The Terminal War: A Space Opera Novel (A Carson Mach Adventure) (28 page)

Mach stepped down from his chair and approached Babcock. Tulula was standing next to him, her hand on his shoulder.
 

“All set?” Mach asked.
 

“All set,” Babcock responded with a sigh of resignation to his voice.
 

“Tulula,” Mach said, “are the Saviors sure about this?”

She gave him a peculiar kind of shrug that he guessed to mean that doubting them was a preposterous thing. They had designed the
Intrepid
after all, and it’d had been the best ship he’d ever flown. His feelings toward them about the proto-vestans aside, he had to agree that they did know something worthwhile. Whether it would work or not was another matter.
 

By crippling the
Intrepid
, if their plan failed, and the CWDF were overrun, they wouldn’t be able to escape the Axis ships. The Saviors, then, he thought, were prepared to risk themselves for this.
 

This thought gave him confidence.
 

“Okay, then,” he said. “Do it.

They only had Squid Three’s chirps over the radio signal to let them know how far it had got. Mach liked to think that he could see the little droid with its devastating payload head for the center of the Axis capital ship formation amid the chaos of war. But it was impossible to see, the image only a ghost of his imagination.
 

The crew of the
Intrepid
all stood together on the bridge, watching the battle rage on. The numbers had dwindled to under a half or more on each side. The CWDF was putting up a stronger fight of it than it had first looked. Taking out the cloaked cruisers had turned the tide and took away the Axis’ main strategy.
 

For a tense fifteen minutes, they waited for Squid Three’s signals and confirmation of its distance. They chose not to have it communicate with language in case the frequencies were being quantum-tapped. If they listened in now, all they’d hear were seemingly random blips.

Mach’s nerves were shredded. He expected the droid to be hit by a stray laser blast or a piece of debris at any minute. So far it had done well, Babcock’s programming and Squid Three’s self-learned AI doing a great job of keeping it safe.
 

Another tense, silent five minutes passed.
 

The final vestan frigate blew up into a fragment of metal and composite materials, the blast of which clustered into a CWDF destroyer, taking down its shields.
 

Then, for a second, the battery of laser fire coming from the central Axis capital ship stopped.
 

Squid Three sent back a series of beeps.
 

“The little bugger’s hacked their weapons array!” Babcock said, translating and clenching his fist with pride.
 

The three horns that were engaged with the bulk of the CWDF withdrew.
 

Did they know something was wrong?

“What’s happening?” Lassea said.

Beringer, who had remained quiet and withdrawn throughout the whole event, moved closer to the viewscreen until his nose was almost touching it.
 

Then, a small white light appeared in the center of the Axis formation. It continued to grow outward in a cone, slowly at first, and then faster, until it burst into a blinding ball of white light.
 

A second later the
Intrepid
rocked violently to one side as fragments of the asteroid and battle debris smashed into their shields.
 

Mach fell to his knees and turned his head away from the blinding white light.
 

A booming roar blasted through the ship’s hull.
 

Lassea reached for her console and gestured wildly, bringing the
Intrepid
under control. The viewscreen was still utterly white.
 

Babcock patched the comms back in, and all Mach could hear were screams, but not of pain or anguish, but of relief, victory!

“They’re retreating!” one officer said, ignoring normal radio protocol now.

Another said, “My God, look at it, it’s like a supernova!”

Still another, “We won, I don’t believe it, we’ve won!”

Then Tralis’ voice: “What the fuck happened! Status report, now.”

On it went for fifteen minutes, each captain of the remaining vessels delivering reports of their situation and what they thought had happened. Some were quick to claim responsibility, but as Mach looked up at Babcock, the tears making the scientist’s eyes glossy in the light of the bridge, it was clear who, or what was responsible.
 

“He did it,” Babcock said, choking with pride. “That little bugger did it.”

Lassea piloted the
Intrepid
out of the asteroid belt and into a clear area of space. Sanchez, Adira, Tulula, and even Nigel grouped together, patting Babcock on the back, not just for his actions, but also for that of his companion. Squid Three.
 

While they were updating with Tralis and confirming that the Axis had officially surrendered after losing half of their capital ships in the fusion-crystal blast, Mach made his way to the cargo bay and spoke with the Saviors.
 

They wouldn’t say much about what had happened, only that they did what was necessary.
 

“So what now?” Mach asked Hanos.
 

“We too find a new home,” the Savior said. “And plan for the future as best we can given our losses. We’ve sent coordinates to a vestan shuttle that’s currently on its way. When they’re docked with you, I’d like you to ensure we’re transferred over safely. From there, I’m afraid we can’t say much else, only this, Carson Mach: we are indebted to you and your crew. Truly, you and your allies have done something we thought not possible, and for that we are grateful.”

“Thank you,” Mach said. “I’ll forward your words to the rest of the crew.” He wanted to say more, but what else was there to say? Given the great cost of life on both sides, it felt unimportant now to say anything.
 

They had won the war.
 

What happened next was clear and planned.
 

His role in the affair was over, and the crew of the
Intrepid
could finally relax and go home, but no sooner had that thought crossed his mind his smart-screen bleeped.
 

Morgan.
 

Mach left the cargo bay and sat in his quarters and brought up Morgan’s hologram. They filled each other in on what had happened during the battle and what was going to happen with the Saviors.
 

Morgan also gave Mach some information on Steros.
 

“My crew are tired,” Mach said. “I’m tired… it’s been an emotional time.”

“You’ll get over that, Mach. You always do.”

The two of them shared a silence for a moment before the president expressed his gratitude. As he went on, talking about the council and how important it was to save the Saviors, Mach grew tired and cut him off.
 

All the politics and the fallout could wait.
 

He wanted to be with his crew. Help the Saviors go about their business.

And deal with Steros…

Mach piloted the small two-man hunting plane through the giant greenwood trees of a small, distant planet on the far rim of the Salus Sphere. He reduced their speed to avoid crashing through the canopy but not so much they would lose sight of their prey: Steros, the traitor. The one who had tracked Mach and thus found the location of Terminus, which he had then given to the Axis. He was down there on the surface of the dense jungle planet, driving an old-fashioned hover-jeep toward a complex he had made home.
 

The binary suns of this system made sure the planet never had a night period. Bright yellow sunshine, all day, all night, and every hour. Even now, the tinted windows of their craft, named the
Manta
by Sanchez, on account of its flat, flared wings, only cut a certain amount of the sunshine, making Mach squint.

“I wish we had bought the bigger craft,” Mach said to Sanchez. The two men sat so close together in the tiny cockpit that their legs mashed together. “The bigger one had a full suite of digital screens.”

“It also flew like a container ship,” Sanchez said, “and it smelled like a pack of horan hell beasts had recently been burned inside. Your stench is bad enough to deal with.”

“You don’t exactly have a sweet perfume either.”

“That’s called testosterone. You should try it sometime, Mach.”

“You saying I’m not manly enough for you?”

Sanchez let out a relaxed laugh and helped to pilot the
Manta
through the dense trees. On the holographic screen in the middle of the pill-shaped and graphite-colored cockpit, a holodisc displayed their target’s movements.
 

So far it appeared that Steros hadn’t realized they were following.

Mach planned for it to stay that way until they had made him stop breathing. It was too late now for him to face a trial. Morgan had wanted him dead and frankly so did every member of the CWDF. Thousands of lives were lost in the Terminal War because of him.

“He’s diverting,” Sanchez said. “Heading east.”

Mach corrected their course, sweeping the
Manta
ninety degrees to the left in a silent, graceful arc. Birds, half the size of the craft, flew beside them as though they were one species on the hunt together. The birds featured long talons and a beak strong enough to pierce EM-armor. There must have been fifty of them surrounding the
Manta
.
 

“We’ll need to do something about them,” Sanchez said, nodding to the birds. “They’re gonna give away our position if that weasel down there looks up.”

“Use the static emitters, I’ll keep us on course.”

“Aye, Captain,” Sanchez said, giving Mach an exaggerated salute as he flipped a console cover up to reveal a small smart-screen. Sanchez gestured on the controls and sat back with a satisfied smile.
 

A second later, the
Manta
vibrated with a subsonic ‘thrum.’ The surrounding birds seemed to miss a flap of their wings simultaneously, then scattered, some heading into the tree cover, some going higher into the thin clouds.
 

“That went well,” Mach said. “I expected you to fry them.”

“I can be subtle when I want.”

“Sure you can. Twin plasma chain guns and ion swords would say otherwise.”

“Hey,” Sanchez said with that grin of his. “A man’s gotta have a little fun now and then, especially when landing on a planet full of carnivorous psychos.”

Mach didn’t continue the banter; Steros had changed course again—this time turning ninety degrees toward the north, picking up a new trail Mach hadn’t noticed on his previous reconnaissance runs. The trail twisted direction for the next ten minutes, taking him out of the dense jungle and into a deep, narrow valley.
 

“He’s up to something,” Sanchez said.
 

“Yeah, and if we follow for too long, he’ll see us without the tree cover. I knew we should have used the other ship; it had stealth tech.”

“That was just a sales gimmick,” Sanchez snorted. “Unless a few well-placed mirrors count as ‘tech’ these days. Just get lower and bring us to one side, so the wall of the valley keeps us hidden.”

Mach followed his friend’s advice, deferring to his superior hunting skills, and piloted the
Manta
lower, protected by the valley wall. They continued to follow Steros for another ten minutes when he just disappeared—both visually and from the suite of scanners.
 

“Impossible,” Sanchez said.
 

“Not impossible… sneaky. We’re going down on foot.” Mach circled the
Manta
slowly, keeping close to the ground. When they came around, he pointed to the screen at what looked like a dense shadow at the end of the valley. It wasn’t just a shadow; it was a complete absence of light, even in the section where the twin suns could reach.
 

“I’ve seen that before,” Mach said. “That anomaly is created by nano-particle-embedded nets. They absorb light completely, along with a whole range of the radio spectrum. Consider it a portable blackout shelter.”

“Why’d he want one of those?” Sanchez pondered.
 

“I guess there’s only one way to find out. Get your parasuit on; we’re going down there. Oh, and take the rifle only. No need for twin chain guns or anything crazy. We go in, assess the situation, and plan a new attack vector.”

Mach set the
Manta
to autopilot and connected its controls to his smart-screen so he could control it from the ground if needed—as long as he wasn’t in the blackout shelter, that is.

The two men suited up in the cramped lockout cabin. Mach equipped himself with his favorite rifle: the Stinger. Sanchez took an advanced vestan rifle: a full-auto weapon that could superheat the atmosphere around the barrel, and, using a powerful EM field, fling the resulting hot pockets into an enemy, the results of which weren’t pretty, but effective.
 

Mach clipped his helmet into place, checking comms and fuel levels. They were ready to go. He slapped a gloved hand against the red panel. The floor to the craft flipped open, dropping Sanchez and Mach directly down into the valley a hundred yards away from the blackout shelter and behind a large formation of rocks that looked like giant’s fingers curling up out of the ground.
 

Mach’s guts tightened and threatened to escape through his throat until the boot thrusters kicked in, slowing their descent behind the rocks. Sanchez landed next to him, on one foot. Mach grabbed him and kept him upright.
 

“Easy, old friend,” Mach said through their internal comms.
 

“I’m good. Let’s just get on with it. Tulula’s waiting for me, and I don’t want to upset her; you’ve seen where the vestans came from. Who’s to say some of the proto appetite isn’t still in there somewhere, eh?”