Behind him, the command staff stilled. The crewmen repairing the broken work stations retracted their tools into their fingertips and looked up at the screens.
Four of the LCDs banding the semicircular bridge filled with static. Slowly, a woman’s face formed from the gray and black dots dancing on the white screens.
Bei recognized her immediately. Captain Petersburg had been left in charge of the Syn-Ens he’d left behind. The unease simmering inside his gut coalesced into a hard knot of foreboding.
The officer on the screen leaned closer to the helm. Worry furrowed her copper forehead. “This is Syn-En Captain Amazon Petersburg of the commandeered Starcruiser
America
calling for any Syn-En vessel of the Terra Dos Mission. Admiral Beijing York, we are in need of direction and assistance.”
From somewhere off screen, a woman called out. “We’ve got incoming, Captain. Four MIRVed nukes.”
“Evasive maneuvers.” Through the static-filled the image, Bei watched Captain Petersburg brace herself against the helm console.
“Decoys away.” The tactical officer’s fear transmitted through all four of the Bei’s screens. “Two warheads got through. Brace for impact!”
On screen, the
America’s
communiqué flashed white.
If the Syn-En’s collective will had been a weapon, Bei had no doubt the ships attacking the
America
would be space dust. As it was, he and his men were only spectators in the tragedy unfolding before them.
Bei scanned the four screens, looking for a reason why a Syn-En would have taken over a citizen vessel as well as when the events in the message were recorded. “How long ago was the transmission?”
Manning the helm in front of Bei, Lieutenant Berlin stiffened. “According to the
America’s
time stamp, the message was sent ten days, six hours and twelve minutes ago.”
Bei’s knees shook. His heart rate momentarily slowed from the sorrow. The
America
and her passengers could already have been destroyed, making Captain Petersburg’s transmission a message from the dead.
Captain Petersburg’s face emerged from the static. The image on the four screens highlighted the gash on her high cheekbone and the bruise to her chin. “Approximately four weeks ago, UEN decided they no longer needed the Syn-En and began their campaign to end our existence. I am sending you data packets from the citizens’ betrayal as well as intercepted communiqués detailing their planned genocide and the official version of events.”
Ice washed down his spine. No! They wouldn't do such a thing. But what if they had? His fingers curled into fists. The data packets popped up like gift wrapped presents on the screen. Each was tagged with military codes.
“Son of a bitch. That’s combat footage from the Syn-En Training Academy.” XO Penig’s abused joints creaked as he rose from the seat in the center of the bridge. Plowing his hands through the fringe of white hair, he limped to Bei’s side. “Who the hell would target a bunch of children?”
On screen, Captain Petersburg swiped at the blood on her cheek. “As you can see, the citizen murderers started with the most helpless of us, our new inductees.”
New inductees could mean anyone from a newborn to a ten year old. None had been substantially modified to have tech penalties that would allow a citizen to take their life without a trail. Bei’s hands trembled before his cerebral link compensated. Shock and disbelief coursed through him. What the hell was going on?
Rage roiled through the WA and met with confusion from the other Syn-Ens not hearing the broadcast.
Needing a clearheaded command staff, Bei ordered his avatar into the CIC to switch off the emotional turmoil. Individual emotions could be repackaged into productive energy, but once in the WA, strong feelings reproduced in a positive feedback loop, growing out of control with each second.
On screen, fatigue bruised Captain Petersburg’s skin. “Thanks to your foresight, we instituted Operation
Enduring Freedom
after the student dorms at the academy were taken out and saved ninety percent of our people. Plus we gained a very nice ship in the bargain.” She patted the inlaid walnut console. “The children we took on board certainly appreciate the luxury.”
Ignoring his roar for revenge, Bei grappled with the best way to handle the situation.
Captain Petersburg shoved the black hair out of her eyes. “All of us owe our lives to your planning. Thank you, Admiral. No recruits or new inductees have been lost. But they need a safe harbor, one, hopefully called Terra Dos. Petersburg out.”
Bei shook off the lethargy slogging through his veins and squared his shoulders. Turning to face the fleet’s senior officers, Bei felt the surge of purpose fill him. They would be returning back through the wormhole. If the
America
survived, she’d need a military escort. His fleet might be crippled, but they could still fight.
His senior officers’ anticipation hung heavy on the air. The four crewmen returned to working on the disabled hubs, the ease and certainty of their movements filled with a new sense of purpose.
Bei addressed Commander Brazil. “What is the status of the four
Beagle
class shuttles that were on the
Starfarer’s
stern?”
With three officers flanking him, Commander Brazil jerked to attention. “We can be ready to leave as soon as we board our ships.”
Bei noted that the officers near Brazil commanded the dart-like
Beagle
s. The ships’ small size gave them superior maneuverability and stealth capabilities, but limited their ordinance capacities.
“Did you have full weapons capabilities?” Bei knew that most of his ships had been stripped to minimal armaments before being deployed. He clenched his fists at the flood of rage. The United Earth Nations had deliberately disarmed the Syn-En. How long had the citizens planned this attack?
Commander Brazil’s pride in his small ship was evident from the lines on his tan face. “Aye, sir. Short range energy and projectile weapons are available.”
Tugging on his auxiliary fiber optic cable, Penig straightened. “It’ll take a week for your ships to travel beyond sensor range. Another two weeks to be within weapons’ range of the wormhole’s event horizon.”
Shang’hai ran a hand through her short pink hair. “The
Starfarer
can donate torpedoes. That’ll add another two million to weapon’s range.”
“Do it.” Through the WA, Bei authorized the CIC to release the complement of torpedoes. The
Starfarer’s
bulkhead groaned as the spiderlike wardens crawled over the hull to transfer the weapon from his ship to the
Beagle
s.
“We’ll be outside of sensor range in five days and be within targeting distance in sixteen days.” Commander Brazil glanced at the men around him. “We know our ships. The engines can take it.”
Bei knew that with or without his permission they would push the ships to the limits. “I’ll send the
America’s
last known coordinates when we get them. Adjust your speed accordingly; you have a long trek ahead.”
“Aye, Admiral.” Commander Brazil’s black eyes twinkled.
Bei nodded once, knowing his men would tax their ships and themselves to the brink to save the
America
. Unfortunately, it might already be too late. The men needed to understand that they might be risking themselves for nothing. Bei clamped down on his mounting frustration. How many more would this trip cost him? “Use the travel time to modify your turrets. You’ll each receive two long range torpedoes and four short range. Launch LRT on hostiles at twenty-two million kilometers. SRTs at your discretion.”
Shang’hai’s almondine eyes changed to black as she accessed the WA. “I’ve sent specifications to convert the conventional torpedo warheads to nuclear.”
Bei nodded his approval to use the banned weapons. If the
America
didn’t survive, neither would any citizen on Earth. “Reinforcements will be a week behind you.”
“Five days, Admiral.” A freckle-faced lieutenant stepped forward, followed by ten more officers. Each wore the insignia of the
Beagle
class ship on their lapel. “We can have a dozen more ships space worthy in five days.”
In his mind, Bei’s avatar nodded and prioritized the repairs for the least damaged of the fleet. Too bad the bigger and more powerful warships would take another week to repair. “So be it.”
“Aye, Admiral.” Commander Brazil saluted, turned on his heel and strode from the bridge with the other
Beagle
captains.
The remaining senior staff crowded forward in a rustle of fabric. Bei knew that if the Syn-Ens had a God, like the citizens did, each person on his bridge would be praying to Him. Yet they didn’t. The Syn-En had only each other. Bei silently stepped forward, not far enough to blend into the crowd, but close enough to be a part of his senior staff.
Although still entertaining thoughts of revenge, Captain Petersburg’s last words replayed inside Bei’s head. Terra Dos. Combat was no place for children or new inductees. They’d have to find the planet first, then plot their revenge. If the
America
and her escorts made it this far. He boxed up his negativity. Should the
America
receive any of Bei’s transmissions, they might be spared as many casualties.
All eyes turned to Bei as the boxes on the screen remained unopened. Fear ticked along his equilibrium. The data contained within those boxes were time bombs he couldn’t diffuse. Yet, wasn’t imagining worse than actually seeing it?
What could be worse than targeting children in a campaign of genocide?
As if sensing Bei’s turmoil, XO Penig cleared his throat. “Until the admiral says so, whatever is inside those data clips does not leave the bridge. Neither will what we see alter our course. We owe those inductees a chance at life, not an existence measured by milestones of vengeance.”
Bei’s lips twitched. Not for the first time, he wondered why XO Penig hadn’t been made Admiral of the Fleet. “Lieutenant Berlin, open the Academy data packets and display them side by side.”
“Aye, Admiral,” the lieutenant answered. The gift box unwrapped itself and five files moved to the open screens, where they unzipped. “Data has somewhat degraded, but I’m buffering and compensating. There should only be a ten second delay.”
Bei eased forward to stand next to his executive officer. Tension wafted off the senior staff behind him.
Through the green tint of night vision lenses, three LCDs gave a bird’s eye view of the snaking Mississippi River to the East, the square fallow fields to the North and South and the landing pads on the West. The fourth screen was subdivided into quarters, each offering a ground level view of the campus and dorms, including the guarded single gate. The time stamp next to the dark buildings showed two in the morning six weeks ago.
XO Penig rested his elbow on the metal armrest and palmed his chin. His blue eyes focused on the dark screens. “When did you suspect the Council would turn on us?”
“I didn’t.” Bei inhaled sharply as the cluster of rectangles comprising the Syn-En Academy flashed on the four screens. His heart pulsed with anticipation. “But from truncated conversations, whispers and requests for training by citizen police agencies while at UEN, I knew the Syn-En were an endangered species.”
Penig drummed his fingers against his pointed chin. “There’s always been calls for the Syn-En to be decommissioned.”
Headlights appeared on the road leading to the academy and the satellite imagery showed two dozen unidentified bogeys flying in from the west. The screen with the official news broadcast remained dark.
Lieutenant Berlin caught Bei’s eye. “I’ve set them to sync so we will see their interpretation against our raw data.”
Bei nodded. “It’s no secret that the citizens don’t trust our implants. They think we’re too much like machines. Too perfect to put up with human flaws and they’re worried because most of us come from, poorer nation states.”
Jane’s
identified the bogeys as UEN citizen
Stellar
class patrol ships.
A muscle twitched in Penig’s jaw. His fringe of white hair quivered. “That explains why the alarms didn’t sound and why the money for the supposed cancelled
Stellar
program never appeared in the budget. The bastards kept the ships for themselves.”
“That was two years ago,” Shang’hai’s soft voice cut in from beside Bei. “
Beagle
s are away.”
So now Bei knew
when
the UEN started counting down the days to the end of the Syn-Ens. The Council must have been shitting their pants to have the wormhole solve the dilemma of how to eliminate half the Syn-Ens without alerting others.
Bei was surprised at how little the timeline actually mattered. They couldn’t go back to Earth now, not and live there. “Two years ago, the country movement started gaining political grounds in the UEN. The self-proclaimed Britons, Statesians, Canadians, Germans and Swedes wanted more say in how Council spent their taxes.”
Shang’hai snorted. “Those fools? Remember the rumors circulating about a virus that could infect our cerebral interfaces, alter our programming so we’d assassinate the richer Citizens from AusAwk, Asia and South America member nations?”
Bei shared a smile with his engineer over the absurdity of it all. “You forgot that we’d then distribute the wealth among the poor civilians.”
His humor vanished as on screen the
Stellar
shuttles’ weapons went hot. Warning lights flared on the Syn-En satellites, indicating alarms had been sounded. A citizen command scrolled across the screen in ticker tape fashion and the warning disappeared. Heat sensors picked up minimal life signs in the buildings. All converged on the communications room. A larger heat signature registered in the training grounds, no doubt the inductees and recruits playing safely behind posted live ordinance warning signs.
XO Penig shifted in his seat. Over a hundred armed missiles left the shuttles. “That’s madness.”
A digital clock appeared on the bottom of the screens, counting down the time to impact. The land vehicles stopped their approach. Two teams climbed out. The satellite picked up surface to air missiles.