Weapons of War (19 page)

"Seems like they're backing off to regroup," Theodore said. "Ha! I don't think they were expecting that little game of chicken."
 

"We're lucky you didn't kill us all," Guy said.

"Damn right, Mr. Larone," Theodore replied. "Sometimes luck is all we have left to lean on. By the by, you've had three weeks with the Dread rifle. What have you got?"

Colonel Choi interrupted before Guy could respond. "Pardon me, sir, but I recommend tabling that discussion in the immediate. I think the entire crew might appreciate a word from you. We've been worried about you, General."

"I was worried about myself for a while there," Theodore said softly, his expression changing. He recovered a moment later. "Quite right, Colonel. Quite right." He leaned forward to tap his control pad.
 

"Sir," Abdullah said before he could. "The preliminary report is in. Maggie's initial assessment was accurate. The main power conduit to the nacelle is offline, and we lost thirty percent of the phase surface."

"That sounds bad," Reza said.

"It means we can't slip," Theodore replied. He paused while he considered. "Can we repair it?"

"The conduit if we can get a crew out to it. The phase surface is going to be a little more challenging. We don't have any paint on board."

"Can we slip without it?" Choi asked.

"Good question," Theodore said. "Mr. Mokri? Mrs. Larone?"

They glanced over at one another, clearly uncomfortable to be grouped together. Gabriel noticed his father's eyebrow raising as they did.

"Hmmm," he said, coughing lightly. "What do we have here?"

"Uh. It's. Uh. It's nothing, General," Reza said, looking at the floor, his face turning red.

"Ha! Funniest nothing I ever did see. I wasn't born yesterday, Mr. Mokri. We can deal with that later. Can one of you answer my question? Mr. Larone, do you want to take a stab at it?"

"Slipping a starship is usually based on a percentage of phase surface in comparison to overall size," Guy said before Reza could respond. "We would need to know the overall cubic size of the Magellan as well as the size of the QPG prepared surfaces. If she were constructed with some buffer, it's quite possible getting the conduit back online would be good enough."

"What if it's close?" Theodore said.

"What do you mean, General?" Guy replied.

"The math. What if it's close? What if we try to slip without enough surface?"

"Part of the ship will make it into slipspace," Reza said. "The other part won't."

"You'll tear the Magellan into pieces," Guy said.
 

"The surface damage is an estimate, sir," Sergeant Abdullah said. "We'd need a team to go out there and measure."

Theodore sat back in the command chair. He ran a hand across a clean-shaven chin. "Seems we're in a bit of a pickle then, don't it? I doubt that Dread ship out there is going to wait for us to make a few spacewalks and fix our nacelle. In fact, I suppose they're going to do whatever they can to prevent it."
 

He leaned forward on his arms, looking the crew over. He turned his head and looked at Gabriel before speaking again.

"Here's what we're going to do. I'm going to make a rousing speech ship-wide to get morale back under its own power. Then I'm going to pull Mr. Mokri, Mrs. Larone, Vivian, and Gabriel aside so someone can tell me what all is with the weird tension on my bridge. I have to tell you, I don't like it, and I ain't in favor. Mr. Larone, I expect to find you with the alien rifle after that. I want a full report on what you've learned about the thing, and I want you to give a bit of thought to why the Dread fighters might have been vulnerable right here when they have never been before. I feel like there's an obvious clue staring us in the face, and we're too trained to feel powerless to notice.

"Sergeant Abdullah, get me a plan on how we can get the team out to the nacelle for repairs without slowing down, and with the understanding that we may come under enemy attack at any moment."

"Yes, sir," Abdullah said.

"Gabriel, while I'm yapping, get a message down to Lieutenant Bale. I want two pilots riding the hot seat at all times, and since we're low on trained bodies, she's up first with Lieutenant Celia."

"Yes, sir," Gabriel said.

"Oh, and tell her she's promoted to First Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir."

"While I'm at it, congratulations, Major St. Martin."

Gabriel froze. "What?"

"You've earned it, Major."

"Sir, I appreciate it, but I can't."

"Why not? You worried about nepotism? Nobody's going to question you. You're the best damned pilot we've ever had. Besides, it's all academic at this point. You aren't getting paid, anyhow."

"The Magellan was hit under my stick," Gabriel argued.

"Blah, blah, Major. Remember what I said about luck? You ain't happy with that?"

Gabriel didn't answer fast enough.

"All in favor of Captain St. Martin's promotion, say 'aye,'" Theodore said.

"Aye," the bridge crew replied. Everyone except Guy Larone.
 

"Maggie, note it in the record. Second Lieutenant Sandra Bale is promoted to First Lieutenant. Captain Gabriel St. Martin is promoted to Major."

"Data recorded," the computer replied.

"There you go. It's done. Now skedaddle so we can get on with the important business."

Gabriel saluted. Theodore saluted back. Then Gabriel left the bridge. He considered contacting Bale through the comm but decided to go and find her instead. Why not break the news to her in person?

His father's voice boomed through the ship while he walked.

"This is General Theodore St. Martin. As you may or may not know, I was incapacitated up until recently. The loss of my legs was causing me a great deal of pain, and to help deal with that pain, I was taking medicine prescribed by the doctors back home.

That medicine was affecting my operational abilities, and in one instance affected my ability to make an important decision that almost cost the lives of each and every one of you. It was a failure that struck me right down to the core. A failure that I've sworn to myself to never be in the position to repeat.

I've been to hell and back over the last few weeks. The withdrawal from the pain medication was a challenge on its own, and damn near murderous in conjunction with the continuing pain in my limbs. There were times when I believed it was a fight I couldn't win."

Silence fell in the corridor. Gabriel could tell his father was choking up.

"I know there have been rumors that I've lost my touch and that I'm not the man I used to be. I'm gonna put those rumors to rest right now. I ain't the man I used to be. I've been to hell and back, and I'm better for it. I'm stronger; I'm smarter, and I'm more resolved than ever to see this thing through. We survived the first round against the Dread; and I know that together we'll survive the next round too.

"I know that I let you down, and I'm sorry. It ain't often a General apologizes to his troops, but I know there's power in humility. I know that we ain't just a collection of soldiers. We're a family, and we owe it to one another to do right and to be man enough to admit when we've done wrong. Again, to each and every one of you, I'm sorry.
 

"The enemy is at our door. They came knocking, and not only did we slam that door in their face, but we also broke their nose to boot. We showed them that just because we don't have any big, bad guns, that don't mean we're going to roll over and die. We showed them that we're made of tougher stuff, and if they want to wipe us out of the universe, they're going to have to earn it.

"I went to hell and back, and I was afraid. But I tell you, I ain't afraid anymore. Not with you, the good men and women who have joined me on this ship, on this mission to free our brothers and sisters back on Earth. I believe in you. I trust in you. I'm proud to have you with me. Let the Dread come. Let them try to break us, to destroy us, to knock our door down and finish us once and for all.

"I'll be here to stop them, and I know you'll be here with me. Together, we'll show these yellow-bellied couillons who we are. Together, we'll show them that they messed with the wrong damn race, and the wrong damn planet. Together, we'll break their armor, and then we'll break their spirits.

"Thank you, and God bless."

Tea'va stared silently through the viewport of his bridge. The expansive outer edge of the Pol'tik system was spread out ahead of him.
 

The human starship wasn't there.

It was behind them, having executed a maneuver he wasn't expecting, a maneuver made possible by the druk Heil'shur.
 

He knew that it had been him out there, leading a squadron of the small human fighters against his gi'shah. He recognized the markings of the fighter, including the dark splotches where his plasma had singed the frame. How he wished he could have been out there with his pilots, hunting down the human who was causing him so much grief.
 

How he wished he had been able to send more than six of the gi'shah into the battle.
 

Zoelle had warned him against committing to a battle so soon after arriving in the system. She had tried to tell him that his ranks were too thin, his forces too weak from the travel. He had chosen to listen to Gr'el instead and push the attack. Despite his inability to field a full complement of fighters. Despite his inability to operate more than the main plasma cannon. Despite being beyond the flow of slipspace, and despite the weakened state of his crew slowing their reflexes and hurting their effectiveness.
 

She had tried to tell him not to underestimate the humans. He should have been more considerate. He should have remembered that they had the Heil'shur, instead of rushing to make a decision.
 

He looked down at Gr'el. His Si'dahm was setting navigation to get the ship turned around and back in pursuit of the humans. It was his fault this had happened, but Tea'va knew he would report back to the Domo'dahm and shift the blame to make him look weak and foolish.
 

Thanks to Gr'el, the humans had discovered that the lek'shah had a vulnerability. It would only be a matter of time before they realized what it was, and from there made the correct logical assumptions to form a theoretical basis on how the bek'hai armor was so impervious to their weapons. After that, it would only be a matter of time before they were able to duplicate the feat. He didn't need to hold humans in high regard to accept that they could figure out that much, at least. It was an elementary level of deductive reasoning.

He slammed his hand down on the side of his chair, causing a few of the lor'hai to jump. And it was all because of Gr'el and the Heil'shur. If the Heil'shur hadn't shot down one of the gi'shah, if Gr'el hadn't convinced him to attack straight away, they would be in a different situation now.

He wanted to end his Si'dahm, to retire him here and now. He knew he couldn't. The only way he could be rid of Gr'el was if he died in battle and the right evidence was available to prove as much. It would be a difficult scenario to orchestrate, but he decided that he would find a way, no matter what it took. Certainly, Zoelle would help him, and use her connections among the lor'hai to make it so. As Domo'dahm, he could reward all of them handsomely for their loyalty.

He got to his feet and began descending the command dais. At least the attack hadn't been a total failure. They had damaged the human starship's slip nacelle. He was certain it would be enough to keep them from leaving the Pol'tik system any time soon. It meant that he could afford to be patient for now, to give chase to the fleeing ship but keep his distance, to allow his crew to regain their strength before making a second attempt.

He would have to make that attempt before the humans could solve the equation, but he had time. A day or two at least to let his lor'hai and the drumhr recover their strength. The human ship had survived this time.

It wouldn't survive the next.

He left the bridge without a word. Gr'el was at least capable of staying behind the human ship, and he had delayed his time in the regeneration chamber for as long as he dared. He could feel his muscles weakening, his body beginning to reject itself. It had been weeks since he had used the chamber, a vast improvement over other drumhr who had to use it every few days.
 

He expected Zoelle to be waiting in his quarters again when he reached them. She wasn't. Instead, a plump Mother was standing at the door, clothed in a simple white dress that hung to her knees.
 

He was tempted to return to the bridge and stab Gr'el right then and there. He was taunting him, trying to get under his skin. Who else might have sent this creature to him?
 

"Dahm Tea'va," she said, lowering herself to her knees and bowing before him.

"Who sent you here?" Tea'va asked.

"Si'dahm Gr'el," she replied. "On behalf of Domo'dahm Rorn'el."

He was about to tell her to leave. The Domo'dahm? That gave him pause.