something trickling down her cheek and swiped at it. Oh my God, what’s on my face! Between more retching and doing her best to hold back sobs, Boomer managed t
o get back to her feet. She wiped first her palms and then the back of her hands on her jumpsuit.

  Four more steps and she walked into the first of the three tables. Reflexively, her hands came down on the surface, where she encountered cold hard metal. She used the flat vertical edge to guide her hand around the table and then kept on walking. Four more hesitant steps and she reached the next table. Whatever was lying atop this table was all dried out; at her mere touch it disintegrated, like a sunbaked sandcastle at the beach. Again, she wiped her hands and did her best to only use the table’s edge to navigate forward. Two down and one to go! This was beyond awful, Boomer thought to herself, but she was almost through the maze. This time she anticipated the location of the third table. Purposely, she avoided the top surface, letting her hands move directly to the table’s edge. Then she heard the sound.