By Other Means (6 page)

“The opposite, actually,” She corrected him, “in many ways, at least. However, it’s important to note, those particles could easily have chewed into our hull just as quickly as they lit up that screen. Terran ships are a navigational hazard, so no, Ambassador, I do
not
think they’re elegant… not basically or in any other way.”

*****

Sorilla rested her head against the sink in her room, trying to will away the nausea she felt as the gravity core and the ship’s engines fought a tug of war with her internal organs.

On a rational level she was aware that the difference she felt was minute variations, primarily caused by the timelapse between thrust vectoring and the computer getting orders to the singularity generator, but minute or not she felt like she was enduring the worst hangover of her life… and she’d had more than a few to compare it to.

God I hate Terra class ships.

Sorilla got up, forcing herself straight, and tried to ignore the sensations coming from her implants. Unfortunately that wasn’t helping a great deal so she finally just slammed her fist into the bulkhead, relishing the pain lancing from her knuckles, and decided to head for the Gym. She had to do
something
or she wasn’t going to survive the journey, she’d learned that on Valkyrie.

Sorilla winced at the memory, but determinedly continued on her path, down the corridor from her room and to the lift. She had to go up eight decks to the gym, but that was better than wallowing in misery induced by motion sickness
and
bad memories.

*****

“Is that her?”

The looks and whispers followed the muscular woman as she ran on one of the ship’s treadmills, clearly ignoring anyone and everything around her. That didn’t stop those who noticed her from paying an exceptional level of attention to her, however.

“I hear she was the only survivor of her last three ships.”

“Don’t be stupid. It was one ship, the Los Angeles. Her team survived the last one, and the one in between wasn’t destroyed.”

“She was deployed out of the Hood, it went down, remember?”

“Just the command deck, most of the crew survived.”

“She’s still a jinx. Don’t want that bad luck charm anywhere near me.”

“Well suck it up, unless you want to try walking home.”

*****

Navy pukes.

Sorilla didn’t really blame them for what they were thinking, she’d wondered many of the same things herself, but she couldn’t forgive them for the stupidity of thinking they were whispering quietly enough that she couldn’t hear them. Her implant suite was classified, yes, but even the normal implants would pick up more than half the idiots she’d heard.

She ignored them all the same, it wouldn’t do her any good to get into a shouting match with some moron, let alone what would happen if she broke the idiot’s nose for one of those cracks.

She reached out and thumbed the pace of the treadmill up a bit higher, breaking into run as her warm up jog was completed. She ignored the readout on the machine, using her own implants to monitor her medical readings.

She was four klicks into her run when the machine next to her whirred into motion and the familiar thudding of feet began beside her. She didn’t look to one side, didn’t care who it was, instead opting just to keep on with her own run in silence.

The silence lasted another three minutes before her ‘companion’ spoke up.

“So you’re Aida.”

She didn’t bother responding, kept looking ahead as she ran.

She did, however, pull up a voice analysis and dumped it from her processor into the computer of the Mexico.

“Don’t bother,” The voice said, “save the computer cycles, I’m Hadrian Swift.”

That brought her up short, Sorilla almost stumbled in fact, then glanced to one side to look at him while she got her pace back. His ID appeared on her HUD, along with a brief dossier.

Civilian bodyguard. Great.

“Ambassadorial protection detail,” She said, looking ahead again. “I suppose that makes you my boss.”

“Technically.”

“You’re monitoring my implants?”

He chuckled, “No. I was briefed, however, and I’d have run a check. Frankly, I’d have been disappointed if you didn’t. I will be checking later, just to be sure you did, by the way.”

“Of course you will,” She said dryly. “What brings you over to the pariah section of the Gym?”

“I try to chat with my subordinates before we wind up in a situation where I might have to actually depend on them,” He told her simply.

Sorilla snorted, “You do know that I’m not actually part of your detail, right?”

“Of course.” He told her, “I don’t expect you to help me with my job, Major. What I’m trying to determine is if you’re going to make my job
harder
.”

Sorilla reached forward and turned her machine off, slowing to a jog as it went into the cool down cycle.

“I’m not going to be stepping on your toes if I can help it, Swift.” She said simply.

“See, it’s that qualifier that worries me, Major,” He said, thumbing his own treadmill to match hers. Swift looked over at her as he slowed, “I’ve worked with you army lunatics before, and you people are a damned nightmare.”

“You people?” She slowed to a stop, glaring at him.

He stopped, matching her glare, “Army green leads to blood red on the ground. My job is to prevent violence, yours is to make it more
effective
. So let me make this clear, you’re officially part of my detail and there’s nothing I can do about that, but if you start blowing shit up around my primary I’ll put a round in your skull myself.”

Sorilla stepped off the treadmill, her own frame dwarfed by the muscled form of the bodyguard. She stepped up to him and smiled, “If I’m blowing shit up around your primary, you’re going to have bigger fish to fry… also, you don’t carry a piece big enough to put a round in me… sir.”

Then she pushed past him, not glancing back as she accessed the controls of the treadmill through her short range transmitters and cranked the speed up as high as it would go.

The thud of Swift hitting the rubber mat of the machine, followed by another meaty smack of him hitting the rear wall, brought the first smile to her face she’d had since coming on board.

Diplo protection. I’m leaving this job off my resume if anyone ever asks.

*****

The Mexico crossed out of Hayden space at Twenty One Hundred hours, almost to the minute, on course for the first of several jump points on their mission itinerary.

The Jump point was an area of space where standing gravity waves were almost entirely neutralized by local and extra-solar interference. This allowed starships to punch through into non-universal space, where the ‘local’ laws of time and space no longer applied.

The USV Mexico powered her jump drive just as she entered the edge of the invisible point in spacetime, and flung herself out into the black ether scant seconds later.

“Reports from the frontier, Station Master. The Terran ship has jumped into Alliance space.”

“How long until they arrive?” Parath queried, mostly just curious.

“Two more full cycles.”

“Very well,” Parath said, “log the details and inform the Ambassador.”

“Yes, Master.”

Parath settled in, figuring it would be a quiet cycle or two. Once the Terrans were on station, well, then he could expect that to change. There were too many forces converging on his station for him to expect much peace once the Terrans provided a catalyst to the mix.  He was aware of the official players, the Ambassador and his team, various security forces, and representatives for the affiliated species.

That meant that the Ross, the Parithalian, and the Lucians had representatives involved. Technically the Kirlan as well, but they always cast their vote with the Ross so he didn’t count them.

Those were the known players, but Parath wasn’t blind enough to think that was a total list.

There are too many new faces renting high level decks of this station, parking in expensive stationary orbits, or just plain thinking that they can hide from a trained Parithalian Master of Ships by pretending to be ‘simple traders’. As if I can’t recognize military pilots, no matter what sort of scow they’re in control of.

The gathering of forces meant plans. Someone was making them, someone was executing them, and that meant someone had a use for the Terrans. That was something that worried him.

Certain members of the Alliance once had a use for the Ross, too, as he recalled.

Those plans ended with eighteen annihilated worlds, another thirty or more burned to the bedrock. Making plans about a technically advanced species without involving them was a sure way to bring about retaliation.

“Tell Asir I want to speak with station security before the Terran’s arrive.” He said finally.

“Yes Master, may I say about what?”

“I need them to start hunting spies.”

*****

Kriss didn’t like his current job one bit, would have turned it down most times, but frankly he had a bit of a bone to pick with whoever set this whole situation in motion and this was the only way he knew to be entered into the game.

A sentinel’s job was the fight, not snoop.

Sometimes, however, one had to do things they didn’t particularly like in order to be permitted to continue doing what it was they wanted.

“Sentinal Kriss.”

He looked up, relieved for anything that distracted him from filling out reports on actions he didn’t actually give a damn about. Reports were bad enough when they were about combat, but why in the singular abyss would anyone want a report filled out about how much
nothing
he’d accomplished all day?

“What is it?”

“The Terran ship has crossed the frontier sentries, it will arrive shortly.”

Kriss smiled slowly,
Finally. I may detest my assignment, but at least we’re about to see some movement on it.

He wondered, really, if the Terran Sentinels got these sorts of assignments?

*****

Sorilla checked her uniform carefully with a dour eye, scouring herself in the mirror as she looked for the slightest imperfection. After several long moments she finally gave a short, sharp nod to her own reflection and snap unfurled her beret. The inspection ritual continued with that piece of cloth that had already seen five worlds, combat across most of them, and the interior of an alien ship that would likely remain classified long past her lifespan.

Somehow it was still serviceable, she honestly wasn’t sure how, but she’d take it.

Sorilla set the beret on her head, adjusting the rake just so, then gave herself a final narrow eyed glare in the mirror before mentally pronouncing herself fit for inspection.

The Mexico had entered the alien system a short while earlier, making its approach to the primary world at a sedate ten gravities acceleration at the request of the locals. It meant the trip downwell had taken a lot of extra time, but being privy to the reasoning they gave, Sorilla neither faulted no begrudged them the request.

She’d never realized how much the exhaust plume of a VASIMR drive left in terms of non-annihilated antimatter, of course she’d never really cared either.

For a system with as much traffic as the one they were currently visiting, that simply
had
to be a serious navigational hazard. She was almost surprised that no environmental groups on Earth had begun protests yet, the more she thought about it.

Of course, she’d seen the radiation and high energy particle pulses put out by the enemy’s warp drives, so really she didn’t think they had a lot of room to complain, but maybe she was misunderstanding something. It wasn’t her concern, in any case.

Right now, her worry was more about the presentation and welcoming ceremony she was ordered to attend.

*****

The massive lock cycled, lifting the alien shuttle up from the evacuated landing deck to the flight deck where the welcoming ceremony was to be held.

Fleet men and women were lined up in perfect ranks, resplendent in their dress whites. The Marines of the USV Mexico had broken out their traditional dress blues and regalia, right down to the ceremonial sabers that always made Sorilla want to chuckle.

She herself, along with a scattering of others on board, was dressed In OPCOM blacks. More utilitarian than the rest, but respectable enough to pass for something one wore to special occasions. The largely civilian representatives of the Diplo-protection team were also in black, but they wore suits tailored to hide the powerful handguns worn underneath.

Sorilla wasn’t hiding her weapons.

Her OPCOM Metalstorm 44 was riding on her right thigh, and her fighting blade rested low on her left. If anyone asked, she was authorized to carry as a member of the Diplo-protection detail, but she practically defied anyone to have the gall to ask.

The hatch on the alien lander opened quicker than she’d expected, causing her eyes to narrow as she examined the craft a little closer.

It’s a troop deployment shuttle. Almost missed it, look very similar to what the file said was a courier shuttle.

The hatch served as a gangplank, and Sorilla watched as the aliens stepped down and onto the deck of the Mexico.

She recognized the species she’d fought against, even the ones she’d only see second hand. A blue skinned Parithalian seemed to be the one in charge, judging from positions and body language, though it was impossible to be certain since her files were all geared toward recognizing human interations.

This will be a perfect chance to start changing that,
Sorilla decided as the procession continued on.

The Lucians were there as well, and she wasn’t surprised to find that they were armed and arrayed as bodyguards. Her implants screamed at her, though, and that did take her out of the moment for a second while she refocused on what they’d spotted.

The boss Lucian, if she were right in her guess, was carrying a familiar blade. It was an OPCOM carbon blade with molecular edging, which meant it was a war trophy. She focused on him a lot closer, trying to determine what she could about him.