Odyssey One 5: Warrior King (17 page)

“Sir?” Deirdre’s head snapped around and her eyes bored into him. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“You might be right,” Eric replied, “but I’m not sure I really care.”

With trepidation, the colonel watched the captain walk out of the room, her eyes shifting back to the security cells as the outer door cycled open.

Well, this is one way to get more data in the system.

“Conner to security stations,” she said, depressing a comm link.

“Yes ma’am?”

“Have a ready response team standing by outside the prisoners’ cells. The captain has decided to have a word with our guests.”

►►►

► Eric sealed the door after himself, then walked down the access corridor that ran the length of the cells, eyes scanning the cells’ inhabitants as he stiffly marched by.

The
Odysseus
wasn’t a prison ship. The cells primarily functioned as a brig in the event of rowdy crewmen. That didn’t mean they weren’t secure, but they certainly weren’t what he’d normally want to use for potentially dangerous POWs.

Eric stopped roughly along the centerline, turning straight toward those prisoners who would see him directly, eyes sweeping left and right.

When he spoke, it was in Priminae, with no translator in between him and the people he was addressing.

“You lot are about as sorry looking as any I’ve seen,” he told them in clipped tones.

That got a reaction at least, as several stirred enough to glare at him.

“We will tell you
nothing
!” one spoke up.

“You only know one thing that I care to know,” Eric told them, “and you
will
tell me that.”

They openly scoffed at him, but Eric was of no mind to pay them any attention.

“Technical intelligence, ship locations, tactics . . .” Eric shook his head. “You don’t know any of that, and if you did, I wouldn’t trust a word you told me.”

“So what are you here for, then?” the speaker challenged him.

Eric focused on the only one of them brave or, likelier than not, stupid enough to speak up.

“Who are you?” he asked simply.

The group exchanged glances, confused ones that told Eric probably more than any of them intended.

They expected me to know that.

He held silent, however, knowing that there was a time to goad and a time to lie in wait. One of the first rules of any conflict was never interrupt an enemy who was in the process of making an error, but the corollary was what mattered to him just then. Once they’ve made a mistake, never let them recover from it.

“You know who we are,” the speaker snarled, despite glares from his fellows clearly warning him to shut up. “You and your Oathers wouldn’t have forgotten . . .”

“Enough!”

Eric turned to the new speaker, hiding his satisfaction with a stern glare. “Have something to add?”

“Have
nothing
to say to you,” the new man said forcefully. “No Imperial does.”

“Well, that doesn’t seem quite true, now does it?” Eric asked mildly. “Alright, if you won’t tell me who you are . . .”

He leaned in, looking them all over. “Then who, or what, are ‘Oathers’?”

►►►

► Colonel Conner met Eric as he stepped out of the cell block, sealing the door carefully behind him.

“Have fun?” she asked dryly.

Eric glanced at the double squad of Marines standing on duty, armed and clearly disappointed they’d not had cause to breach the cell block.

“Yes, actually,” he said cheerfully, starting to walk down the corridor.

Deirdre paced him precisely, the distinct taps of her steps punctuating the softer padding of his own.

“This situation just keeps getting more and more convoluted, you realize,” she said as they walked.

“I’m well aware of that. The Priminae appear to be a fulcrum in this situation, don’t they?”

“These new people, they’re more like us than the Priminae are,” Colonel Conner offered, thinking furiously.

“No,” Eric said stonily. “This Empire, they’re nothing like us. I would wipe out all life on Earth
personally
before I let us become like this. They
led
with the Drasin, Deirdre. You don’t
ever
lead with genocide. Ever.”

She sighed. “I didn’t mean it that way, sir.”

“You didn’t think about it that way,” he corrected her. “How you meant it was that they’re fighters, and that must mean we have something in common.”

She didn’t have anything to say to that, so they walked in silence until they reached the lift and the doors closed on them.

“I’ve seen a lot of bad things in my career, on all sides,” Eric said. “Men tortured for information, even though we both know that torture is a complete sadistic fantasy.”

Deirdre sighed, but nodded. Torture was a fictional solution to real-world problems, and generally made said problems
far
worse. Some thought no one could withstand torture indefinitely. That was complete bullshit. Plenty of men and women had done just that. The easiest way was just to talk, and lie. It would take weeks or months to confirm or deny information given, and by that time you could say that things must have changed before offering up another lie.

“I’ve seen genocide,” Eric went on. “I’ve even been party to it, indirectly. That’s a stain on my soul that will never wash away, though I spilled enough blood trying, foolish as that sounds. I’ve seen my own men execute prisoners just because they felt righteous fury burning in their veins . . .”

Conner grimaced, knowing that she’d seen some of the same things in her career and been encouraged to look away.

“Through all that, however, I have never flinched from my duty,” he said. “Do you know why, Colonel?”

“Semper fi, sir.”

“Precisely. The Corps, and humanity, are not perfect,” Eric said. “We do horrible things to one another, and all too often have no shame in the action, or remorse in the memory. But the ideals of the Corps . . .
those
are perfect.”

He took a deep breath. “What I just heard in that cell block, Colonel . . . I hope and I pray that those were the words of imperfect men who have, somewhere deep down, a perfect ideal to look up to . . . but I’m very much afraid that may be a lesson we’ll be forced to teach them in blood.”

“If it comes to that,” she said, “then so be it.”

Eric’s lips twisted into a parody of a smile.

“Semper fi, indeed, Colonel. Semper fi, indeed.”

CHAPTER 16

► The
Odysseus
was a fast ship, even when under normal space-warp drive, but when the crew engaged the Terran transition system, there was possibly nothing in the universe, real or imagined, that could beat it.

The big ship transitioned back into real space outside the limits of Ranquil’s solar wind, warping space downwell within a few minutes of reconstitution. They were met within the hour by one of the patrol ships covering the outer system.

Dropping down the gravity well of a star was, of course, the easy part, even if the competing gravity fields of the star and planets contraindicated warping past light-speed. Such a move wasn’t strictly impossible, of course. Unlike the transition drive, space warps could be reliably maintained within competing fields, but the risk of catastrophic accident made it generally unwise to go much above three-quarters of light-speed. Doing so would also massively increase hull stress, leading to far fewer space hours before a complete refit was required, and not even the Priminae were so casual about those costs. So barring emergency—
real
emergencies—travel within a star system was still done the slow way.

So it took them half a day to fall to Ranquil and settle easily into orbit.

►►►

Priminae Capital, Ranquil

► Admiral Rael Tanner examined the imagery on the large displays that were now showing the new arrival in orbit of Ranquil. The
Odysseus
was always a welcome arrival in his opinion, but from what he’d been told, it had supposedly been on a simple reconnaissance mission. So why was the big vessel streaming atmosphere?

“Analyze the damage,” he ordered. “That burn pattern is . . . familiar.”

“Laser damage, Admiral,” the technician on duty responded. “It’s difficult to calculate precisely the extent of the damages, given the new armor on the
Odysseus
, but I believe that the blast is significantly more powerful than our own shipboard weapons.”

Tanner stared for a moment. “Nothing in our records has more power than one of the new Heroic Class ships.”

“That damage says otherwise, Admiral.”

Tanner grimaced, but didn’t say anything else. He and Captain Weston were going to be engaged in a long conversation very soon.

“I expect the captain will request a repair slot,” he said finally. “Reserve one for them—priority slot.”

“Yes Admiral.”

Tanner shook his head, getting up from his console. “I’ll be up top. Contact me by mobile if anything comes up.”

“Yes Admiral.”

►►►

► “Captain Weston.”

Eric nodded without smiling as he descended the ramp from the shuttle. His expression was more distant than normal from Tanner’s experience.

“Admiral,” he said, stepping clear of the loading path and stopping to take a deep breath of fresh air.

“I saw on our monitors that you encountered some trouble,” Tanner said. “Those burns did not look like Drasin beams.”

“They weren’t Drasin,” Eric said, shaking his head.

“Then who?”

Tanner felt himself suddenly pinned by a stony stare unlike anything he’d experienced with the generally charismatic officer.

“I very much want to know that myself,” Eric said steadily. “It was the same configuration vessel you were flying when the
Odyssey
first arrived in Ranquil, Admiral. So I very much want to know, who the
hell
is the Empire, and what do they have to do with the Priminae?”

Tanner frowned. “I don’t know what you’re speaking of, Captain. Are you
sure
they used our cruiser design?”

“No question, Admiral. Same configuration as the
Heral’c
, except for a series of what I’m told are called parasite frigates, launched as supplementary mobile firepower.”

Tanner took a step back, shaking his head. “That makes no sense. Parasite craft . . . those haven’t been used in . . . those are
historical
curiosities, Captain. No one uses those.”

“Someone does.”

“Captain Weston,” Tanner said calmingly, “you’re talking about someone using design specifications from well before living memory. Those files are buried deep in Central. It takes full council authority to access them . . . and the Forge itself to actually construct them.”

“Admiral, you are not understanding me,” Eric told him. “This . . . Empire is not some rogue Priminae nation. They’re something else, something bigger, and they do
not
like you.”

Tanner cast a glance around himself, checking for anyone nearby, and finding none, turned back to Weston.

“You’re speaking of myths, Captain. Legends. Stories told to children to scare them at night. It cannot be real.”

Eric looked at him evenly. “I think it’s time you told me a bedtime story, Admiral, because while I may not be a child, I’m already scared.”

►►►

► Milla Chans looked over the curve of the planet below, eyes falling to the white clouds drifting over one of the northern seas as she settled deep into thought.

“You look serious.”

She jumped, the rasping voice catching her by surprise.

“Whoa,” Steph choked out, steadying her as she landed and twisted around. “Are you okay?”

“I . . . sorry, Stephan,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I was thinking about . . . the prisoners.”

Steph nodded. “I can see that. They’re a puzzle alright.”

“No.” She shook her head. “It is not that. Stephan, do you remember when you and the capitaine found me?”

“Of course.” Steph smiled. “Not every day you rescue a damsel in distress.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know what that means now, and I find the term objectionable. However, that is not what I was referring to. Do you recall what I called you?”

Steph shook his head. “Can’t say I do. Why?”

“I called you, all of you,” she said, waving her hand, “the Others. Those who broke their oath.”

“Right, I remember. Didn’t make much sense to me then. Why, what does it mean?”

Milla shook her head. “It is an old story . . . for scaring children, yes?”

“A ghost story, sure. I’ve told my share,” Steph said. “So what are these Others?”

“They’re . . . monsters, Stephan,” she said uncertainly, like she was trying to remember. “The Oath was a very old code of conduct. To uphold justice, preserve the peace . . . the wording has long been lost.”

“Sounds like the code of chivalry,” Steph said with a smile.

“I am not familiar,” Milla said.

“Old code of honor from a few centuries back on Earth,” Steph said. “Most of the actual code has been forgotten by the general public, and it’s been glorified a lot. In reality it wasn’t so . . .
chivalrous
as people believe, but some of the basics were there. In modern times, the code refers to treating others with respect and honoring your word, along with other similar noble qualities.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps. I do not know. The Oath, as I said, it has been long forgotten. The Oath Breakers, though, they are still the source of many scary stories.”

“Good monsters never die,” Steph said thoughtfully. “They just get scarier with every retelling.”

►►►

► Eric appeared to be studying the sky intently, but his mind was elsewhere.

“That is a hell of a story,” he said finally.

Tanner sighed. “And likely not remotely the truth.”

That was an understatement, to Eric’s mind. He knew that half the war stories told about his own campaign were false, yet they’d been repeated so often that sometimes he half remembered doing things that he
knew
hadn’t happened in the first place. This was a legend about a myth about a campfire tale that quite possibly went back to the beginning of human civilization on Earth, maybe further depending on what you considered civilization.

“It’s bloody King Arthur is what it is,” Eric growled.

“I am not familiar with that,” Tanner admitted.

“Terran legend,” Eric supplied. “Probably started as a fairy tale about the good old days during a really bad time, got told and retold so many times that before long it was about a savior prophesized to return from the dead in the hour of his nation’s greatest need.”

Tanner nodded slowly. “That tale would appear to be similar, after a fashion.”

“Here’s the problem,” Eric said, pursing his lips. “Arthur’s never coming back. That’s just not how the universe works. It doesn’t matter how crazy things are, or how weird the universe can be—we don’t get the fairy-tale ending fated to us. We have to
earn
it . . . But this Empire,
they
are already here . . . and they’re pissed. Which means they’ve kept up their side of the story probably better than you have, and I’m pretty sure they tell it differently.”

“And you believe their side may have merit?” Tanner asked cautiously.

Eric snorted, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter if it does. The past doesn’t excuse the present. Even if your people were puppy-eating murderers who raped and slaughtered your way across the galaxy, that’s not who you are
now
. . . and even if they were righteous knights defending the just and the innocent back then, today they’re leading with the Drasin and firing on my ship without even responding to my hail.”

Eric took a deep breath, his fists clenching and unclenching.

“No, Admiral, the legend isn’t relevant in the reality of things,” he said finally, “but I needed to hear it anyway.”

Eric turned to look at Rael Tanner evenly. “And I need you to dig deeper. Find anything you can about these people, legendary or not, and get me that information.”

“I will see what I can turn up.”

“Good.” Eric blew out a breath, feeling tired. “About my ship . . .”

“I have already secured a repair slot.” Tanner smiled. “You will be fit for duty in all ways within the week.”

“Good. Thank you, Admiral.”

“It is a pleasure.”

“Next, I need access to your FTL relay,” Eric said. “I have a report to file.”

“Allow me to show you to system control,” Tanner said, gesturing. “I don’t believe you’ve visited yet, despite everything.”

►►►

► The Priminae system control facility was impressive, though certainly not quite on par with their Forge shipyard complex. The central room included a large hemisphere dome that projected regions of space as needed. The dome was focused on Ranquil’s orbit and the
Odysseus
when Tanner and Eric arrived.

“Holographic?” Eric asked, tilting his head slightly to change the angle of his perception.

“Not precisely,” Tanner answered, “at least not as I comprehend your definition of the word.”

Eric nodded absently but didn’t ask for more details, as they would be, without any doubt, over his head. He didn’t have time for a lecture at the moment. “Alright.”

Tanner smiled thinly, as though he knew precisely what Eric was thinking, and indicated a station just off-center in the room. “You may link to your government from that station, Captain.”

“Thank you,” Eric said, walking over and cautiously taking a seat.

The controls for the comm station weren’t much different than the
Odysseus
, thankfully. Eric activated the system and adjusted it over to the channels set aside for Terran communication before opening a signal.

A few seconds later, a young officer in Alliance dress was looking back at him through the display.

“Welcome to Alliance Command, Sol space. Where may I direct you?”

“Admiral Gracen’s officer, please. Weston, Eric S. Captain, AEV
Odysseus
, calling.”

The image flickered even before he finished speaking, and he very quickly found himself looking at a lieutenant commander instead.

“Captain, the admiral has been awaiting your check-in,” the lieutenant commander told him. “We didn’t expect you on the Priminae relay, however.”

“Priority report,” Eric said. “Secure records will follow. However, the
Odysseus
is in for emergency repairs at the Forge.”