Loyalties (HMCS Borealis Book 3) Page 13

  He pressed a button on the intercom. "Sap? Jerry? We're at New Halifax."

  The communications console lit up, as a transmission came over the traffic control channel. "Nova Cat, this is Borden Station. You are in a restricted system. Please state your intentions, over."

  Maya leaned forward, her face near to the console. "Borden Station, this is Nova Cat. We have fifty-five refugees on board, who need somewhere to stay." She glanced at Eric, her eyebrows lifted in a question. Eric nodded. "Also," she continued, "we have two RCN officers who need to get to their ship. Please advise. Over."

  Jerry appeared at the cockpit doorway. His hair was disheveled, and he was scratching at his head while he yawned. Behind him, Eric could see Sap's face trying to look over Jerry's shoulder. "What's up?" asked Jerry.

  Maya gestured toward the console. "We just got here, and made contact. I'm waiting to hear back—"

  The voice came from the console again. "Nova Cat, proceed to Diefenbaker Station, 'B' ring, for a docking assignment. The refugees will be accepted there. Ask your naval personnel to debark there as well; a shuttle will be sent for them. Over."

  "We copy, Borden Station. Thank you."

  Maya shifted back in her seat, her hands going to the piloting controls. At her touch, the ship gave an uneasy veer to starboard before righting itself.

  Jerry was fidgeting in the doorway. "You okay to take us in? Eric, maybe I could—"

  Eric was on his feet, climbing out of the pilot's seat. "Sure thing," he said. As Jerry slid past him, Eric retreated to the cockpit door. Behind Sap, a few curious faces had emerged.

  Sap nodded toward him. "Good evening, Eric. You couldn't sleep?"

  "Not really. I knew we were almost here. Just went around checking maintenance panels to keep my mind occupied."

  Sap nodded sagely. "I understand. One difficult journey ends, and another is about to begin. It is a normal time to be anxious."

  "What about you, Sap?" asked Eric.

  Sap smiled, his narrow teeth white against his red face. "Words cannot express," he said, "how much I want a decent cup of coffee."

  CHAPTER 17

  When Dillon's shuttle docked with the squadron flagship Bonaventure, he was met at the airlock by a half-dozen smartly-uniformed crew. Welcoming him aboard was Commander Richards, the Bonaventure's affable, grey-haired executive officer. After a salute and a handshake, the 'XO' began to lead Dillon toward the stern.

  They ducked through crowded passageways like those on Borealis. Every corridor they turned down, every hatchway they stepped through, there were repair teams: crewmembers hard at work, side by side with shipyard workers from Borden Station. Nests of tangled cabling were being bypassed with jump cables, cracked or stressed beams were being strengthened with adhesive steel panels, and leaking hatches were sealed with foam. Proper repairs would have to wait.

  Dillon politely exchanged small talk with Richards as they headed aft, but whenever they passed a repair crew he thought about the condition of their ships. Each time the ships went out to meet the Horlan, they were in worse condition than the trip before. More missing or malfunctioning parts, more stressed hull structures, more jury-rigged repairs. Each time, the ships of the fleet were a little less capable, and a little less resilient. The Horlan ships were living things, and had no such problems: they showed up at every battle ready for another fight. Ships encountered in previous battles were regularly seen again, with healed-over scars where previous damage had been inflicted by human weapons. Some of the Horlan ships had been seen so often — or were so recognisable — they had been given names, like 'Herbert', 'Crater', and 'Bubba'.

  Commander Richards stopped next to the wardroom door, and motioned for Dillon to enter. Dillon shook hands with the officer, then stepped inside.

  The wardroom was at least twice the size of the one on Borealis. Bonaventure was one of the big old cruisers, originally having a crew of 200 before automation cut that in half. The wardroom was dominated by a long table with a polished wood surface that ran the length of the room. Seeing Dillon enter, two other officers walked around the end of the table to greet him.

  "Dillon!" said Commander Sanchez. The captain of HMCS Regina was a head shorter than Dillon, with small round glasses and a ready smile. He shook Dillon's offered hand. "How are you, Dillon? Borealis has been busy."

  "Hey, Sanchez," said Dillon. "Good to see you."

  The other commander good-naturedly shouldered her way in front, reaching out to shake Dillon's hand as well. "Never mind Sanchez," she said, an impish grin on her freckled face. "I saw all those Horlan chase after you. Holy fuck, Dillon, you must've been at full clench."

  "Hey, Fedyk," said Dillon. He shook his head as he laughed. "It was pretty damned scary, yeah. How'd you two make out?"

  "Not a scratch," said Fedyk. Sanchez gave a tilt of his head, his smile fading. "Some problems, yes. We took a hit, and had the same problem with armour spalling. Three people were injured. It wasn't good."

  Fedyk's smile disappeared. "Sorry about your losses, Dillon. How's Chief Black?"

  Captain West burst into the room, walking past the three of them without stopping, headed to the front of the table. "I heard someone mention Chief Black. How is she, Dillon? She going to get her sight back?"

  "She's going to be fine, sir."

  West grabbed the back of a chair and pulled it away from the table, her eyes on Dillon. "Bullshit," she declared.

  "Sir, I don't—"

  The squadron commander dropped into her chair. "I'll ask a different question, then: will she be able to do her job?"

  "I believe so, sir."

  West grunted. "You'll stand by your Chief, enough to feed me bullshit. I can respect that." She motioned to the chairs nearest to hers. "Park it, you three."

  Dillon walked ahead of Fedyk along the side of the table, taking a seat next to West, while Sanchez went to the other side of the table. West locked eyes with each of them in turn before she spoke. "Good to see the three of you. We've had some tough times, and tougher times are still to come."

  Tapping at a datapad, West glanced up as a holoprojector came to life in the middle of the table. Its shimmering image resolved into a map of the local star cluster.

  West leaned forward, putting her arms on the table. "Admiral Clarke gave a briefing this morning. I can now tell you what's going on." She pointed one finger at the hologram; numbered symbols appeared next to some of the stars in the display. "Naval Intelligence has been running computer models on what the Horlan are up to. The enemy has started a pivot in their direction of advance, aiming themselves in the general direction of Earth. But Intel doesn't think they're headed to Earth, and I agree with them."

  The holographic projection zoomed in, to show the Solar system and its nearest neighbours. "We believe the Horlan want the jump gate. We're not entirely sure what they want it for, but we believe that's where they're headed. The way they chased after Borealis confirms Admiral Clarke's opinion: the Horlan want to get their claws on the biggest jump drives they can find. The two most powerful jump drives in existence are the jump gate and the Borealis, in that order. And we plan to use that information to beat the hell out of them."

  West paused, and the other officers remained silent. Dillon watched the projection for a while, then looked at West. She was watching him again, her dark brown eyes locked on to him as if expecting an answer to an unspoken question. Only one thing came to mind. "Are you saying Borealis is going to be bait, sir?"

  She gave a brief nod, apparently satisfied. "I won't lie to you, Dillon: that was my suggestion to Admiral Clarke. But no, he thinks the jump gate itself will be more than enough to keep the Horlan interested." She turned to at Sanchez and Fedyk, who were paying rapt attention. "The Second Cruiser Squadron will head to the jump gate, with several other squadrons of cruisers and destroyers. Every other ship we can muster will be deployed nearby. The moment the Horlan commit themselves to an attack on the jump gate, everything will pounce."


  Fedyk whistled. "Jesus. What a fight that'll be."

  West just nodded. "It will. Everything will be decided in an afternoon. We hope."

  Sanchez raised one hand off the table. "Captain West, I have questions."

  "Of course. A lot of them, I bet. This is just a summary. Detailed instructions will be distributed later today. But one vital point is this: we want complete kills. It's not enough to damage a Horlan ship until it withdraws. We need them dead, or else the damn things will just heal and come back."

  She pointed at Dillon. "Borealis won't be in the fight. There's a special job for her."

  Dillon's stomach cramped up, reminding him he'd only had a cold cup of coffee for breakfast. He didn't like the sound of this 'special job', but asked anyway. "Sir? What do they have in mind?"

  "The jump gate is the only way to get to Daltanin space. Except for Borealis. She's the only ship that has a jump drive powerful enough to make the jump herself. We don't have more drives like hers installed, not yet. Aurora is getting the next one, but she's a month away from being ready. Hell, there have been so many delays, she's been 'a month away' for a year now."

  "I understand, sir. So—"

  "So, Dillon, there were a lot of research vessels in Daltanin space. We've ordered them to come home, but three of them haven't made it yet. They're packed with hundreds of humanity's best scientists and all the stuff they've found. We expect to lose the jump gate, so Borealis is their ticket home. You're going to round up the scientists and bring them back."

  Dillon wasn't sure he'd heard that. "Sorry, sir? We expect to lose the jump gate?"

  West gave an impatient wave of her hand. "If the Horlan try to blow it up, we won't be able to stop them. If they want to capture it intact, we'll blow it up ourselves. Either way, those three science ships won't get home before we lose the gate. Hell, we can't even find one of them. You're going to go get them."

  "Aye aye, sir. I understand."

  So, thought Dillon, Borealis was going back to Daltanin space. By herself. Alone in a dead galaxy, searching for three science ships. Since they couldn't bring other ships with them when they jumped, they'd have to transfer the scientists aboard—

  "I see the look on your face, Dillon. Don't get lost in the details just yet. I'm only giving you an overview for now. Fully detailed orders will be transmitted to you within the next couple hours." She flicked to a different page on her datapad. "And that includes personnel changes. All three of you are losing your executive officers. More ships are being reactivated, and we don't have enough experienced captains. Kalla, Gauvin, and Edwards are all getting their own commands."

  Fedyk put her hands on the table. "What? Sir, are you—"

  "Also, Dillon, my engineer is out of action, so I'm taking yours. Tell Lieutenant Campbell to report to Bonaventure. "

  "Sir," protested Dillon, "I can't run a ship without—"

  Captain West waved a hand. "Don't want to hear it, any of you. You'll all get used to working without an XO, at least for now. Promote one of your lieutenants. As for you Dillon, this leaves you short an engineer, plus you're short an officer already. I've taken care of it: replacements will be reporting to Borealis later today."

  Dillon shook his head. The armour had failed. The port-side gun was gone. The ship was full of makeshift repairs, and now he was losing Kalla and Campbell. What next?

  "Cheer up, Dillon. Your new officers are both recalls. You'll get along with them, I promise."

  CHAPTER 18

  It was Elan's favourite type of snow. Behind his veil, he smiled.

  His eyes were drawn up toward the ceiling, watching as giant flakes floated downward. Without wind to push them, each seemed to find its own way: thousands of tiny free spirits, each descending from the sky. Some chose to come in through the open dome above, tumbling end over end as they fell into the Temple of the Divines. Some rotated, some slid sideways or even moved upwards for a moment, pushed by some unseen draft or current.

  A delicate layer of white had begun to settle in the Temple, covering the blue-haired heads of the congregants. A drift had formed on the central dais; lazy swirls of wind curled the flakes around the feet of the Pentarch and the several Tassalis who stood in front of Heather.

  Heather's words filled the Temple, as she recited the usual verses of the Book of Elinth. Though there was little music in her voice, she spoke with confidence and determination. Her human accent gave an unusual rhythm to the words, echoed by the soft chanting of thousands of gathered Palani voices.

  Without moving his head, Elan focused his eyes skyward, following a single flake far above. It came to rest on the shoulder of a senior Tassali who crouched in front of Heather; along with a second Tassali, the man held the ancient bound Erwa from which Heather was reading.

  Elan noticed the Tassali's face. The man's brow was furrowed, his eyes widening as he glanced to his left and right. Something wasn't right.

  Then Elan heard it. The congregation had gone silent. There was murmuring in the rows of the faithful. Pentarch Ontelis was turning to stare at Heather; hers was the only voice speaking.

  She was not speaking the next verse of the Book of Elinth, Elan realised. It took him a moment to focus on what she was saying.

  Her Palani was accented, but excellent. She had little of the hesitation that used to come through in her words.

  "…a time of sorrow, but it should not be a time of despair. I speak now on my own behalf, as well as on behalf of the Elanasal Palani."

  A spotlight illuminated Elan. Tiny hovering cameras swivelled to look down on him, focusing on his face. His every move, like Heather's, would be immediately broadcast to the Palani people and beyond.

  Elan looked toward Heather. She had turned her head toward him, only her eyes visible over the top of her veil. Her golden hair glittered under the lights, along with the melting snow building up on the fur-covered mantle on her shoulders. There was a question in her gaze. He saw the tiny crinkle at the corner of her eye; under her veil, he knew she was smiling. Elan gave her a brief nod, the merest tilt of his head, and turned to face the cameras and the lights in front of him. He chose to ignore Pentarch Ontelis, who stood at the edge of the dais staring at him and shaking his head.

  Elan smiled under his veil. "The Chosen One speaks for me. We are of one mind. Such is the will of the Divines."

  The lights disappeared from in front of him, the cameras swivelling back to Heather. The Tassali had retreated with the Erwa, leaving her to face the cameras alone.

  Her voice was surprisingly clear. "The Elanasal Palani and I have made a choice. When the Kahadya is ready, we will not be on it. My place is with the Elanasal, and his place is with me, and our place is here, with the Palani people. We will not leave. We will share your fate. And we believe that we must join together, with each other and with the other races of the galaxy, whatever we may think of them. Together, we can fight the Horlan. Defeat is not inevitable. Hope is not dead. So long as we are willing to sacrifice for each other, hope will never die."

  Heather's last words echoed through the silent Temple, muffled by the falling snow. Elan had never heard the Temple so quiet, not when it was empty and certainly not when it was full of a hundred thousand faithful. He thought if he listened carefully, he would be able to hear the whisper of snowflakes landing on the floor.

  There was a noise, a sharp slap, as of skin on skin. It repeated, and became a steady beat. A second beat joined in. The sound spread, until the combined noises sounded like a waterfall crashing onto rocks. Elan had to squint to see what the congregants were doing; they were moving their arms, clapping their hands together. A totally human action, a totally human response: applause.

  * * *

  The rest of the ritual had gone without incident. After the applause had died down, Heather had continued reciting the Book of Elinth. Picking up where she had left off, she had spoken from memory while the Tassali hurried to bring the Erwa back in front of her. Not another word was s
poken of her outburst, but the change in the mood of the congregation was obvious. Elan could sense the surge in energy. The faithful followed the remainder of the ritual with renewed enthusiasm. Each verse, each hymn, was now sung with louder, clearer voices.

  After the ritual had concluded, and the robes and artifacts had been put away, Elan and Heather had been escorted to the elevator up to the Chapel of the Pentarch. Not forced, not by any means, as that would be a sin. But escorted, by anxious-looking Tassali who asked the two of them to come, and who truly, fervently, hoped they would. No doubt they had been ordered to make sure they heeded the summons; but what would they do if their Prophet and Chosen One refused?

  When the elevator doors had opened at the top of the dome, into the Chapel, the five Pentarch had been waiting for them. They sat, imperious and angry, on chairs set in a semi-circle. With no chairs for the two of them, Elan surmised that he and Heather were expected to stand before the five seated Pentarch, as though on trial. Which, in a way, they probably were.

  But even then, Heather seemed immune to their condescension. Seeing nowhere to sit, the pregnant Heather had begun, awkwardly, to lower herself to the floor, to sit on the marble tiles in the middle of the room.

  Balhammis was on his feet at once, rising from his chair and taking two mighty strides to Heather's side. Her hand was tiny in his, as the mountainous Pentarch gently helped her to her feet. The other Pentarch looked on in awkward silence as Balhammis guided Heather to his chair and helped her sit down. With a smile and a nod to her, he walked to the end of the line of chairs, motioning for Elan to stand next to Heather.

  Pentarch Ontelis no longer seemed angry. The blue flush in his cheeks had been replaced by lines of fatigue. Threnia, for her part, was still livid, maintaining her anger as well as her grip on the arms of her chair. Fennin was quietly reading through the contents of a datapad, while Ivenna looked from person to person, her face serene and calm, with an unfinished smile curling her lips.