The Heart of Matter: Odyssey One (52 page)

Reed rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Go let your guys know what’s going on. I’m going to have a quick chat with the chief flyboy. I’ll catch up with you later and we’ll get a planning op in progress.”

“Yes, sir.” Brinks saluted before heading off.

Reed took a breath before he headed over to where the pilots of the Archangels were milling around their fighters. It wasn’t that he didn’t respect the abilities of the fighter wing, or even actually dislike any of them personally, but they had a reputation for being glory hounds. Probably, the Confederacy’s propaganda division manufactured a lot of that, but it still irritated him. He and those he’d served with before and after the war were shadow operators—they lived in the shadows, worked in the shadows, and more often than not, died in the shadows. Maybe someone had to stand in the light, but it often rankled to watch when you were always in the dark.

He put that aside, however. Being able to act like a professional was a prerequisite for his duties as a SF trainer. Had he felt the need to like everybody he worked with in the past, there’d have been a lot less well-trained guerrillas harassing the Block’s forces during the last war. Working well with assholes was actually in the job description.

He found Commander Michaels leaning back against his fighter, eyeing the goings-on carefully as flight crews from the
Odyssey
rolled gear into place to rearm the squadron.

“Commander.”

Michaels looked over at him and pushed off the fighter, standing more or less straight. “Colonel.”

“Orders from the
Odyssey
,” Reed said, flipping to the appropriate section of the data plaque with a swipe of his thumb before handing it over.

Steph accepted it, eyeing Reed for a moment before he skimmed through it quickly. His eyes widened. Finally, he nodded slowly and handed it back to the colonel, correcting his posture just enough to be considered “acceptable” as he saluted.

“Sir, the Archangels are at your disposal.”

“Thank you, Commander. What do you need in the short term?”

“Judging from what I’m hearing here, I’d say a supply of H and O2, Colonel. We’re low on fuel, but everything else was shipped out before the
Odyssey
left the system.”

Reed nodded, turning to the Priminae liaison that had accompanied him. “I understand. Ithan Chans, can you get in contact with someone to bring supplies of hydrogen and oxygen out here?”

Milla nodded, noting the order on her personal computer. “Yes, Colonel.”

“Thank you,” Reed said before turning back to Commander Michaels. “In the meantime, we’ve got a decent temporary housing here, so check in with my aide and get yourselves assigned some bunks. I can’t promise much on this kind of short notice, but there’s no reason for you to be sleeping in your planes.”

The commander smiled. “Wouldn’t be the first time we had to, sir, but thanks. Wilco.”

Reed nodded. “Well, as you were, then. I’ll get back to you when I know more about the fuel situation.”

“Thank you, sir,” Steph said, turning to Milla. “Good to see you again.”

“You as well, Commander,” she said with a hint of a smile, though it was strained by the circumstances. “It would be better in another time, I believe.”

“Most likely.” He nodded with a wistful look.

Milla followed the colonel, taking the first few steps backward as she shrugged in the pilot’s direction. “I apologize. Duty, yes?”

Reed walked away from the fighters, reasonably pleased that the encounter was fairly painless. He’d encountered pilots with more bluster for less cause, so maybe it wouldn’t be too bad dealing with them until the
Odyssey
got back.

In the meantime, however, he had to get ahold of the ambassador and let her know about the current state of affairs. He was reasonably certain she knew that the attack on the planet had been warded off, but whether anyone had informed her of the
Odyssey
’s departure was another matter entirely.

As he headed for the transport section so he could visit with the ambassador, he wondered for himself whether Weston’s actions were intelligent and forward thinking or reckless and foolhardy. Sometimes, particularly in the midst of an armed conflict, it was hard to tell the two apart. Genius and insanity were often separated only by the results. Unfortunately, sometimes it could take generations before you really saw the full scale of the results, and this was one of those times, Reed thought.

The effects of involving the Confederation and Earth in an interplanetary war was quite likely something only the survivors would be able to judge, and even then, it would hopefully be some time before they were qualified to do so. The
new technology the colonies had to offer the Confederation and Earth was a huge incentive, but they all could have done without the introduction to the Drasin, however.

No matter, what was done was clearly done. The clock didn’t turn the other way, and they had to deal with the results of the
Odyssey
’s first mission as it stood. That said, however, Reed was beginning to wonder if this wasn’t a pattern in the actions of her captain, as his latest move was certainly following similar lines. Weston clearly wasn’t someone who had trouble making decisions, which was generally a good thing in a commanding officer, mind you. More men had died because their commander wavered in his action, too afraid of making the wrong decision to make any, then had been killed by poor decisions.

The problem was, being willing to make a hard decision that risked so much was a lot like playing no-limit Texas Hold’em and going all in. It was an incredibly powerful move that worked every single time, except the last time.

I hope this isn’t Captain Weston’s last “all in.”

RANQUIL

▸THE BEING KNOWN only as “Central” observed the vanishing dot that represented the
Odyssey
from many different perspectives. It saw it on the instruments used by the Priminae to monitor the system and in the eyes of those watching said instruments. The
Odyssey
was most vibrantly viewed through the minds and imaginations of those people, however, as they filled in the details of the ship’s vanishing all on their own.

From the range it was sitting at, there was no way for Central to know what the captain of the ship had elected to do precisely, nor the reasons why. Having spoken to Eric Weston, however, Central had some ideas, all the same.

Weston seemed like a kind of premeditated risk-taker to Central, someone who took calculated chances—great leaps followed by careful analysis and planning on the fly. If he was leaving now, he would have a good reason—in his own mind at least—and it might dovetail with Central’s own goals.

Central was not known for believing in luck, nor the supernatural; however, it was aware of both of these things as they existed from the human standpoint. Even the most enlightened of the Priminae had some beliefs that were not
entirely rational, after all. An entity like Central could not really express frustration, but it felt frustrated that Weston was moving well beyond its powers of observation. Still, he was ostensibly an ally, so Central bade the starship a wish for both luck and guidance before turning its focus to tasks more within its sphere of influence.

DEEP SPACE, NEAR RANQUIL SYSTEM

▸A TERRAN WOULD describe their behavior as that of a wolf pack, circling a particularly confounding prey. The descriptor would even be accurate, save for one significant difference: a Terran wolf pack knows when the game is up and it’s time to move on to easier prey, but the alien ships that were holding almost half a light-year outside of the Priminae star system had no such limitation.

The system had to be cleansed. There was no other option. The crimson band that infected the system had to be eradicated, even if the star itself had to be destroyed.

With that kept firmly in mind, however, the few Drasin ships in the area were painfully aware that the losses incurred in this single system had slowed the cleansing of an entire sector by a now significant level. The Drasin had conferred after each defeat, the few survivors relaying a little more information each time, and they’d come to realize that there was an unknown factor in the middle of the cleansing.

That made things far more complicated, as this generation of Drasin had been specifically tailored for the crimson
band of this sector. Weapons, armor, even tactical selections were based on information culled specifically for dealing with the
life
in this place.

The new and unknown weapons and tactics used by a single small combatant were delaying them, and that was unacceptable. Long-range observation of the system indicated that the unknown bearer of the crimson band was not present; however, it had been shown in the past to be able to almost entirely mask its presence even at close range. Losing more of the cleansing here would not be optimal.

The Drasin decided on an alternate option.

On an atypical orbit of the local sun, the picket forces located the system’s comet clout and plucked up several of them for the next phase. Estimated probability of success of a purely kinetic bombardment was less than one in ten thousand, but that was not the goal. The picket forces sent the chosen comets sunward and, along with them, a cloud of warriors in their wake.

MONS SYSTEMA, RANQUIL