Carson Mach 1: The Atlantis Ship (18 page)

“We’re a sitting duck,” Adira snapped.
 

The group of orcus fighters was closing in to torpedo range.
 

Mach watched the power to the LD increase, but it still wasn’t enough.
 

“EMP torpedoes fifteen seconds from impact,” Babcock said.
 

“There’s not enough juice left,” Mach said, trying to think where else he could divert the power from in order to give the LD enough to engage. “Squid,” he said, “re-engage the damaged crystals.”

“But, sir, they could destroy the array completely.”

“Could, but not certain. What are the odds?”

Squid waited for a moment before saying, “Ten percent at a minimum chance they’ll blow the entire array, damaging the LD beyond repair.”

“That’s good enough for me. Do it.”

“As you wish,” Squid said with a chirp.

“Ten seconds from impact,” Babcock informed them.
 

Mach tapped his fingers against his knee, waiting for Squid’s confirmation.

The entire crew turned to face Mach, each person’s face taut with a mix of fear and expectation.
 

“Five seconds,” Babcock said before counting down. “Four… three… two…”

“Crystals re-engaged,” Squid said.
 

Mach hit the LD control on his holoscreen.
 

“One…”

The roar of the EMP torpedoes sounded like a thunderstorm had erupted within the craft, but it was too late. The LD kicked in, launching the Jaguar forward even as a dozen or more alarm icons flashed, warning on one issue or another. The ship entered that weird state of FTL travel where they saw only darkness on the holoscreen and the hull seemed to vibrate with an impossible frequency. A subsonic susurration filled the bridge.
 

The crew waited for Mach’s update, almost as if they needed him to say if they were dead or alive. How would Mach tell the difference, he didn’t know, but what he did know, was that it was too damned close for comfort.
 

At least this time, his gamble paid off.
 

The Jaguar’s LD held up despite the damaged crystals.
 

They’d just need to wait now and see what kind of state the ship was in once it finished its jump—if they made it that far.

“We’re okay,” Mach said, wiping the sweat from his face. “We’re all okay.” For how long that would last, he just couldn’t say.

Morgan ascended the steps toward a defense control room, close to the base of the thirty-meter-tall, light gray pulse cannon.
 

Seazza followed, ready to take notes. It wouldn’t be necessary. Part of his monthly routine was to inspect the six batteries that ringed the capital city. This was just another notional duty as part of his routine. He had already been around four. The ground crews ran them like a smooth machine and didn’t need his patronage.
 

Two fidesians and a human, in the sky blue artillery uniforms, rose from their chairs around a console and stood to attention. A red-tinted window ran the full length of the twenty meter room, giving an all-round view of the skyscrapers that dominated the central city, the smaller CWDF base buildings, and the distant dark green mountains.

A sharp chemical odor hung in the air, the standard-issue cleaning fluid CWDF used before any kind of inspection. Morgan wondered if desk jockeys assumed this was the usual smell in the military installations outside their offices. He had served time on battleships and knew different.
 

The human, a young fresh-faced lieutenant with mousy hair, stiffly saluted. “Battery Two ready for inspection, sir.”

“At ease,” Morgan said and glanced around at the sparkling metal desks, console and his own reflection in the gleaming window. The men relaxed and sat in their chairs, waiting for the vacuous questions.
How are things? Are you enjoying it here? How long have you been in the artillery?

They and he knew it was all an act.
 

Bigger things were at stake. With the Axis forming up for battle and searching for the Atlantis ship, Marshal Kenwright playing down events, and Carson Mach busting out a prisoner from Summanus, the Salus Sphere felt like a big shit sandwich. If events weren’t handled properly, all of them would have to take a bite.
 

“Anything to report?” Morgan asked.
 

“We haven’t received a credible threat since the exclusion zone was set up around Fides Prime,” the lieutenant said.
 

Morgan frowned. “Exclusion zone?”

That was a procedure only taken when they expected an attack. It made no sense; Morgan hadn’t received anything on his smart-screen.

“We received the command call,” the lieutenant said and bowed his head. “I can’t believe Orbital Twenty-Two has gone.”

“Excuse me?” Morgan asked. He refreshed his smart-screen and had no notifications. “When did this happen?”

“Fifteen minutes ago. I thought you…”

Morgan felt anger surge inside for two reasons. They had lost more lives and it wasn’t hard to guess the source. Secondly, all operational units and staff officers were supposed to receive the command call notifications. It wasn’t hard to work out that the marshal had had him removed from the distribution list after his last dressing down.
 

“I’ll be back in a moment,” he said to the artillerymen and gently grabbed Seazza by the elbow. She took the hint and followed him back to the stairwell.
 

“Did you receive any messages about this?” Morgan said, keeping his voice low. His cheeks burned from the humiliation of being told about the situation by a junior officer. Kenwright and his staff didn’t even have the courtesy to make him aware of the move.
 

“I’m not part of the command call,” Seazza said in her matter-of-fact way, maintaining her best political poker face. “I presume you were taken off to concentrate your efforts on the search for the Atlantis ship.”

Resisting the urge to punch the internal wall, Morgan bit his lip and took a deep breath. He selected Ops on his screen and raised it.
 

“Ops, Captain Paterson speaking,” came the reply above the noise of loud conversations.

“This is Admiral Morgan. Please update me on what happened to Orbital Twenty-Two.”
 

“It was just like before, Admiral,” the captain replied after a brief pause. “A wormhole appeared, a ship came through and blasted the station before we lost all trace of it.”

“The same design as the one that destroyed Orbital Forty?” Morgan asked.
 

“Exactly. We had a fighter doing a sweep at the time. It recorded a feed. I’ll send it through to you now.”

“I want all the information you have. Wormhole coordinates, last tracked location of the enemy ship and energy readings. Do you understand, Captain?”

“Perfectly, Admiral. Will that be all?”

“Can you give me an update on the Axis frontier movements?”

“I’m sorry. I’m not authorized to do that, Admiral. Outside of the marshal, we’re only to provide officers updates on their allotted tasks. The order came down this morning.”

Morgan clenched his fist and moved the screen closer to his mouth. “I need an overall picture to figure out if the Atlantis ship is working in conjunction with the horans.”

“We don’t have an established connection,” the captain said, his voice becoming increasingly wobbly. “You saw it yourself, Admiral. The horans are searching for the ship too.”

“I’ll be over in twenty minutes.”

“The operations center has gone to lockdown. Sorry, Admiral, you’ll have to speak with the marshal if you want access.”

“Thank you for the information. Out.”
 

There was little point continuing to put a young officer under pressure for doing his job. Morgan had been in the situation before, caught between a direct order against a high-level protocol. It wasn’t much fun. They all had the same goal. To keep the Salus Sphere safe.
 

Senior officers in the CWDF all had different ways of doing things. The mentality stretched back to the Century War. A lot of the old sweats believed the strategy that helped them to victory remained true to this day. They didn’t factor in the Atlantis ship punching holes in the frontier’s defensive ring or the growing technical edge the vestans provided the horans.
 

With two orbital stations down, and hundreds of lives lost, the Salus Sphere had two weak points to plug with capital ships, and many citizens in mourning. The situation was becoming increasingly critical. Kenwright’s reactionary strategy of putting out fires wasn’t going to work.
 

Morgan sighed and looked at Seazza. “Did you hear all of that?”

“Your best opportunity to make a difference is to capture the Atlantis ship. If war is coming, your team’s success could prove the difference between success and failure.”

“That’s my point,” Morgan said, trying not to show his exasperation at the situation. “I’ve been blocked from joining the fight and have limited resources for a mission that could mean the difference between defeat and victory. Even if we destroy the ship, it will mean we lose no more stations, which will make things much harder for the Axis.”

Seazza glanced in either direction and stepped closer. “You haven’t had any official word from the marshal yet. Once you do, I’ll speak to Vice President Orloza and arrange a meeting.”

“He’d have to be blind not to see what’s happening,” Morgan said, feeling a release of tension at the promise of speaking with the senior member of the senate. It wasn’t the correct chain of command, but the risk was worth it, if it meant preserving their territory and lives. “I’m going to the marshal’s residence immediately. Meet me back at my office. We don’t have any time to lose.”

***

Morgan watched the attack on Orbital Twenty-Two on his screen as the transport pod hummed past the empty airfield toward the marshal’s residence. The orange wormhole appeared again. It formed a wide tunnel. The bulky Atlantis ship drifted through, surrounded by crackling lights. It fired six blue bolts at the station, crippling it, before sucking in the wreckage and surrounding debris.

The feed sent a chill down his spine. That kind of destructive power would be difficult to stop, even for capital ship with a capable captain at the helm, but it needed stopping. At the moment, the Atlantis ship was the biggest threat to security.
 

Mach still hadn’t sent an update. Morgan carried out a generic search on the Salus network to see if his name popped up. He groaned when the results flashed across his screen. Carson Mach had been added to the Feronia wanted list, for the resource robbery. Morgan knew Mach had his own way of getting things done, but if Kenwright found out, it would torpedo the mission. As things stood, that was their best chance of eradicating the threat.
 

The pod came to a gentle halt outside the stone gates and its door slid open. The gate guards slapped their hands against their rifles and clicked their heels together. Morgan returned a salute and crunched up the pebble path toward the two front doors.
 

A junior female fidian officer met him in the entrance hall. “Good morning, Admiral. I don’t have you down for an appointment?”

“I need to see the marshal immediately,” Morgan said, admiring the array of medal ribbons on the right breast of her dark blue shirt.
 

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. He’s holding a meeting with the defense chiefs.”

Morgan shook his head and looked up at the painted mural on the ceiling, depicting a destroyer battle from the war. Both he and Kenwright captained ships during the struggle. “Doesn’t that include me?”

The officer spun and faced a desk, danced her fingers over a holographic keyboard and gazed at the screen. “You are down for a meeting tomorrow morning. I’ll send you out an invite later today.”

Being omitted from the defense meeting was the final straw for Morgan. He’d be sidelined to the point where he had nothing to lose. He turned and headed straight for the meeting room at the end of the glass-paneled corridor.
 

The junior officer’s boots thudded against the light green marble floor as she followed. “You can’t go in there, Admiral. I’m under strict instructions that they’re not to be disturbed.”

Morgan stopped and looked her in the eye. “Since when do you tell an admiral what to do? I’ve spent twenty-five damned years in the CWDF and fought for my first five. The marshal can do his own dirty work.”

The officer raised her smart-screen. Morgan narrowed his eyes. She lowered her wrist and turned away. He felt no satisfaction about pulling rank, but if he wanted to see the vice president, he needed verbal confirmation about the changes Kenwright had imposed; otherwise it would just come across as speculative whining.
 

A cool, calm head would be the best way to play this. Morgan took a second to compose himself, knocked on the door and opened it before receiving a response.
 

Two young captains sat in padded black leather seats on either side of the polished wooden conference table. Kenwright, sitting at the head, glared at Morgan. “What’s the meaning of barging in like this?”

“I heard the news about Orbital Twenty-Two from artillerymen in Battery Two,” Morgan said, making sure he stuck to the facts and kept emotion out of his words. “I’ve seen the feed and it’s obvious that the Atlantis ship has struck again.”

Kenwright glanced at both captains. “Leave us for a minute, would you?”

Both captains stood and left the room. Morgan made sure the door closed behind them and turned to face the marshal. “How many years have we served together, Marshal?”

“Take a seat, Paul,” Kenwright said in a conciliatory tone and gestured to the chair on his left. “We’re heading for war.”

“I think that’s pretty obvious,” Morgan said, remaining at the opposite end of the table. “What isn’t so obvious to me is why I wasn’t told about being taken off the command call and why I’m no longer a defense chief?”