Hammerhead Resurrection (11 page)

Delaney said, “Our messages from Earth are currently some twenty minutes one-way. Despite that, we already have a response from the president. I’ve viewed it and will share it with you in its entirety, but first I’ll show you the message I sent to him. I want you all to have a complete picture.”

Jeffrey tried to guess at the president’s response based on her expression, but her expression remained neutral as she asked one of the Marines to call up her message. She appeared on the pedestal, sitting with one leg crossed over the other. Jeffrey’s eyes drew up the length of her leg and along the curve of her hip. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he kept his gaze focused on the image’s face.

“Hello, John,” her image said, looking as real as the woman who sat across from him. She smiled beautifully with a practiced measure of humility. Jeffrey sensed insincerity in the perfection of that smile and wondered how much of her behavior was honest and how much manipulation.

“We have a possible complication to discuss. Captain Holt has suggested the Sthenos ships are baiting the fleet. He feels that somewhere, nearby, more ships are waiting to ambush us. He bases this on his previous experience. I’m not sure if he’s correct.” She offered this with a slight smile as she shifted in her seat, her chest stretching her shirt.

As her message continued, Jeffrey felt he understood her as a legislator. Politicians wanted one thing above all else, influence over others. Of course, looking as she did, she would have used every tool at her disposal from her intelligence to her beauty to rise to the position she held. He recalled how close she’d stood to him at the Nav-Con and her fingertips on his arm in the corridor. She’d attempted to use her guile on Jeffrey, but he was no one’s puppet.

Delaney’s message to the president detailed Jeffrey’s deceleration tactic. When she’d finished, she gave a final, perfect smile and signed off.

Delaney said, “I’m sorry to have mentioned you Captain Holt, as you’re technically not supposed to be involved, but I needed to lend the credibility of your experience to influence his decision.”

I’m sure you’re sorry.
Jeffrey saw through her mention of him. I
won’t allow you to pour gas on this fire
, she’d said. Instead of arguing with Cantwell directly, she intended to illustrate Jeffrey’s involvement and let the president do her dirty work for her.

Quelling his anger, he said, “You did what you had to do.”

She held his gaze for a moment, a slight smile in her eyes, before facing Cantwell. She glanced back at him as she said, “Admiral, I’m afraid I created a bit of trouble, but there’s not much I can do about it.”

Cantwell asked, “What sort of trouble?”

“I’ll share his response with you as explanation.”

The admiral nodded his consent, and the Marine called up the message.

A half-circle of desk and a leather chair appeared on the disk, blurred for a moment, then resolidified. The president was nowhere to be seen.

“Samantha,” the president’s voice said, “Admiral Cantwell.”

He materialized as he stepped in beside the chair holding a tablet. He wore no tie and his shirt collar was lifted on one side. Reaching beyond the area of the viewer, his arm and the tablet disappeared. His arm drew back, reforming, the tablet gone. As he sat, he crossed his hands on the half circle of desk.

Tapping its surface, he said in an irritated tone, “Midnight.”

The Lacedaemon’s clock, which ran on GMT, read 5:38 A.M.

The president propped his elbows on the desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have to meet with the secretary of defense at 6 A.M.” He looked into the room, his eyes meeting no one.

“Samantha, as you stated in your message, you are there to support me. I would expect no less. After all, the fate of your career is tied to mine. I understand you want to be cautious, but I cannot have you going off half-cocked due to some old man’s delusion.”

Old man’s delusion?

Jeffrey’s hands gripped into fists.

President Moore said, “Admiral Cantwell, I understand how I slipped during our last communication. I’ll be clear now. I’m giving you a
direct order
. If Holt’s theory proves to be wrong, we will have wasted time and resources. In that case, which I am
sure
it is, Jeffrey Holt is to be removed from military service. Keep him away from your staff, and Samantha, you’d damn well better stop listening to him. Still…” He fell silent as though it pained him to admit that anything Jeffrey offered could possibly be correct. “…if I ignore his suggestion, and his hunch proves correct, I’ll be the biggest fool to have ever served in this office. Proceed with your deceleration. See what happens. If there’s no change in status, continue with the attack per Donovan’s recommendation. If I hear nothing from you, I will assume all is well and Holt is back in retirement… where he should have stayed.”

He nodded to his right and vanished from the view-pad.

Jeffrey clasped his hands together, leaning forward on his elbows. Having a man like President Moore making decisions was bad for war. Reactionary men concerned more with popularity than prudence could cause the deaths of millions. Jeffrey felt sure something horrific was about to happen, and that only those with definitive souls, those willing to sacrifice themselves for others, would be able to stop it.

In a flat tone Delaney said, “I think that went well.”

Jeffrey looked at her with a coldness.

She gave him a perfect smile. “Something troubling you Captain Holt?”

“I’m fine.” He stood. “I suppose we should find out if I stay in service.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass,” Cantwell said as he slapped his hand on his armrest and stood, “what Moore tells me to do. For all I care, he can throw me in a cell. He won’t pull me from command until this is over. Holt, you stay, no matter the outcome. That’s an order. Clear?”

“Crystal, sir.”

Delaney came to her feet, dropping her tablet as Captain Donovan said, “Sir I—”

“I won’t have dissent on this Donovan.”

Donovan’s chin lifted. “Yes, sir.”

Delaney’s eyes widened with disbelief as she said, “Admi—”

“Ma’am, if you want to pull me from service, do it now, but unless you plan on leading this fleet yourself, I suggest you consider your next words carefully.”

Her eyes blazing with anger, she said, “I won’t pull you right now, but you must know this could end your military career.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep madam vice president. My military career was already supposed to be over.” He looked to Jeffrey, “Walk with me
Captain
Holt,” and left the room.

As Jeffrey followed Cantwell out of the room and down the corridor toward the bridge, he said, “I don’t think that played out to her expectations.”

With anger in his tone, Cantwell said, “Well then, she and her boss might want to reconsider whom they’re dancing with.”

…

Jeffrey stood beside Cantwell as he asked, “Am I linked to the fleet?”

Captain Raeburn, a stocky, balding man with a heavy bristle across his face, which Jeffrey considered had probably grown there in the last few hours, said, “Yes sir.”

“Fleet,” Cantwell said, “cut acceleration.”

The men and women at the helm began inputting information and communicating in hushed tones. The subtle vibration in the deck plates vanished. The stillness and ensuing weightlessness felt like death.

“Initiate turn.”

Above, the star field came to life, sweeping the Jovian system’s bright chain of sparks away. The carbon fiber shin and calf supports of his
mag-boots allowed Jeffrey to stay upright as his mass accelerated through the turn with the ship, but he did have to widen his stance to brace himself. Above, which really was
out ahead
relative to the Lacedaemon’s bow, the small, brilliant disk of the sun slid into view from the right, settling a few degrees past center. The ships of the fleet, which had been behind the Lacedaemon, now hung among the stars, long blades of metal, all different constructions, some silvery, others glistening white, still others like dark iron.

“Begin deceleration burn of 1 G on my mark,” Cantwell said. “Mark.”

The vibration returned to the ship as the Lacedaemon came back to life and the weight returned to Jeffrey’s feet. Out among the stars, fifty-six sets of engine thrusters erupted to life in reds, oranges, and white-hot blues.

Jeffrey looked to the Nav-Con where the Sthenos destroyers’ green blades of energy still cut into the ice.

“No change,” he said.

Delaney came to stand beside him. “Don’t give in so readily, captain.”

With Cantwell’s surprising resistance, she was now playing nicer. He felt the subtle warmth of her nearness again and caught the lightly floral scent of her. A flourish in his chest rose up his neck, warming his face. He moved around the Nav-Con until the disk stood fully between them. He looked up to the thruster glow of the fleet.

After a moment, she moved to stand beside him again. “Are you all right?” Her hand touched his back. The other moved gently to his forearm.

“Please,” he said quietly as he took her hand from his arm, “don’t try this with me.”

“Excuse me?” Her dark-amber eyes narrowed.

He said quietly, “I know what you’re doing. I’m not a chess piece to be moved around where best fits your purpose.”

She kept her voice low, “Are you suggest—”

“They’re moving!” The Nav-Con officer said.

Jeffrey looked to the Nav-Con. The Sthenos ships had shut down their beams, and were lifting away from the gouged surface of Europa where shattered blocks of ice descended slowly through the fog of frozen vapor.

“Nav-Con,” Admiral Cantwell said, “keep them on the viewer.” His voice remained calm as he said, “Unfortunately Holt, it seems you’re to stay in service.”

“That is unfortunate,” Jeffrey said. “Looks like we’re in for hell.”

“Navigation,” Cantwell asked, “from this position and velocity, how long would it take us to reach Earth?”

“Earth?” Delaney asked incredulous. “What are you suggesting?”

Cantwell held up his hand to silence her. “If you get underfoot vice president, I’ll have you removed from the bridge.”

“Admiral, I will not be spoken to in that way”

“Ah,” Cantwell said, “you just were. Now stay out of the way.”

Eyes narrowing, she said nothing.

A male officer, his face still holding hints of the boy he’d been only a few years before, ran his fingers over the panel at his workstation and said, “At 3 G’s of deceleration we’ll have Earth-relative full-stop in ten hours 31 minutes. At that point, under full acceleration and deceleration we’ll be four days and two hours from Earth orbit sir.”

“What thrust percentage can the entire fleet match?”

“Eighty-five percent, sir, but that will put us at 4 G’s.”

“We can’t sustain 4 G’s for that length of time,” Cantwell said. “Get us prepped for deceleration at 3 G’s. We need to be Earthbound
now
.”

“Yes sir.” The officer’s fingers flew across the console, pattering on the glass surface like fat raindrops. After a moment, he said, “The figures are away sir.”

“Fleet,” Cantwell said, “prepare for deceleration burn at 3 G’s A.S.A.P. Report when you are prepped.” He looked out to the myriad of glowing thrusters hanging among the stars. Jeffrey felt he could read the admiral’s mind.

How many will be with us in the end?

Cantwell said, “Notify the ship to prep for burn.”

“Yes sir.”

As the message came over the loudspeakers, Jeffrey went to the back wall, strapped a support frame onto his legs, and returned to the center of the bridge, the frame motors whirring with each step. The rest of the crew took turns putting on support frames as Cantwell reclined into his command seat, kicked back so he could look up at the fleet.

“All ships have reported in ready to decelerate, sir.”

“Fleet,” Cantwell said, “begin 3 G deceleration burn on my mark.” Cantwell looked to Jeffrey with a gravity in his expression as though the command to decelerate was the moment of engagement in the war. “Mark.”

The myriad of ships’ thrusters intensified. Some began to grow closer, some further away.

Cantwell said, “The Lacedaemon is on point, synch your burns to us.” The ships that appeared to be pulling away were actually slowing down faster than the Lacedaemon. As the burns synched, they became still again. However, one ship continued to move closer. It would soon slip past to starboard.

“Navigation” Cantwell said, “identify the ship failing to match deceleration.”

“The H.M.S. Halcyon sir. They’ve recently reported faults in their thruster systems.”

“Contact them and report on their situation.”

“Yes sir.”

Cantwell looked to Jeffrey, who nodded to him, knowing full well what was going through Cantwell’s mind. If the Halcyon had mechanical problems, it would have to be left behind, exposed to the Sthenos destroyers. The fleet could not delay the defense of Earth for one ship.