Drysine Legacy (The Spiral Wars Book 2) (19 page)

On that occasion,
Phoenix
had docked and occupied a minor station in a tavalai outer system, only to be ambushed by a group of tavalai ships, including one of their less-manoeuvrable but enormous fleet carriers. Ordered not to surrender the station,
Phoenix
had left four of her five marine platoons behind, then took off to lead the tavalai ships a merry chase about the system, while the tavalai carrier had docked and disgorged karasai — the tavalai marines. One rotation later,
Phoenix
had returned to Talyrai Station having destroyed several ships and sent the rest to flight, to find Trace’s marines had fought the tavalai to a standstill despite being outnumbered three-to-one. The remaining tavalai had boarded their carrier and run before
Phoenix
’s return.

“That was just before I arrived,” Alomaim recalled grimly. “Lieutenant Dale gets furious when he talks about it, because Fleet concluded from the result that the karasai quality was weak. Dale says they were elite, Fleet just didn’t want to give
Phoenix
more credit.”

“There’s no such thing as weak karasai,” Gunnery Sergeant Brice agreed. Brice was a twenty year veteran, and had seen significantly more combat than her Lieutenant. “They’re slow, like all tavalai, but they’re tough as old boots.”

There was real respect in her voice. A lot of marines hated tavalai, but none who’d fought them failed to respect them. Fleet propaganda for the civilian world liked to make big claims about human superiority, but in truth, that superiority was limited.
Phoenix
was alo-tech, and more advanced even than ibranakala-class, plus she’d been commanded by a captain who was a genius — but a lot of human warships weren’t that lucky. And while most Fleet marine units were slightly superior to equivalent karasai units, a lot of the fighting had taken place on planets, and planets were the domain of the army, not the marines. Human army units varied wildly in quality, reflecting the organisation and nature of the worlds they’d come from. That variant quality had caused many political scandals during the war, when some army units had been neatly annihilated by their tavalai equivalents. And on those unhappy occasions when human army had met tavalai karasai, even the good human units had been mauled.

What had won humanity the war, most capable analysts agreed, was what Gunnery Sergeant Brice had alluded to — tavalai slowness. In reality, tavalai’s physical speed in battle had little bearing, though they weren’t exactly lightning. They were just too conservative, lacking whatever killer instinct humans and some other species possessed to go for the jugular, and to take risks and be aggressive. Chah’nas were often over-aggressive, and against them tavalai discipline under fire served well, meeting brash chah’nas gestures with calm and unrelenting firepower. But the best human units combined both discipline and technology with calculated aggression and unnerving risk. Against that combination, tavalai had lost system after system across a hundred and sixty one years of war, until half of their previous territory was gone.

The elevator reached the lower rim berths after several stops where stationers were refused entry, then Gunnery Sergeant Brice led them at a fast walk along the busy berths, through incoming and outgoing crowds of mostly construction workers. At PH-4’s berth they found Charlie Platoon marines aboard and guarding the entry, then made a quick embark into familiar harnesses. Tif cut them loose with a jolt, turned the shuttle contra-spin and hit thrust until the station’s rotation had brought
Phoenix
back around to their position. Another series of fast burns and building Gs culminated with a crash of grapples.

“Two minutes seventeen,”
one of the marines remarked, having timed their pilot from undock.
“Hausler can do it in one fifty.”

And must have said it on open mike by mistake, because Tif replied from up front,
“Hausrer die young, I die awd rady in bed with thousand grandchyrd.”

Alomaim gave Private Lo a whack on the helmet as they unharnessed.
“Don’t be an asshole on an open mike,”
he said.

“Sorry LT.”

Erik reached the
Phoenix
bridge to find first-shift had already taken their places in anticipation of the change-over. Only Lieutenant Draper remained in the command chair, unbuckling now as Erik approached. “LC on the bridge!” The relief was plain on his face, where usually there would be faint frustration at having to relinquish command. And when he’d helped Erik finish the final buckle, “LC has the chair!”

“I have the chair,” Erik agreed, and gave Draper a whack on the arm as he left. “Status please.”

“New mark is still cruising LC,” said Geish from Scan. “ETA thirty-one hours.” Which was a vast improvement on the thirty minutes they had been approaching on. “Unremarkable approach.”

“One communication with station,” said Shilu from Coms. “We can’t decrypt it, but it wasn’t long. I’d guess basic docking request. And we got one message from barabo cruiser
Rai Jang
, coms officer tells me, and I quote, ‘this guy no trouble. Good tavalai, hunt bigger fish than human’, unquote.”

Erik glanced at Shahaim, who’d been here all along. “That the guy you met at the Stationmaster’s office?” she asked.

“Yes, Captain Jen Fan. Impressive, as barabo military go.”

“You trust him?”

“Well, he warned us the Stationmaster might order him to kill us at Fleet’s behest,” Erik explained. “So yes, and no.”

T
he tavalai combat
carrier was named
Makimakala
, and Joma Station helpfully assigned her to Berth 28, two places beyond
Europa
’s berth and ten away from
Phoenix.
Erik felt no need to undock for safety —
Phoenix
was actually safer nose-to-station, as it was impossible on the approach angle for the tavalai to fire on
Phoenix
without hitting station. Firing on station was an evil offence in most territories, and tavalai were more principled than most. Additionally,
Makimakala
was approaching squarely along Joma Station’s axis, and being docked would not stop
Phoenix
from shooting back to equal effect.

Erik did deploy both of
Phoenix
’s remaining
combat shuttles, however, sitting stationary in close proximity with weapons trained, just in case. Typically an ibranakala-class’s defensive weaponry would neutralise incoming shuttle fire, but at these ranges the reaction time would be minimal and the threat very real.
Makimakala
responded by deploying all seven of her combat shuttles, weapons trained on both human shuttles and
Phoenix
, while Joma Station control looked on and fretted, and civvie ships of all types stayed well clear from the crossfire.

“This feels kinda strange,” Trace admitted as Erik met her on the dock opposite Berth 23 — midway between the human and tavalai warships. Behind Erik and Trace stood Charlie Platoon, in casual formation that just
happened
to be offset to allow everyone a forward line of fire. Behind them and out of the line of fire was Delta Platoon, a ready reserve to rush forward if the shit hit the fan. In their accommodation reserve to the left and well behind, Echo Platoon — not combat deployed through the corridors in a flanking move, as that would be openly hostile and sure to be reported to approaching tavalai by barabo locals. But it
was
their accommodation space, and they could use it to deploy in a flanking move through the back corridors if they wished. Bravo Platoon, and those Alpha Squads that had not gone with PH-1 on Lieutenant Karle’s rearmament mission, remained on
Phoenix
.

“Have you ever met a karasai formation that hadn’t surrendered, and not opened fire on them?” Erik asked.

Trace shrugged faintly. “First time for everything.” And glanced back across her formation of tense, heavily armed marines. “Anyone know any songs?” Trying to lighten the mood, Erik thought.
He
was tense, but for marines it had to be on a whole different level. These men and women had spent a good part of their lives fighting bloody battles with tavalai in situations just like this — on stations, in armoured formations.

“Wouldn’t it be a good idea to order them to keep their safeties on?” Erik asked.

“Sure,” Trace deadpanned. “I could order them not to fart in their suits, too. Doesn’t mean they’ll listen.”

Erik blinked a lower-vision icon that opened a channel to Lieutenant Jersey in PH-3. “Hey Regan. What’s it like out there?”

“Oh you know,”
said Jersey.
“My first day back on the job and I’m in an armed standoff outnumbered three-to-one. Same old same old.”

Erik smiled. “How about you, Tif?”

“Guns,”
said Tif.
“In-tes-ting.”
Meaning her front-seater controlled them, and she didn’t particularly like them.

“We’re a warship, Tif,” Erik said lightly. “Perhaps you noticed?”

“I nake note.”
Erik laughed. The reports of Tif’s growing popularity with the crew were clearly true. Now she was even funny.

Trace was looking at him with approval, not having heard that conversation, but no doubt thinking it was good for her marines to see the LC laughing right now. “How are the new marines?” Erik asked her.

“Good,” said Trace without hesitation. “A bit rusty, a few wouldn’t pass the physicals… they’ve got time to work on it. Considering their combat records, I’m in a mood to be flexible. A few of them are behind us right now, in Charlie.” Alpha and Charlie had taken the biggest hits, on the rock in Argitori System, in the hacksaw ambush. Erik wondered if Trace had put Charlie in the front rank behind them on purpose, so her most trusted veterans could observe the old new guys under pressure. And decided that of course she had — Trace didn’t do anything without purpose.

A dull metallic rumbling drew his attention up the dock. Beneath the lowest curve of the ceiling, the feet of many armoured soldiers became visible, advancing in a solid wall of steel and guns. As they came closer, the whine of many alien power units began to drown the clatter of armoured boots. Karasai powered armour sounded different to human — slightly louder and lower-pitched, pushing a heavier weight with solid tavalai frames. Their weapons were every bit as deadly-looking as the human kind — huge main rifles, shoulder-mounted launchers, protruding secondary weapons on thigh and stomach-holsters, armoured storage webbing for grenades and other gear. Arms and legs mounted the small holes of thrusters for zero-G operation, and their helmets were low, wide and flat, to accommodate tavalai heads. They looked hunched, to human eyes, a powerful, rolling gait of broad shoulders and thick legs. No one could look upon this formation, and believe that those Fleet propaganda tales of outclassed and terrified tavalai were anything other than the steaming piles of manure they surely were.

“No. Sudden. Movements.” Trace spelled it out loudly on coms, just to be sure everyone understood. “This is a meeting, not a confrontation. If anyone gets jumpy, everyone here will die. If you can’t hold your nerve, tell me now and we’ll send you back to
Phoenix
to cuddle your safety blanket.”

No one spoke. The alien horde advanced across a dock not-so-mysteriously free of civilians, and Erik noted two tavalai sporting only light armour in the middle. Those two seemed to see Erik, and aimed straight for him and Trace. In full armour, Trace nonetheless wore only her cap — a reminder to her troops, Erik thought, of just how dead she in particular would be if shooting started. Erik suspected that whatever her suspicions of tavalai, she didn’t think the shooting would start from
them.
Tavalai didn’t panic, even when they probably should. Marines admired that about them, even as they thought them slightly nuts.

The armoured line halted, and Erik could clearly see their formation arrangement — fifteen-man squads in five-man sections, karasai preferring fives where marines preferred fours. Erik wondered what the sard would make of it. The two lightly armoured tavalai strolled forward, their gait still rolling, making it obvious that it wasn’t the armour that did it. Trace indicated to Erik, and together they walked forward to greet them.

In the middle of the empty dock, twenty paces each way from the opposing lines, they stopped. The tavalai had insignia on their chest armour, strange markings in some script far older than Togiri… Erik recognised one as the captain’s mark. No doubt tavalai found the bronze leaf of both spacer LC and marine major very odd as well.

Erik extended his hand to the tavalai captain, and activated his translator. “Hello,” he said. “
Gidiri ha,
” said his belt speaker. “I’m Lieutenant Commander Erik Debogande, of the
UFS Phoenix.
”

The tavalai captain extended a thick paw, gloveless, and grasped Erik’s hand. The fingers were slightly webbed, the skin smooth and leathery. More war propaganda said that tavalai were slimy, but this grip felt warm and tough, like an old leather glove. And immensely powerful, too. Tavalai weren’t any taller than humans, but their homeworld had one-point-two times what humans chauvinistically called 1-G. Humans called tavalai ‘froggies’ to belittle them, but the reality was far more imposing than that.

The tavalai spoke in the staccato vowels of Togiri.
“I am Captain Pramodenium,”
said the Captain’s translator speaker.
“This is my next-in-command, Commander Nalbenaranda. My greetings to you.”

The oddest thing about talking to tavalai was not knowing where to look. Their heads were so different, long, wide and flat, with widely spaced eyes and a big, flat mouth. Humans were accustomed to gazing upon faces with eyes, nose and mouth all conveniently close together, so expressions could be read without difficulty. But with tavalai, Erik felt he had to almost step back a bit, to get both eyes into the same field of reference.

“This is my marine commander,” he added, indicating Trace. “Major Trace Thakur. She is my second-in-command.”

Trace shook the Captain’s hand in turn. “Captain,” she said respectfully. “What brings you to Kazak System?”

“You do,” said the Captain, without need of the translator. His big, dark eyes swivelled inward to focus on Trace, then Erik. “
Makimakala
is Dobruta. You have heard of us?”

“It’s familiar,” Erik lied. In truth, no one had heard of
Makimakala
at all, and the name did not appear on any
Phoenix
database. Given how extensively every ibranakala-class ship was traced by Fleet, that was slightly astonishing.

“We are the oldest unit in all tavalai military forces. The Dobruta were formed at the beginning of the First Free Age, to police the Spiral of AI technology — what you call the hacksaws. We’ve been performing that task for more than eight thousand years. It has come to our attention that you have acquired some of that technology after you destroyed an AI nest. We are here to see those acquisitions destroyed.”

“Wait,” said Erik. “You came all this way because you heard we had… dead hacksaws aboard?”

“That is correct. It’s what we do. It’s what we’ve been doing for eight thousand years. The leaders of your civilisation and mine are united in thinking that the AI wars were over twenty five thousand years ago. But in truth, they never entirely ended. The machines will return, if we are careless enough to allow them. The Dobruta have been entrusted to ensure that it never happens.”

“Romki,”
Trace’s uplink crackled in Erik’s ear, a silent prompt.
“Romki went to talk with his tavalai friends, on Joma Station. He must have ratted on us.”
Because aside from some Fleet officers at Heuron three months ago, they hadn’t told anyone else. Unless some of the crew had been loose-tongued on station with civvies… but they’d been instructed not to discuss it, and in Erik’s experience, officers weren’t the only ones with information discipline. And the language barrier had meant it wasn’t the kind of thing easily discussed with non-humans.

“Are you in possession of this illegal technology?” the Captain pressed.

“I don’t discuss
Phoenix
matters with non-
Phoenix
crew,” Erik said calmly.

The tavalai captain tucked his big thumbs into his belt. “Then that is going to cause us a problem. My information was quite specific.”

“I’m sure it was,”
Trace uplinked with displeasure.

“What kind of a problem?” Erik enquired.

“An armed kind of problem,” said the tavalai. “Please understand that we bear you no ill will. But destroying old AI remnants where ever we find them is our entire reason for existence. Either you will offer your ship for inspection, or we will find ourselves at odds.” He glanced about and behind them, at the masses of heavily armed marines and karasai. “It does not seem a safe situation. Please consider your position, and what you hope to gain.”

E
rik sat
in Romki’s Engineering bay, and stared at the head of the AI queen in its nano-tank. The single big red eye stared back, silently clamped in place amidst a silver swirl of micro-machines.

Lisbeth entered, headed for Romki’s workbench, but stopped when she saw her brother. “Oh. Erik!”

“Hi Lis. Just taking my three minutes a day of alone-time to think.” He didn’t mean it to sound bitter. It was only the truth — being in command meant that everyone wanted a piece of him, and he rarely had any time to himself. It was more than a personal resentment. Sometimes he genuinely felt that he was missing things, thoughts and revelations he might have had if only he’d more time to think, instead of being rushed all the time by needs and schedules and other people’s problems.

“Oh, well in that case I won’t bother you, I just wanted to check some data and…”

Erik shook his head and patted the adjoining chair beside him, at the opposing work bench to Romki’s. “No come, sit. I don’t value my time alone as much as my time with you.” He’d have been embarrassed to say something so openly sentimental, just a few years back. To his
sister
no less. But something was different now, and he found he had no patience for dancing around things as he once had.

Lisbeth smiled, genuinely touched, and came to sit beside him, and take his hand. “So what’s bothering you?”

“Everything.”

“Sure, but what in particular?”

Erik sighed. Lisbeth was one of the few people on the ship not technically within his chain of command. Commanders weren’t supposed to share worries and frailties with those beneath him, but Lisbeth was hardly that.

“I think I might have made a mistake,” he said sombrely. “Coming here.”

Lisbeth gazed at him with concern. “Well I don’t recall it only being your decision.”

“Sure. But I’m in command. Everything
Phoenix
does is my responsibility on principle.”

Lisbeth thought for a moment. “Are you going to accept the Colonel’s offer of pardon?”

“Well I can’t see how it’s entirely up to me,” Erik said helplessly. “There’s six hundred people on this ship who want to see their families again. It has to be their decision, doesn’t it? But then, if there’s so much at stake, how can I just leave it to a popular vote? Big stakes require leadership. I should lead. But what I think we might have to do… I mean, what we
should
do, will likely get everyone killed.”

Lisbeth gripped his hand more firmly. “Erik. The Major doesn’t talk about you directly with me, she’s too professional for that. But it’s obvious she values your opinion. And it’s also obvious that she thinks you should have more confidence in yourself than you do.”