First Comes Duty (The Hope Island Chronicles Book 2) (24 page)

“Fire.”

Seconds later, another explosion.

“Sir, two bandits still inbound.”

“Very well. Weapons control, target the bogies with long-range pulsar batteries.”

“Locked on to the lead ship, Sir.”

“Fire.”

A single, focused beam lanced out and destroyed the drogue. 

“Weapons control,” Illingworth said, “lock on to final target with short-range pulsar batteries.”

“Locked on, Sir.”

While the seconds ticked by, Illingworth waited.

Nathan subdued a knowing smile.
He’s putting on a show for the admiral.
The final drogue breached the channel, its glowing wake clearly seen with the naked eye. Illingworth waited until a few people began shifting their feet. 

“Fire.”

A single, focused beam lanced out. The drogue disappeared in a ball of flame, close enough to cast shadows into the C and C.

“Captain, all bandits destroyed. No other contacts show on our sensors.”

“Well done, Commander.” Grace smiled. “A most entertaining demonstration. You may end the exercise.”

While Illingworth confirmed his orders, Grace turned his triumphant smile to his guests.

“So, Captain Roussel, do you still think someone could get onto this platform?”

“I’ll agree, Admiral, considering your demonstration it would be unlikely, however…”            

Grace sighed wearily. “Very well, Captain.” He turned to Cowdry. “Desmond, prepare the TRU for a demonstration.”

“Yes, Sir Godfrey,” Cowdry said.

“Ladies and gentlemen, follow me.”

They returned the way they had come. Grace ushered everyone behind the enigmatic red line at the start of the corridor. At the other end of the corridor, the blast doors locked into place, sealing off the C and C.

“One has to wonder who would be foolish enough to attempt to attack this facility, but let us say, for the sake of argument, someone did, and by some miracle made it aboard. Let us also assume they got this far. All that stands between them and the control center is three interlocking battle steel hatches. What could possibly prevent them from marching down this corridor?” He tapped the wall-mounted comm. “Ready, Captain Cowdry?”

“Yes, Sir Godfrey.”

“Very well, let our guests take a look at the Polyphemus TRU, shall we?”

“Aye, Sir, activating the TRU, now.”

At the far end of the corridor, a wide hatch slid aside. What stepped through made some of the group lean back on their heels.

“The Mark Thirty-two tactical response unit.” Grace grinned at his audience. “We call it Poly.” 

The Brets had abandoned any pretence with regard to making Poly appear human, unlike other ’droids Nathan had seen. Its size fit in with the dimensions of the KC: short, solid legs supported a broad torso which nearly scraped the sides of the corridor. Nathan spied at least a dozen gun ports dotted across the giant body, and each massive arm held the Bret equivalent of an L50 pulsar. Madness. An L50 would inflict far more damage to the KC than enemy fire could ever achieve. A single eye sensor replaced the eyes normally part of a standard Athenian ’droid’s appearance.

Nathan finally got the reference.

“Impressive, what?” Grace said, facing his audience. His aide leaned in to his ear, causing the admiral to chortle.

“Ensign Telford.” He gestured him forward with a crooked finger.

Nathan worked through the packed crowd and up to the admiral.

“So, Telford, what do you think of my toy?”

“If I remember my Homer, Polyphemus, the Cyclops, was blinded by Odysseus.”

“There is some academic debate in that regard, Telford,” the aide chipped in.

“Thank you, Alistair, but I believe you are missing the point. The ensign is suggesting that if the optical sensor is disabled, Poly will not function. Yes?”

Nathan nodded once.

“As with everything on this battle platform, this, too, has multiple redundancies. Disabling Poly would require getting close enough to do so. Let me assure you,” he said, turning back to his audience, “even if, and I
do
say if, the sensor function was temporarily disabled before the backups kicked in, this TRU could hold off an army. Impressed, Ensign?” 

“Like everything I have seen today, Admiral, yes, quite impressive.”

“Good.”

“But it doesn’t appear to be doing anything.”

Grace chuckled from the back of his throat. “Step to the line, Ensign.”

You just can’t keep your big mouth shut, can you?

Nathan’s shoes touched the red line.

“Now, Telford, take two paces forward.”

The moment his foot touched the deck, the sleeping beast awoke. Both pulsars centered on him while the sensor eye changed from green to amber. Stopping after the ordered two paces, he stood to attention.

“See, ladies and gentlemen, a measured response. Poly has scanned him and found no weapons. I assure you, if this was anything but a drill, the ensign would be nothing more than ashes on the deck.”

Nathan remained unmoving, but could hear Grace and his aide chuckling like petulant children. 

“Telford!”

Nathan glanced about in time to catch the sidearm. 

“Weapon detected,” Poly said. “Authorization code required.” It did not sound pleased.

Although tempted to toss the weapon back, he called the admiral’s bluff and turned to face the ’droid. The eye had changed from amber to a blinking red.

It’s bluffing.
It would never discharge an L50.

A gun-port opened in its chest, and a single pulsar poked out. Nathan stepped to the right, then to the left. Poly’s red-eyed head tracked his movements.

Nathan set the pistol to maximum focused beam setting, turned side-on to the TRU and fired. The energy beam struck the angry red eye. He stepped to one side, then the other, noting that the eye did not track him. His pulsar’s beam died as the power pack ran dry. 

“Authorization code required,” Poly repeated. The red eye stopped blinking. 

“It’s impressive technology, Admiral,” he heard Bradman say.

“Final request for authorization.” The red eye glowed.

“You’ve made your point, Sir Godfrey.” Bradman’s constrained tone caused Nathan to feel an immediate sense of shame. The skipper had called him Sir Godfrey because of Nathan’s foolishness.

“Poly,” Grace said, “authorization code, oregano, case blue.”

“Authorization code verified.” The red light switched to green.

CHAPTER 35

Date: 21
^st
March 322 ASC.

Position:
Insolent
, sitting in holding pattern, high Cimmerian orbit. Bretish Commonwealth space. 

Status: Alert stand down.

Doctor Ning stepped from the stern lift and onto
Insolent
’s boat bay. Landing Boat Two sat before the open bay doors, the environmental force field the only thing standing between him and a sudden, awful death within the airless coldness of space. Ning shivered at the thought.

He stepped through the open hatch and checked the supplies. Three fixed seats remained. Like everyone on this mission, he had exchanged his black flight suit for camouflaged fatigues. The blue LHO armband completed the ensemble.

“Good morning, Ensign Whitney, Corporal Carpov.”

Carpov nodded.

“Good morning, Doc,” Whitney said.

“So, Ensign, this is your first time on Cimmeria?”

“Yeah, Doc, I thought I’d tag along and see the sights.”

Ning nodded and headed forward, noting the smirk which fled from Carpov’s mouth as he passed her. On the flight deck, Chief Ritchie leaned into view. She glanced up at his approach.

“Mornin’, Doc.”

“Good morning, Chief, I was wondering—”

“Wondering what, Doctor?” Ensign Telford said from the left seat.

“Ah, wondering when…” Ning caught himself. “What are you doing here, Ensign?”

Telford kept his eyes on his task. “Transporting you and your medical supplies to Cimmeria, Doctor.”

“I thought Lieutenant Valetta was on rotation.”

“What’s the matter, Doc?” Ritchie asked. “Not nervous about flying, are you?”      

“We’re preparing to depart, Doctor.” Telford finally glanced at him. “Take your seat.”

Ning fell into his seat, strapped in and sighed.
Pilots.
They will be the death of me.

***

Nathan could scarcely believe how congested the Cimmerian orbital approaches were. Within his immediate eyesight, at least twenty orbital space docks filled his view-plate. Heavy-lift landing boats formed a continuous stream of traffic coming from and going to the planet.

He keyed his larynx mike. “Cimmeria approach control, from Athenian Landing Boat Two.”

“Approach control,” a strained voice replied.

“Landing Boat Two, on behalf of the League Humanitarian Organization, requests straight-in approach to Port Kingsford airspace.”

“Landing Boat Two, hold one,” the harassed voice said.

“Roger, approach control.”

“Is this normal?” Nathan asked.

“Yep,” Ritchie said. “It’s a mighty busy place, isn’t it?”

Nathan nodded. Two minutes passed.

“Landing Boat Two, I am sending descent coordinates to you now. Do not deviate from them. Acknowledge.”

Nathan scanned the coordinates scrolling across his nav-com.

“Approach control, Landing Boat Two acknowledges.”

“Very well, landing boat, proceed on my mark.” A pause, then, “And welcome to Cimmeria.”

Nathan piloted the boat through the orbital chaos and onto the approach beam. On only the odd occasion did he feel intimidated by the volume of traffic moving around him. His sensors would warn of any impending danger. Nathan’s eyes roamed the airspace, seeking out anything the technology might miss. The landing boat broached the high inversion layer exposing the planet. Although it was early afternoon by local time, a lingering gloom hung over the surface, giving the planet a sense of perpetual twilight. 

The Kingsford Spaceport stretched to the horizon, the surrounding townships dwarfed by the immensity of the complex. To the east, the capital abutted an impossibly high, blue-tinted mountain range. South of the city, the spires of the commercial and residential center. The industrial area, used primarily for ore processing, lay on the other side of the mountain range. He could see smoke rising into the murky blue sky. Around the entire area, deep green jungle ate at the distant borders. 

Nathan brought the boat down onto a huge ferrocrete landing pad, at the far western side of the crowded spaceport.

“Wrist,” Ning said.

The hypo hissed into his vein. Ritchie held out her arm for the same treatment.

“This will help you adjust to the high gravity and assist you coping with the thin atmosphere. It will help, but if you overly exert yourself, you
will
pass out.”

Nathan nodded to the doctor. The quack had his uses. 

“Is everyone ready to go, Doctor?”

“Yes.” He regarded Nathan as if he had a hearing problem. “Just take it slow, Ensign. All right?”

“Thank you, Doctor,” he said. “Chief, disengage artificial gravity and we’ll get about our business.”

Ritchie smiled while reaching for the gravity controls. “You’re going to
love
this.”

Although he braced himself for the adjustment, the dense gravity crushed him into his seat, constricting his breathing. 

“Breathe through it, Sir, it’ll pass shortly.”

His vision blurred as he fought for his next breath. In a minute the drugs took effect and he could move again. Nathan pushed himself to a standing position and waited for the giddiness to pass.

“I can’t move,” Lucky said.

“Just give it a little longer,” the doctor said, patting him on the shoulder.

“CC,” Nathan said, “crack the hatch.”

The stench poured through the open hatch, causing Lucky to hold his nose. It confirmed Nathan’s research with regard to Cimmeria’s appalling ecological record.

As protocol demanded, he stepped back from the hatch and waved Ning through. “This is your show, Doctor.”

As Ning’s feet touched the landing pad, an ancient ground truck rumbled to a stop. A sleek air car appeared from behind it, stopped, and a Cimmerian officer stepped out. After a short greeting, the doc began waving his hands around. The Cimmerian nodded, his hands clasped behind him.  

“Ugly brutes, aren’t they?” Lucky said.

“I wouldn’t let any of them hear you say that, Ensign,” Carpov said. “They’re a fiercely proud race.”

“Yeah, Ensign,” Ritchie said, “and they’re strong enough to rip both your arms off and jam them up your—”

“We get your point, Chief,” Nathan said.

The only sentient race discovered by humanity, they had made the mistake of welcoming humanity onto their world and paid a heavy price for their generosity. No taller than Nathan, they were more than twice his width and incredibly strong. For a race which had evolved in a high-gee planetary environment, they followed the norms. Some of the texts described Cimmerians as appearing somewhat similar in type to a human/ape hybrid. Nathan had seen apes in a zoo, but despite the heavy brow, this Cimmerian had little in common with those sad creatures. Nathan could imagine him biting through a solid metal bearing with his thick jaws, but his lips were thick and perfectly formed. His features were far more refined, far more … human, than a caged beast. Even the broad nose did not distract from the intelligent eyes.    

“Well,” Ritchie said, “you know what they say?”

Nathan and his companions considered the smiling CPO.

“Once you’ve had a Cimmerian, there’s no going back.”

Nathan wondered if his own expression of distaste matched the others. “You know, Ritchie,” Nathan said, “sometimes you can be a real—”

Lucky tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the doctor, who waved at them to approach.

The four Athenians stepped gingerly from the boat and approached the truck. When they got closer, Nathan took note of the Cimmerian’s features. His toffee-colored irises were so large they almost obscured the whites of his eyes. He was clean-shaven, his thick, black mat of fur tied into a regulation ponytail.