Tommy Thorn Marked (27 page)

Tommy nodded.

“Better grab it,” Sloan said before searching for the team’s medic. He found him tending to Piya under the cover of a stand of trees. “Doc!”

The medic looked back over his shoulder and shook his head sadly. “He’s gone, Skipper.”

Sloan nodded and jerked his head toward Decker, who, along with the rest of the team, had begun darting out of the clearing. They moved swiftly along the stream, stopping to take cover in the trees and bushes that grew more densely near the smooth rocks that lined the bank of the small river.

Sloan watched and waited as the medic hurriedly packed away some supplies and dashed off to join the team—he then took a moment to kneel by the body of Piya.

Tommy looked on as the Q commander gently opened the dead warrior’s darkened faceplate, then bent close to the young alien’s cheek and whispered something that was meant for only the now-departed warrior. He then stood and looked over the edge of the steep cliff face that bordered the southern side of the pass, as if seeking something in the cloudless deep blue sky, before snapping his faceplate closed.

“Stay next to me,” Sloan finally said as he watched Tommy wrench an arm through a strap on the retrieved emergency supply pack. “Can you move in that damn suit?”

Tommy looked down at his lightly armored, dark gray pressure suit. “Sure, yeah, I—”

“How about a weapon?” Sloan interrupted.

“We got to move, LT,” Decker said over Sloan’s comm.

Tommy pulled a small handheld blaster from a holster on the left side of his suit and proudly displayed it.

Sloan put a hand to his helmeted head, looked up into the bright Vargus sunlight, and sighed. He then kicked a dead Vargus solider clear of his blaster rifle, grabbed it along with a couple of charging modules, and threw them at Tommy.

“We got’a move, Thorn. When this patrol doesn’t check in, the pinheads are sure to get curious.”

And right on cue a pair of Venoms came screaming down the narrow valley.

“Move!” Sloan yelled and headed for cover, Tommy close behind.

No one flinched as the two fighters made several passes over the crash site.

“Do you think they saw us?” Tommy asked as the pair of Venoms, satisfied with their recon, finally climbed out of sight.

“Are you kidding, Thorn?” Sloan said sarcastically before turning in the direction of Decker. “Move out, Deck, let’s put some clicks between us and this clearing,” he said, already bounding through the thick brush. “I’m sure they’ve already got an assault transport on the way—and keep an eye out for those damn stalkers!”

Admiral Kada used the first of his six fingers to slowly scroll through his datapad. He had looked at the numbers several times, as if hoping, with each new inspection, that they might somehow magically change or even vanish completely.

“Enter,” Kada responded to his hatch’s chime.

Colonel Franza timidly walked into the admiral’s dimly lit stateroom. “I have the latest updates, sir.”

Two years ago, when the then-Lieutenant Colonel Franza had accepted a position on the admiral’s staff, it had seemed like a sure way to earn his command baton. General slots were hard to secure; one had to find a war or a rising star. Franza had mistakenly thought that he had found both.

“Let’s have them, Colonel,” Kada said, leaning his large head back against the chair to stare up at the gray featureless ceiling.

Franza fidgeted with his datapad.

“Well, come on, Colonel, the numbers!” Kada insisted.

“Twelve annihilators lost, four badly damaged. We also lost eight corvette gunners, seven frigates, a pair of shadows, and one super cruiser.”

Kada sat up in his chair. “A cruiser?”

“Yes, sir, the Starhawk.”

The admiral seemed confused.

“Captain Jad went into a low orbit to help with the rescue efforts of his transport barges—they were torn up by the—”

Kada interrupted. “Captain Jad. He disobeyed a direct order! I’ll have him—”

Franza cleared his drying throat and politely cut the admiral off. “He died with his crew. Group commander Admiral Ty is recommending him for a Golden Dagger, sir.”

Kada slumped back into his chair, rested his great head in one hand, and said, without looking up at his chief of staff, “Continue.”

“Five full squadrons of Scats, sixty-three barges, forty-eight Rapiers, thirty-one Firestorms, twenty-six T-bolts, twelve Starbirds—”

“Enough!” The admiral jumped to his feet. “Enough…”

Franza once again lowered his datapad and looked on as Kada slouched back into his chair.

“What do we have left, Colonel?” he finally asked.

A week ago it was his fleet,
Franza thought.
Now it’s we?

“We…can still put together seven full battle groups with ships of the line, but with the loss of nineteen Warrior Corps brigades and almost a third of our transports, a full-scale invasion seems—at least until we figure out how to take out their shields—problematic.”

“It’s those guns, Colonel. Why didn’t we know more about those damn guns?”

“As you know, Admiral, the existence of the guns was widely known. It was the decision of the combined admiralty that the Vargus claims of their invincibility were pure, well, bravado.”

Kada seethed.

Franza took a breath and continued. “Their secure underground location made it difficult to ascertain exact capabilities. In fact, any target of value is buried far below the surface—power supplies, hanger bays, command centers, but based on known technological advances it was thought—”

Kada raised his hand. “It’s the shields, Colonel, they’re the key. If we take out the shields, the guns fall and then Vargus.”

“Our Firestorms have pounded their shields, Admiral. We need the annihilators or even concentrated gunners,” Franza offered.

“Yes, yes, of course. But the power required, Colonel. Why the shields alone…”

Franza, feeling sick, paused long enough to access additional data. “All power is routed to the planet’s defensive systems during times of emergency. The populace makes do with aux power supplies. If individuals perish—well, so be it.”

Kada shook his head. “Amazing.”

“The massive ion cannons, once deployed, work in conjunction with shield modulators. Small areas of the field blink for an instant, allowing a focused blast of tremendous energy to escape. They’re not much good, as we’ve seen, on fast moving targets and they do have range limitations, but they’re absolutely devastating on large, slow-moving ships,” the Colonel continued.

“Annihilators,” Kada mumbled and walked toward his cabin’s expansive series of viewing ports.

“It would seem they were designed for the sole purpose of defeating them, Admiral.”

Franza waited for the Imperial admiral to say something, but after long agonizing moments of silence, he again spoke up. “The intel teams were right about one thing though.”

Kada looked up, eyes not really focused on the colonel. Instead they seemed to be staring at someplace or something far away.

“The Vargins are in no way able to match our might in any kind of confrontation in space. What battle fleets they do have are built to protect their rather large number of commercial transports against low-tech pirates or local rebels. These fleets, by the way, have fled out of the system,” Franza finished and lowered the datapad.

“Get a report ready for the Empress. I’ll need time to review it before transmittal,” Kada ordered.

Franza nodded. He knew someone’s head was going into a box over this fiasco, and he’d make damn sure it wasn’t his.

“And put a blockade plan together, Colonel. I want this planet isolated. Then get the staff working on an op-plan to hit the other, weaker members of the Collation. We will break this feeble coalition.” Kada then waved his hand, dismissing the colonel, and turned again to his view ports, the blue-green planet of Vargus slowly rotating in the distance.

“We’ll break them…” Franza heard the admiral murmur to himself as the hatch slid closed.

It had been almost ten days, and what was left of Sloan’s team, including Tommy, had endured a grueling eastward trek over the rugged mountains that ran like a pointy spine along the western coast of the battle-torn southern region. They were stranded, low on supplies, and forced to move only under the cover of darkness, using their suit’s infrared shielding to avoid detection. The southern region—well, all of Vargus—had been deemed too dangerous for any rescue attempt, although several Scat pilots, including Gary and Bo, had pleaded for an opportunity. And so it was decided. The team would continue on to the Shifting Sea and hold out for as long as they could while high command figured out a plan.

“It looks empty,” Tommy said while staring up at the night sky.

Sloan and Tommy were crouched down behind a group of large boulders on the western edge of the great desert. Both had secretly given up all hope of rescue days ago.

“Looks a lot like Earth’s stars—all of these systems on the fringe look this way, desolate, dark, and alone,” Sloan said. He calibrated his visor’s NV settings and redirected his gaze toward the team’s concealed positions.

“You ever stop to think about the Vargin?” Tommy asked.

Sloan popped open his faceplate. “Whaddya mean?”

Tommy thought it was nice to hear his old roommate’s voice without the comm system’s electronic distortion. “You know, this is their planet. They do have a right to defend it.”

“You’re right, Tommy, it is their planet, but it exists within a galaxy full of life forms, most of which live together in a harmonious stability provided by the Empire. A single planet, system, or even a group of systems cannot be allowed to endanger that,” Sloan said.

“Yes, I know, galactic politics and the rights of imperial rule. But what about the right of self-rule? I mean, look at this place. They don’t control trade routes; we’ve both seen the reports on their space force—these guys are sure not a threat,” Tommy said.

I know you flyboys aren’t used to seeing death up close. I guess when you squeeze the trigger you don’t really think about the damage eight high-powered blasters can do. But an insurrection, even though it seems insignificant, starts to pull on the fabric that holds us all together—there is no order without the Empire,” Sloan responded thoughtfully.

“Tightly controlled order,” Tommy said and swatted at a humming pest.

“The galaxy needs control. Without it there is only chaos and death. And let’s not forget how much even our own home world has benefited,” Sloan added.

Chaos and death, Tommy remembered the same words coming from Remus. “Sure, Earth has gained, but they’ve lost things as well. And Earth was nowhere near as advanced as Vargus.” He paused to shoo away the persistent pest.

Sloan’s eyes suddenly widened, and he slapped down his faceplate. “Decker, move the team up into the rocks. They know we’re here!”

Decker looked back over his shoulder, up past the steep slope of rocks that blended into the shadowy gray towering mountain and onto the patch of dark cloudless sky beyond. “We won’t get much of a warning, LT,” he said.

Sloan nodded in the darkness. “You think it’s gonna matter much, Deck?”

“What’s going on?” Tommy asked as Sloan started checking power packs.

“Smile for the camera,” Sloan said and looked up toward the tiny floating hoverbot.

Tommy moved his head back and slapped the tiny surveillance device, crushing it against a rock face.

“It’s too late, Tommy. That thing has already reported our position. This place will be crawling with pinheads before dawn,” Sloan said.

Tommy nodded and started checking his equipment.
It would be nice to have one of the commando suit’s night-vision faceplates,
he thought.

“I want you to head up,” Sloan continued, motioning up the rock face. “As far as you can and take cover.”

“I won’t be of much use up there. I can barely—”

Sloan cut him off before toggling his faceplate’s release and making eye contact with his old friend. “One more blaster, more or less, is not going to make a difference, Tommy.”

“You never know, we—”

“The only chance you’ve got is to stay out of sight,” Sloan interrupted.