Cradle of War (A Captain's Crucible Book 3) (8 page)

“Is that what you call it?” Jonathan countered. “Self-destructive? I call it doing the right thing.” He studied his first officer. “What’s wrong, Commander? Don’t you
want
the
Callaway?”

“Of course I do,” Robert said. “But not like this. Not at your expense. You have several good years ahead of you. It doesn’t make sense to flush your career down the toilet. You’re hardly hanging on by the fingernails. You fought well out here.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll agree to assume command for now, but you have to promise me when you stand before the inquiry that you’re going to fight to stay on your ship.”

“Oh I intend to fight,” Jonathan said. “I’m not going to give up everything so easily.”

“Good,” Robert said. “That was what I needed to hear.”

It’s just that I don’t think I’m going to win.

“No other commodore in the navy would do this, you know,” Robert continued. “Leaving their fleet behind... the sensible thing to do would be to send someone else. I know you want to be punished, but come on.”

A part of Jonathan knew the commander was right. And yet another part of him was stubborn, and refused to back down on a decision he had already made. It just didn’t fit with the carefully crafted code of conduct he had built for himself.

But there was something else, too...

“These are extenuating circumstances, Commander,” Jonathan said. “We’re basically stranded in another galaxy for the next six months. And—” He hesitated. Should he tell the commander? “Call it an inborn instinct, but I have a feeling that if I don’t personally return with the
Talon
, things will go very badly for the United Systems. I want to make sure our message is delivered and heard.”

It was Robert’s turn to study the captain, and Jonathan felt slightly uncomfortable under his dubious gaze.

“Did you ever think to get yourself tested for psi ability?” Robert said, obviously choosing his words carefully.

Jonathan frowned, but then shook his head.

“Why not?” Robert pressed.

“I never had any interest in reading the minds of targets to further political agendas that weren’t my own,” Jonathan said. “Besides, telepaths aren’t allowed to become captains.”

Robert smiled fleetingly. “I’ve always thought those of us with few family or political connections who’ve risen high in the ranks have undeveloped psi abilities. When those gut feelings we have turn out to be correct nine times out of ten, we start to wonder if those hunches were truly rooted in the subconscious mind as the scientists tell us, or somewhere else.” He rubbed his earlobe. “Instincts are telling you to return with the
Talon
, you say? I have a tendency to believe you. Still, if there was an imminent crisis, of course I would disagree and refuse to take the reins. But it looks like we’ll be spending the next six months here by ourselves, idling away while we wait for the Builder to complete the Gate. There’s no real crisis, unless you count boredom and the resultant increased incidents of fraternization.”

“I’m sure the crew won’t be bored under your watch,” Jonathan said.

Robert lowered his arm and sat back. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you just wanted to avoid having to spend six months downtime with the rest of us.”

Jonathan shrugged. “Definitely can’t say I’m sorry to miss out on downtime.”

Robert’s jaw seemed to tense slightly. “But is it truly downtime? You’ll be leaving us behind in an unknown galaxy, far away from everything we’ve ever known, camped out beside an unknown Slipstream. We think it leads back to our galaxy, but that doesn’t mean some other wormhole from a nearby system won’t lead here. An assailant from this galaxy could come through and attack us at any moment.”

“That is an unlikely proposition, I think,” Jonathan said. “At least while you remain in Elder space, and under their auspices.”

“
Are
we under their auspices?” Robert asked. “Or merely tolerated?”

Jonathan frowned. “Probably the latter. Still, hopefully they would treat you as the guest that you are.”

Robert didn’t seem convinced. “I don’t think we can count on human hospitality extending to alien cultures.”

“No,” Jonathan said. “I suppose not. Still, that the Elder felt safe enough to gestate offspring on one of the planets tells me the system can’t be
that
dangerous. Come on, it’s only six months, Robert. A minuscule, infinitesimal amount of time in the cosmic scheme of things.”

The commander inhaled deeply and sighed. “I suppose I can manage without you for six months.”

The captain smiled widely. “That’s the spirit.”

J
onathan held a fleet conference to let the other captains know what he had decided.

“I’m coming, too,” Captain Rail of the
Salvador
said. “Someone needs to be there during your inquiry.”

Jonathan felt one of his eyebrows rise. “You’ll defend me?”

“Incriminate you, more likely,” Rail said. “I’m going to testify against you. I want to see justice done.”

Jonathan sighed. He remembered Miko’s warning about the Raakarr potentially taking hostages, and he probably should have refused her request on the spot, but a part of him
hoped
she would be taken hostage. She certainly deserved it, for always causing him so much strife.

Another part of him wanted to ensure she was there for the inquiry so she could testify against him, like she wished; that part of him yearned to be punished for the deaths that had occurred on his watch, even if he had done everything in his power to prevent them.

Rail mistook his hesitation for something else, apparently, because she added: “If you leave me behind, I’m going to file a formal complaint when I get back. I have an extensive network of contacts among the admiralty, and if the board of inquiry lets you off lightly, I’ll see to it that you get another review. And you can bet that with me there, your punishment won’t be so lenient for what you did to Admiral Knox. You only delay the inevitable by leaving me behind. You’re not going to get away with what you’ve done.”

“You think I’m trying to save my own skin by leaving you behind?” Jonathan was beside himself, and against his better judgment he finished: “Come with me then if you wish.”

Rail seemed about to protest, but paused as his words registered.

“Thank you,” she finally said, her face brightening as it always did when she got her way.

“I’m coming, too, then,” Captain Rodriguez of the
Dagger
said. “Someone needs to be there at the inquiry to defend you, Captain.”

“No, Rodriguez,” Jonathan said. “I don’t want to give the Raakarr too many of our high ranking officers. We still don’t know the extent we can trust them.”

“You’re probably overestimating my worth a tiny bit,” Rodriguez said. “As the AI of my ship would say, no captain is irreplaceable. I’m just a small cog in a very large machine, as are we all. My first officer is fully capable of commanding the
Dagger
in my absence, just as yours is the
Callaway
. If anyone should stay behind, it’s probably you, the commander of the flagship.”

“While that may be true—”

Rodriguez interrupted him. “Please Captain, if you’re truly set on going, and you’re allowing Rail along, then there’s no question: you have to take me.”

Jonathan capitulated.

Captain Carter of the
Aurelia
elected to remain behind with his ship. The two civilian captains of the
Grimm
and
Marley
wanted to come, of course, but Jonathan told them their place was aboard their ships—they would be needed in the coming six months. The Gate wouldn’t build itself, after all.

He filled out his team with two MOTHs: Chief Rade “Rage” Galaal and LPO Aaron “Helium” Johnson; a platoon of sixteen combat robots; and two scientists: Lieutenant Connie Myers and one of her assistants, Sil Chopra. He took along Connie mostly so she could personally present her findings to Central Command. Jonathan considered taking an engineer, too, but decided the technical aspect of his crew was well represented in her. 

As for Sil Chopra’s presence, it didn’t seem right to separate the chief from his daughter by the distance of a galaxy. Besides, it made some sense to take along Sil, as she was a qualified xenobiologist and perhaps could continue to surreptitiously study the aliens from aboard their own vessel. And she was a captain in her own right: it was very possible the navy would assign her a new ship when she returned.

A few of the other shipless captains who took refuge aboard the
Callaway
had also requested a place on the mission, but Jonathan had denied them, choosing to bolster his security personnel instead—in the form of the combat robots.

After the conference Jonathan gave a short address over the ship’s main circuit. Those who wanted video could watch him deliver his speech over their aReals, thanks to the cameras Maxwell had set up.

“Civilians and crew of the
Callaway
,” Jonathan said. “I want to thank you for everything you have done. The past few weeks have been trying for us all, but your untiring devotion, your refusal to give up, and your fighting spirit have truly been an inspiration. Without your coordinated efforts, none of us would have pulled through the last crisis. It’s not every day that a fleet joins battle that close to a binary star and lives to tell about it.

“We spent six months in Vega 951, building the return Gate that was to take us to Prius 3, but instead led here. You have been patient, and I ask that you are patient for a while longer. As many of you have no doubt heard by now, we encountered the Elder, who admitted responsibility for changing the wormhole endpoints. They agreed to restore the Slipstream endpoint on this side to Vega 951, and on the Vega 951 side to Prius 3. We are going to build a Gate to take us back, and the estimated completion time is another six months.

“I know you were expecting more. Perhaps hoping that our new alien friends would share their Slipstream traversal tech with us. But apparently it’s not so simple. So six months is all I can offer you. Six months, and then you’ll be back in your home galaxy.

“Unfortunately, I won’t be with you during that time. I must leave you. I’m going to board the
Talon
, the vessel of our Raakarr allies, and return through the Slipstream immediately. We have to warn NAVCENT of the threat posed to our borders. But while I may be going, I’m leaving you in good hands. I’ve instructed Commander Robert Cray to assume command of the
Callaway
and the fleet. He’s led you in battle before, and while I highly doubt you’ll face a combat situation under his tenure, he does have the experience if it’s needed.

“Good luck to you all, and I look forward to welcoming you on the other side in six months. Captain out.”

The latter statement was a bit of a lie, as he highly doubted he would remain in the navy long enough to welcome anyone, but he felt the statement would help keep morale high.

The task group reached the Slipstream shortly thereafter and Jonathan gave the order to orbit the wormhole.

“Maxwell,” Jonathan said. “Probe the entrance. See if you can confirm that the Slipstream will indeed take us to Vega 951.”

By measuring the redshift and gravitational lensing of the star patterns at the wormhole’s entrance, among other parameters, the endpoint of a Slipstream could be estimated with surprising accuracy.

After a few minutes Maxwell intoned: “Analysis complete.”

“So, what do we have?” Jonathan said. “Will it take us to Vega 951?”

“Data inconclusive,” the AI replied. “It’s impossible for me to determine if the wormhole will lead to Vega 951.”

He exchanged a glance with Robert.

“You’re still going?” Robert said.

“I have to,” Jonathan replied.

He instructed the mission crew members to assemble in hangar bay five in three hours, and then he retired to his quarters to gather his few personal belongings. He gave Robert his convection kettle and tin of green tea, and liberated the Scotch from the safe in his office, gifting it to Stanley, the chief engineer.

“I’ll expect you to return that in six months,” Jonathan said, still trying to give the crew the false hope that he actually was going to return to the captaincy.

“Not on your life,” Stanley said. “You give me that fucker, don’t expect to find a drop left in six months!”

When the time came, Robert and other well-wishers had gathered in the hangar bay to see them off. Jonathan shook the hands of his first officer.

“See you in six months,” Robert said.

Jonathan smiled wistfully. “Six months.”

“What’s wrong?” Robert said.

“Nothing,” Jonathan lied. “Just... I’m going to hold you to those six months. Don’t make me come looking for you and Bridgette.”

Assistants helped Jonathan suit up. He flinched as the local AI of the suit injected an accelerant into the radial venous network of his hand: the concoction would help him adapt faster to the simulated environment, thereby avoiding the effects of any decompression sickness. The shuttle was capable of providing an atmosphere, of course, but Jonathan had elected to make the crossing without one, since they’d be required to wear suits when they emerged on the other side anyway.

He secured the helmet in place and climbed the ramp of the Dragonfly, taking a seat beside Chief Galaal. Cylindrical restraints telescoped from either side of the seat and secured him in place.

Jonathan and the other occupants wore spacesuits equipped with the psychic shielding Connie had developed, with the hope that it would protect them from Barrick’s influence. She had also developed special shielded tents they could use when in oxygenated environments, so that they could sleep without wearing their suits, for example, and still be protected.

“Are all of you ready for this?” Jonathan asked the mission participants. He ran his gaze between Captains Rail, Rodriguez, and Chopra; then Lieutenant Myers, Chief Galaal, and LPO Johnson.

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Connie commented, her voice sounding slightly tinny over his helmet speakers.

“You don’t have to ask if
we’re
ready,” the chief said.

Jonathan glanced at the MOTHs and grinned. “No, I suppose I don’t.”

The sixteen combat robots boarded last. Fourteen Centurions, all M-4 models, led by two Praetor units. Every one of them looked the same: featureless faces set on box-shaped heads connected to polycarbonate torsos, from which emerged blocky arms and legs with circular joints. The subtle whir of servomotors accompanied every movement.

The Raakarr had agreed to allow an armed escort with the group, though perhaps they weren’t expecting so many. Jonathan hoped they enjoyed the surprise. It would certainly make the aliens think twice about holding them hostage.

Two of the Centurions carried a locked cargo container between them, and secured it to the deck. That metallic container housed the high-tech environmental suit salvaged from the humanoids, DNA samples from the humanoid body, and the captured Raakarr body with its equipment. Jonathan debated whether to leave the specimens behind with the fleet, but thought it best to take them back for the navy scientists to study. He considered taking portions of the captured Raakarr fighters, too, but there wasn’t enough room in the container. The naval scientists would simply have to wait six months for that.

Also in the container was a holographic drive containing a partial backup of Maxwell’s memory core from key incidents from the past seven months, along with a similar backup of the
Salvador’s
AI, Frederick. It was an information-only dump, as the storage requirements for the actual electronic engrams that formed the personalities of the AIs used up far more space. Backing up AI personalities was frowned upon, just as human brain dumps were—while it was possible to transfer those memories into a new unit, no actual transfer of machine consciousness resulted. A duplicate was merely created.

Laws had once been in place to prevent such duplications among humans and machines, but those had fallen by the wayside. As the law currently stood, any man, woman, or AI could choose to duplicate their engrams, even though it would not provide any real benefit to themselves. It was for those who felt the world wouldn’t be able to handle the loss of their contributions after death, mostly scientists, politicians, and creative types: the usual narcissists.

Jonathan planned to keep the cargo container aboard the Dragonfly and under guard at all times. He had no intention of revealing the contents to his hosts.

The sixteen robots crowded into the center portion of the craft, between the facing sets of seats, and secured themselves to the deck around the container with their magnetizable foot assemblies. When that was done, the Centurions folded their bodies to prepare for flight.

Jonathan glanced toward the cockpit. “Pilot, take us out.”

There was no one actually sitting in the pilot seat—the local AI would be doing the flying that day: Dragonfly 1.

“Affirmative,” the AI responded. The ramp closed, and when the atmosphere of the hangar vented, the bay doors opened. The shuttle took flight, leaving the starship behind.

His stomach immediately somersaulted as the queasiness of zero-G took over. He remembered Robert complaining to him about how shuttles had inertial dampeners and yet lacked artificial gravity, when they should have both. Jonathan had to agree with the commander: it seemed logical that one was an extension of the other, yet that wasn’t quite how it worked in the real world.

Robert. He smiled wanly, unable to shake the feeling he would never see the commander again. Robert was still logged in to Jonathan’s helmet camera, of course, and connected to his audio channel; he would remotely observe the mission from the
Callaway’s
bridge for as long as he could. Even so, it felt like Jonathan’s first officer was already gone.