The Unexpected
#16 of The Odds Against
Alrighty, here we go again. Two new chapters of the Odds Against series. I hope you enjoy them.
As always comments are appreciated and requested.
Continued from 'New Dangers Lurking...'
11-14-3015
Time Index; 1500 hours GST
MAS Adaron
Colyon system, Merxian space
"Captain, the last teams of my rangers are back aboard." Tyr said, walking into the bridge to stand behind the commanding officer's station. Technically speaking, the marine officer outranked Commander Rasielle, the skipper of the Adaron, but since he didn't know the first thing about commanding a ship, Tyr usually just stayed out of the bridge, and therefore out of the way.
"Good," The white and black furred bat replied, looking up as Tyr handed him a pad. "What's this?"
"Course change authorization. We will need to make a slight detour on our way to refit." Tyr stated and the bat examined the pad for a moment before looking back at the marine, his large, conical ears twitching slightly.
"Colonel, this is not a slight detour." The Commander said, looking at the marine contemplatively. "Sython is way out of the way."
"Its important, Commander." Tyr said and the other officer shrugged. "We can arrange for a little shore leave for the crew while we are there. Should be a short trip."
"Whatever Colonel. You're the ranking officer." The bat replied, turning back to the screens that displayed data on the ship's status, "Its your hide if we get in trouble."
"Commander, the moorings have been retracted and we are ready for departure on your order." The operations officer called, not looking up from his station and Tyr shook his head, rolling his eyes at the bat's back.
The chiropterans were usually a very easy going people, so much so that they did not often join the Alliance's military. Tyr personally believed that both traits were because their ability to fly meant they were relatively fragile, compared to the other Merxian races, so they had developed a more palatable disposition in order to survive. Of course, that very natural ability made them a very valuable part of the military, especially in the combat services, allowing them to easily reach places where other speices could only get to after a long and often hard climb. Commander Rasielle might have seemed to be the exception to both of those rules, since he seemed born to the military way of life, completely at ease commanding his crew; he also possessed a somewhat acidic, standoffish personality most of the time. When Tyr had taken command of the Turlion Rangers, he had looked up the Commander's file, being understandably curious about him and he had been surprised to find that almost the entirety of the bat's career before transferring into ship operations five years ago was a mystery, his former assignments classified way above Tyr's head. And that, coupled with the long, healed scar across one of his membranous wings had made Tyr respect the commander, no matter his attitude.
"Very well." Rasielle replied, "Helm, take us out. Navigator, plot a course for Sython." Grinning to himself, Tyr turned to leave the bridge. As the coyote stepped into the lift, he made a mental note to ask Katy if she could find out what Rasielle had done in his past. If it was anything like he expected, the commander could be very useful resource to their conspiracy, if he could be convinced to join it...
***
11-14-3015
Time Index; 1507 hours GST
Corallis 2, Planetary grid N17
Corallis system, Terran border space
Disconnecting the crystalline block that contained my copy of our data about the Conclave from my computer terminal and stowing it in a padded case, I barely restrained the wistful sigh that threatened to escape from me. My mate was doing the same thing I was right behind me and though we were taking our time with our preparations to leave, we were still preparing. The last time I had let out such a sigh, we had shared a sudden surge of sorrow, a sensation that almost made me break into tears. We had barely said a word to each other since the sun rose an hour ago, and little enough in the hours before that. Every time we tried to talk, our emotions had overwhelmed our thoughts, making them unintelligible. Even now, as we packed up the last of our equipment, our minds were tightly joined, holding onto that comforting link every moment we could. We had only barely slept last night, the knowledge that our time together was coming to an end making it impossible to nod off. Instead, we had lain in each other's arms, just holding each other, finding serenity and solace in our embrace.
Shaking my head, I closed my eyes, swallowing against the sudden lump in my throat. The sudden sorrow was not my own, at least, no wholly mine, but I felt it just as keenly as if it were. Since my psychic abilities had begun to develop as a teenager, I had heard about what it was like to join your mind so completely with another psychic that there was no boundary between you. My teachers had always spoken of it with a wistful note in their voices, as if recalling a fond moment of pleasure. Ever since it had first been described to me, I had wanted to experience it, but what I had not expected, what had not even occurred to me, was what it would be like to be forced to lose that connection once it had been made. Even thinking about it was a physical pain, the slightest hint of parting worse than anything I had experienced before. Both Katy and I had been wounded before, our scars a testament to our long experience with pain, but that had only been the pain of the body. You could get used to that, could ignore it, or learn to control it, to push it aside. But this...
'Don't...' Katy's voice said, her mental speech barely understandable amidst the blast of emotion that came with it and I shook my head once more, trying to close the latches on the equipment case as I fought to control my roiling emotions. For some reason, my fingers couldn't seem to figure out how to work the simple clasps, shaking so badly that I couldn't use them. Clenching my fists hard enough for my nails to bite, I tried to will myself back into control, but my heart just wasn't in it. I could feel the tide of sorrow and longing beating at my crumbling resistance, and I let out a shuddering breath, trying my damnedest not to give in to it. But truthfully, I wanted to cry, wanted to show the universe how badly I wanted to stay here, to disappear from civilization and spend every moment of the rest of my life with my beloved mate. Then, suddenly, a hand covered in soft red orange fur was on my shoulder and that did it. The wall I had placed to hold it all back crumbled instantly and I slumped, tears falling from my eyes, a shudder wracking my body as I cried. At once, my mate was there, her arms encircling me from behind, her chin on my shoulder, our bodies pressing together once more. Her embrace was wonderful, but it was bittersweet, tinged with the sorrow of parting. And then, I felt her tears land on my neck and that too was strangely wonderful and terrible.
The lovely vixen who had so completely snared my heart laced her fingers through mine and tucked herself against me, as close as she could. For a time that felt longer than forever, we held tight to each other, crying in silence, our minds filled with a confused jumble of thought and feeling that added up to a fierce longing, made bearable only by being held at bay for a few precious minutes longer. Finally, we mastered ourselves, our combined will enough to push the sorrow back and I heard my lover's voice speak for the first time in days, sounding bleak and almost without hope.
"How are we going to do this?" She asked, her tone making my heart lurch, almost crashing back down into hopeless sorrow. "I can't go another month without you. My heart can't take it."
"I don't know." I replied, my own voice breaking, another shudder washing through me. Leaning my head against hers, I suddenly found a different feeling in my heart, a feeling I couldn't explain. It was a strange warmth, not the comforting warmth of love and affection, nor was it the ferocious fire of anger. Instead, it was a warmth that gave me strength, pulled me up, out of the morass of sorrow I had been mired in. It was the same heat that had kept me going when I had lost Mingan, my closest friend and bloodbrother, the same fire that had kept me fighting even after the black day when the Starwolves had been all but destroyed. "It hurts now, but if we didn't go back, there would be a far greater pain."
"I know." My mate whispered, heaving a heavy sigh and loosening her grip upon me. For the briefest moment, before she scooted back from holding me, I felt a thrill of humor, like a flash of lightning in the dark, and she whispered once more, her voice quavering. "The Conclave is going to pay for forcing us to endure this."
"Indeed." I replied, turning to kiss her. "It is the worst thing they have ever done."
Smiling a sad sort of smile, we both went back to our work, packing the last of our equipment, and then carrying the cases to our fighters. When the cargo compartments of our ships were closed, we spent a slightly silly twenty minutes sorting out our armor, separating the parts and dressing one another. But, at last, the moment came. We stood for a long minute, holding each other in full armor, unable to speak, crying once more in silence even as we shared a last, lingering kiss. Finally, Katy took a step back from me, withdrawing her mind behind the barriers once more as she did so, and I staggered. It suddenly felt as though I had been gutted, everything vital torn from my body in a terrible instant. It hurt so badly that I would not have been at all surprised to find myself suddenly bleeding from a thousand wounds. Biting back the sorrow that ripped at our hearts, we both turned away from one another, slipping our helmets onto our heads and climbing into our cockpits without looking at one another, knowing that if did, we would never be able to leave.
I went through the Tartarus' startup checklist automatically, clinging with all the might my mind possessed to the last link we shared, the connection suddenly seeming so fragile, like the thin covering of ice over a bottomless pool of sorrow. When our fighters left the atmosphere a few minutes later and lined up for a hyperspace jump, we stayed dangerously close for a few moments, our wings almost touching, circling slowly, and I cast out with a last tendril of thought to the one I loved more than the universe and all that existed within it. I felt her answer my touch, a fleeting embrace that felt like a life line, the only thing that could keep me afloat. For a moment, our minds were connected fully once more, just a heartbeat while our jump drives warmed up, and I spoke one last sentence.
'I love you.' I said and I heard her heavenly reply, one last time.
'I love you too.' And then, the view blurred into darkness and she was gone...
***
11-15-3015
Time Index; 0514 hours GST
High orbit over Asgard 3
Asgard system, Terran space
"Repair dock Delta Six, this is Samurai leader," I began, my voice as dull and toneless as a machine, "Requesting docking vectors for TFV Endeavor."
"Wait one Samurai leader, entry vectors are full." The controller replied, sounding unbearably chipper to my ears. "Standoff at four klicks and wait for clearance."
"Received, standing by." I replied, clicking the comm. unit off and settling heavily back into my seat. Even though the return leg of my journey was actually a couple hours shorter than the trip out had been, it seemed to my mind that I had spent several lifetimes in the brooding darkness and silence of hyperspace. The seconds had seemed to crawl by like hours, hours of awful, painful silence. Since the moment my fighter had jumped out of the Corallis system, I had felt all hollow inside, like someone had stolen something vital from inside my chest and left me living in unbearable agony, waiting to die. But I hadn't died, remaining alive to be tormented by the knowledge that in the coming days and weeks, I had only more of the same to look forward to. This wound was far worse than anything I had ever experienced before. And it only hurt worse knowing that there was nothing I could do to get rid of the pain, the only cure was many light years away, and only getting further from me with every passing moment.
I had never thought that joining my mind with Katy's would be such a dangerous thing. It had seemed so obvious, so expected and easy to do it; there couldn't possibly be consequences for such a wonderful thing. I had only thought of the pleasure, the wonder and the joy it had brought. Now that my love was so far away, connected to me by only the most tenuous of threads, there was only bitter pain. Pleasure seemed as if it had never existed at all, that it was only a fantasy, something dreamed up in vain hope amidst an endless nightmare.
Now, I hated every moment I spent in the roomy cockpit; hated the comfortable seat, all the amenities designed to make flying the Tartarus a joy. And most of all, I hated the technology that allowed it to fly faster than light, carrying me away with unimaginable speed from where I most wanted to be. I hated Dr. Tobias Kildahl, the scientist who had invented the Diphasic Conflation Drive System, and hated his successors that had shrunk it so it could be placed into a fighter. I even hated the antimatter and its corresponding matter that gave the DCD life. I had actually arrived in the Asgard system over an hour ago and it had taken me this long to lock my hatred and my anger away behind a façade of professionalism, a practiced skill that came from the dark years of my life after Arc was destroyed. But even so, the only thing that made it worth continuing on at all was the thought that, one day, my mate and I would never need to be apart again, that we could spend every waking moment joined as we had been this last week.
"Samurai leader, you are cleared for entry," The controller said, jarring my thoughts back to the present. "Course is on its way to your nav computer now."
When the HUD on my visor lit up, displaying the course as a dashed line across my vision, I expertly guided my fighter along it, slipping between supply transports and mobile work stations, flying gracefully into the huge repair bay where the battleship was docked. From a distance, the ship looked as though it were ensnared in a huge steel web, work crews swarming all over it, replacing damaged hull plates, repainting and upgrading numerous systems. As I flew by, I felt a brief moment of wonder as I passed a cluster of a dozen small repair ships guiding a tremendous railgun barrel into its housing in one of the massive, iconic turrets that were still, even now, a thousand years after battleships were first made, the mark of the most powerful ship class in existence. The barrel was so huge I could easily have flown my fighter into it with room to spare. Shaking my head, I returned my attention to the small launch tube that was indicated by the HUD. With a light, easy touch, I slid my fighter down the long tube and then brought the ship into a hover, allowing a crew chief to guide me into position with lighted batons. Taking a deep breath, I shut down the fighter and popped the canopy, allowing it to rise fully before I clipped my helmet to my belt and stood up.
"Welcome back, General." A voice said when I had climbed down the ladder the mechanics had wheeled into place and I looked up to find a Naval lieutenant I didn't know standing at ease beside my fighter's nose. Restraining the urge to snap at him in reply, I returned his salute. "The admiral is waiting for you in his office."
"Thank you lieutenant." I said, barely managing to keep the edge out of voice. Really, all I wanted to do right now was go back to the Zephyr and lock myself away in my quarters until I didn't hurt as much, but it would be far easier to see Admiral Tack now, than to try and do it later, especially since there was bound to be a whole lot of work that I had missed while I was on vacation, something that really wouldn't help my mood. "I know the way."
"Of course, sir." He replied, stepping aside so I could pass him. The walk through the familiar corridors took almost ten minutes, but this time, there was a difference to it all. It wasn't just the repair crews that I occasionally passed, or the trailing connectors and wires hanging out of hatches. It was more than that. I couldn't quite place the feeling until I passed into the sprawling armory in the center of the ship where the Marines not on leave were cleaning armor and weapons. When I had been the commander of the Endeavor's fighters, I had more often than not been treated to a lot of good natured jokes and remarks about fighter pilots, my high rank not making much of a difference to the foot soldiers, the brotherhood forged between Marines during training allowing every marine to treat every other one with a familiarity naval personnel often found disrespectful. But now, every marine I passed leapt to attention, saluting me as I passed, dead silence greeting me instead of the usual murmurs.
Finally, as I was walking out of the armory once more, returning the salutes of a pair of captains, newly promoted from the look of the bright shine on their rank insignia, I understood. Fellow Marine or not, former resident of the ship or not, they were no longer comfortable with me being around. When off duty, or in an informal setting like this one, it was a generally accepted fact that the enlisted ranks could be familiar with officers; the various combat services could even tease one another's leaders with relative impunity, as long as they understood that the other services would probably reply in kind. You could even get away with teasing a senior officer, as long as they were one that was at least familiar. But no one, not even senior officers, teased a General. Once you earned a flag, it seemed, the lack of decorum no longer applied.
And strangely, that bothered me a bit. I had always enjoyed the company of other Marines, laughed at their jokes, engaged in normal chat with them. But that was something I apparently could no longer expect. When I looked up a few minutes later to find that my feet had, without my input, carried me along the familiar path to the admiral's office, a short walk from his flag bridge, I put such thoughts out of my head, thinking instead about how I was going to try and bring Admiral Tack into my plan. Of course, I still didn't know what the Admiral had wanted to see me about in the first place, so that made such a conversation hard to plan. Taking a deep breath, I touched the door chime button to announce myself. When the door slid open a moment later, I took a step inside and at once, I felt my psychic abilities come to life, the faint, hardly felt tingle of something being out of place running up my spine, raising goosebumps along my arms. Trusting to my instincts, I opened my mind to the world around me, allowing all of my senses to take in my surroundings.
The office certainly looked the same as ever, with the holographs of the Admiral's family and friends decorating most of the shelf space, along with a few mementoes from his long career, centering on the large, white flag of the Terran navy with five silver stars arranged in a ring in the center that was framed behind his desk. The only sound in the room was the slight hum of electronics, and the tapping of the Admiral's fingers on his keyboard. And yet, my psychic senses were still going haywire, reacting to something that I couldn't see, and couldn't guess at. Without saying a word, I shifted my stance slightly, my right hand drifting unconsciously to the hidden sheath on my thigh where a combat knife was concealed. The Admiral wasn't even looking in my direction, his eyes on the holographic screen and the report it displayed in the air before him. It looked like a fleet wide status report, something that the Admiral himself was required to read and edit once his staff, most of whom were light years away at naval headquarters, wrote it up. Once he was done with his current thought, he looked up and a warm smile spread across his features.
"General, come in, come in." He said, standing up and offering his hand to me. Forcing myself to relax, I took his hand and shook it. "Its good to see you. How is life with stars on your shoulder?"
"Fairly boring so far." I replied, the feeling of something being wrong only getting stronger as we shook hands. "Although I will have a ship to call home in a little while."
"The Zephyr, I heard." He replied, waving me to a chair before his desk. When I gave him a surprised glance, he explained his remark. "Admiral Brinkley mentioned you had accepted it. He and I were in the same class at the academy. It is good to hear that it is going to have a second life; I thought the idea behind the Seraphim class was inspired. Shame what happened."
"Speaking of which, she still needs a crew." I stated, trying to cover my surprise at his unexpected revelation. "I wanted to ask if you had recommendations."
"I could certainly provide you with a list." The admiral replied, taking his seat once again. When I started to speak up again, he put a hand up for a moment. "Just a moment please, General." With that, he tapped the intercom button set into his desk. "Captain Taggart, would you join me in my office? General Cramer has arrived." When the CMO's voice came back in the affirmative, he gestured for me to continue.
"There was something else I wanted to speak to you about, but I think it can wait until the doctor arrives." I said, wondering why he was asking her to join us, though it certainly was convenient. It meant one less stop along the way. "Who did you get to take over the fighter group?"
"You remember Commander Thatcher?" He asked and I raised my eyebrows. Commander Thatcher was a naval pilot three years younger than I was, and I wouldn't have thought he had the experience to command a fighter group, although he was a good wing commander when it came down to it, which was why I had put him in for his Commander rank a year ago. "It took him a couple weeks to settle in but he has been running exercises with all of his squadrons every day since then. He isn't as good as you are, but some of the mock engagements have been truly impressive."
"What did Colonel Samora have to say about that?" I asked and the Admiral grinned. Lieutenant Colonel Samora had been the next most experienced wing commander after me, and he would have been the natural choice for the group commander's slot, had not Admiral Tack chosen someone else.
"Well, nothing, after Thatcher shot him down the third time." The admiral said and I chuckled. Samora had always been a bit of a hot head, and, like most fighter aces, supremely competitive. Being shot down by another pilot, even during an exercise, would have gotten under his skin in a big way, enough to almost start a vendetta, especially because he and Thatcher were of equivalent rank. Of course, being shot down three times by the same pilot would have been enough to take most of the fire out of such a challenge. Every pilot, no matter how arrogant, had to acknowledge another's skill at that point. Those that didn't, well, they were the ones that got overeager and therefore, killed.
"Nice." I replied, sitting back in my chair and smiling ruefully. "I'll have to drop in and congratulate him one of these days. Always knew he had it in him." The admiral looked like he was about to continue the idle chit chat when the door chimed behind me and he tapped the open button set into his desk. Swiveling around in my chair as the door opened, I found the doorway occupied by the fleet's Chief Medical Officer. I had been looking forward to seeing the doctor for more than just the need to discuss the anti-Conclave conspiracy, since we shared a mutual respect that most other naval and marine officers would never have.
The answer to the ever more obvious need for immediate, in-depth care of critically wounded soldiers on the battlefield, Marine Corps Field Surgeons, like myself, were essentially surgeons who had also been trained in the contradictory skill of dealing harm to others. The most experienced Field Surgeons eventually became the equivalent of any fully certified trauma surgeon in skill, and thus were treated with much the same professional respect that doctors always showed to each other. And yet, as the greying woman took a step into the office, there was something in her eyes that put me instantly on guard, the haunted look of one possessing knowledge that she did not wish to know. It was like a shadow hanging over the smile that she wore, and it took every ounce of self-control I had to keep smiling, and moreover, to keep my right hand away from the concealed knife at my side.
My psychic senses were now on full alert, a cold chill running down my spine. Both officers were casually maintaining the mental walls that were meant to block out all but the most determined psychic attacks, but surface emotions always got through. The admiral was almost relaxed, the touch of his mind like a pool of still water, and yet, I could feel a sort of odd tension beneath the surface, even the practiced skill of a senior officer unable to keep his feelings wholly at bay. The Doctor on the other hand, was obviously working hard to keep her emotions in check, fleeting glimpses of excitement, worry, uncertainty and yes, there, under it all, a small element of fear, creeping through despite her efforts to restrain it. I couldn't imagine what could have them both so spooked, but whatever it was made my mind go on the defensive, suddenly evaluating every possible element of the situation.
"Good morning doctor," I said, nodding in greeting to the woman and receiving a nod in return. But what I was thinking was far more involved than pleasantries. Two potential targets in the room. One was old, nearing the age when most officers would be retiring, and was therefore slower and more frail than most. Still, he had almost fifty years of service to draw on, not all of it having been spent commanding a ship. Taggart on the other hand, while still young enough to pose a significant threat, was a full doctor, and therefore adverse to taking life. And yet, I knew from my own experiences that the very knowledge that made her a life saver could, with a slight change in application, be used to disable or kill very efficiently. If it came to a fight, she would be first target, and Tack the second. "How are things?"
"Very well, thank you for asking." She replied, and then looked at the Admiral, who was asking her a question that I didn't listen to. Instead, my mind was already delving into planning out my actions for the coming battle. The problem here would be space. The admiral's office, while lavishly huge by shipboard standards, was too small to fight in for a long time. Which meant I would have to get out as soon as possible. But that too presented a problem. The door only opened at the command of Admiral Tack... "No, I haven't seen Dr. Lochland, not since yesterday. He said he had something to check and then disappeared."
"No matter, I guess we can continue without him." The admiral was saying and I shifted my weight in the chair, gathering my strength to move at a moment's notice. Dr. Lochland? The name was oddly familiar, but my mind, which was going full tilt into the frame of reference all CQB trained commandos learned to adopt on instinct, discarded the name and its mysteries. He wasn't here, and so he was irrelevant to the possible combat situation that could break out at a moment's notice. The admiral was focusing on me again, and I could tell from the look he gave me that he had noticed my shift in stance, and was choosing to ignore it. "Well General, I suppose you have guessed by now that I didn't ask you here just to chat."
"Yes sir." I replied, willing my twitching fingers to be still inside my gloves. That was one advantage that gave me some confidence. Even if either of them were to pull a weapon, I was wearing full, Special Forces grade body armor, while both of them simply had cloth uniforms. Of course, they could be wearing concealed armor beneath their clothes, but such equipment wasn't nearly up to the task of an up close and person fight, not against someone with full combat armor.
"Well, the doctor will explain in more detail, but a situation has arisen regarding your last medical scan, the one taken after you were recovered off of the fourth moon of Arc, and we deemed it serious enough to bring it to your attention as well." The Admiral said and I felt my thinking shift slightly. What were they talking about? Was this a ploy to put me off my guard for an attack? Nothing should have changed in my biological data since the time before my mate and I shot each other down, should it? Even the mate bond wouldn't produce an effect that would be that noticeable, at least, I didn't think so... A brief flash of humor came across my thoughts at the memories that that particular train of thought brought up. Still... it had been one hell of a first date... Shaking that distracting thought out of my brain, I returned my mind to the matter at hand. 'Go ahead Admiral,' my instincts seemed to say, 'bring it on. I'm ready...'
"There is no easy way to say this General," Taggart began, stepping a little bit closer to me, making my hand inch closer to the hidden hilt once more. "So I guess I am just going to have to say it..." I thought I had been prepared for anything, but what the doctor said next was so startling, it brought my racing mind to a screeching halt in an instant, destroying my train of thought in an instant. "There is no other explanation for this, and I am sorry to have to tell you, but... You're part Merxian..."