A Greater Interest: Samair in Argos: Book 4 (72 page)

              “I’ll bet it has,” Typhon agreed.  “Really?  None of them?”  The extra neuro implants he’d brought from the Federation were in short supply.  All of his old soldiers, the original division, those who were still alive, had implants.  A number of wolves recruited over the years, as well as offspring of his troops had received implants from that stockpile.  The supply of those implants was near depleted, which made the plans for a raid in to the Federation all the more pressing.  With supply levels as they were, the next generation of pups would have to go without.  “Have you had an opportunity to crack into the databases on that ship?”

              Nezerek nodded, grinning.  “Yes, General.  The fools didn’t even think to lock down their database.”  He shook his head, ears folding to lay flat.  “These rubes are so inept.”

              Typhon yipped.  “Makes it all the better for us.  What have you found?”

              The major’s tone turned serious again.  “Well, a lot was simply confirmation of intel.  They have a decent level of infrastructure and their Navy is growing slowly but steadily.  However, it consists almost exclusively of light units and destroyers, with their battlecruiser as the flagship.  Aside from that one BC though, they have nothing larger than a ship like this here.”  He waved to indicate the ship.

              “A properly led force of light units can be devastating, Nezerek.  You know that,” the general chided.

              “I do, General.  But their Navy is young and unbloodied.”

              “Unbloodied!” Typhon snorted.  “They fought us at Seylonique.  They lost, but they still fought us there.” 
If not for that smarmy bug cutting and running, we could have won that fight.

              “Yes, sir,” the major replied.  “But from what I’ve been able to uncover, what we fought at Seylonique was an independent defense force.  We never actually engaged their Navy at all.”

              “An independent defense force?”  The general demanded then calmed.  “And you say that their Navy is new and inexperienced?”

              He nodded.  “Yes, General.  Also, a portion of their ships are away from home.  A corvette and this destroyer, which won’t be going home,” he smirked.  “Also the four more corvettes we saw in Heb.  That’s a lot of hulls to send away, sir.”

              “It is,” he agreed.  “And you wouldn’t send six ships out of the system unless you thought you were secure at home.  Perhaps we can do something to upset that.”

              It took less than a day to return to Esselon-Moor and then to offload the various prisoners.  The destroyer captain, however, filled Typhon with disgust when he met him.  It was the same feeling Major Nezerek had experienced when he’d begun his own interrogations.  Medics had kept the wretch alive, but in the three weeks since the capture of his ship, he’d lost a considerable amount of weight.  His fur was graying with stress and was coming out in clumps.  The beatings and other methods of torture had stopped, but the captain had remained confined to quarters, barely fed and genuinely neglected during the whole trip here.

              “So what do you have to say for yourself?” Typhon demanded, looking in on the wolf, interrupting his sleep. 

              The haggard lupusan looked up at this newest tormentor dully.  It was as though he couldn’t make sense of his surroundings and was confused by it all.  The medics were giving him twice daily injections of drugs that kept him pliable, though long term use tended to cause irreversible damage to the neural tissue.  Not that Typhon cared very much for the wretch’s welfare.

              The wolf, such as he was, looked at Typhon, a demeanor of befuddlement on his features, but there was a tiny spark of defiance in his eyes.  He did not answer the general’s question.

              “Some spirit left, I see!” the general declared with a laugh, then stepped into the cabin, his fist raised.  The former captain flinched and cowered away from the blow.

              “No hurt.  D-don’t hurt m-mmeee.”  The wolf’s face was terrified, he had an arm up to try and protect his head.  His voice sounded high and squeaky.  He was trying to fight through the drugs with some limited success.

              “Can he answer questions?” Typhon asked the medic trailing behind him.

              The corpsman shrugged, consulting his medkit.  “He’s still pretty pumped up on the cocktail of drugs keeping him like this.  I have a shot I can administer that’ll clear his head, but the side affects of it combined with all the other crap in his system might fry his livers.”

              Typhon shrugged it off as inconsequential.  “Do it.  I want a round of questions asked and I want him clear headed.”

              “Yes, sir,” the wolf replied, moving forward.  He jabbed a hypo into the carotid artery of the hapless captive.  “Should take about eight to ten minutes to kick in.”

              The general waited impatiently, but within half that time he could tell the new shot was taking effect.  The prisoner’s posture was straighter, the dull look in his eyes had faded.  It was obvious he was trying to hide the clarity his mind now enjoyed but it was also just as obvious he couldn’t hide it.

              “Good.  Now that you’re back with us, I want to know everything that you know about the battlecruiser in Seylonique,” Typhon ordered the other wolf.  “You’re going to tell me, rest assured.  This one here,” he gestured to the medic, who was looking grim, “has a hypo filled with sulfuric acid to inject into your veins, if you prefer the hard way.”  The prisoner shuddered, shaking his head frantically.  “Good.  Now talk.”

              “Wha-at do you w-want to know?” the other lupusan asked, his mouth moving as if it was filled with caramel.

              “Who commands it?  What is the armament?  The crew complement?  Best sublight speed?  The communications frequencies and encryption codes?”

              “I don’t kn-know the comm frequencies or codes,” the wretch said, waving his hands.  Seeing Typhon’s face darkening, he quickly continued.  “But some of them are in this sh-ship’s database.”

              The general grunted.  He’d suspected as much, but it was good to hear that information confirmed.  “And the rest?”

              The captain looked to the deckplates.  It was clear he didn’t want to answer any of these questions, especially not to someone as fearsome as this pirate.  “The ship carries a crew of twenty-eight h-hundred souls and an Army con-nn-tingent of four hundred.”  He looked away, turning to the far bulkhead.  “The commander is Colonel Malachai Gants.”

              “A lupusan, of course,” Typhon said with full confidence.

              “A human,” the captain corrected, turning back to look at him. 

              “Impossible,” the general spat.  “No human would dare challenge a lupusan for command of such a vessel.”  He growled, stepping forward, claws extended.  “You lie!”

              The other wolf flinched again, but he didn’t back down.  “It is not a lie.  Check the records in the database.  You will see it is true.  Gants is a human, the chosen warrior of the council.”

              “They would put a sniveling human in command of their mightiest asset?” Typhon demanded.  Then he took a breath and let it out.  He stared at the other wolf for a long moment, saying nothing, letting the silence hang between them.  The former captain looked as though he wanted to squirm, but he refrained.  Finally, Typhon let out a long growl and turned away.  He left the compartment, with the medic trailing along behind in his wake.  The door slid shut with a whisper behind him. 

              Voxtun’s legs collapsed out from under him and he fell into a heap on the floor, his strength gone.  He pressed a hand to his abdomen, which burned like fire.  He let out a low groan, which turned into howl.

Book 3 – Dreams Turned to Ashes

Chapter 24

              Major Nezerek reported in to the flagship once the prize ships were locked down.  The freighters were holding position a few kilometers away from the small docking station, but the destroyer actually moved in to one of the berthing spaces.  The prisoners were offloaded from the warship and caretaker personnel took the place of his soldiers.  A new crew was going to have to be recruited and trained from the division and the rest of the Dog Soldiers’ population.  It would be difficult, seeing as they would be working on unfamiliar Republic technology.  Still, if the weak and foolish humans with the bugs and the cats could figure out how to run a ship such as this, then of course the wolves could do it.

              The major, accompanied by Lieutenant Yanakov, saluted the General as they entered the conference room.  It was a completely unnecessary gesture, but it pleased Typhon to receive it.  He returned the salute.  “Welcome back, both of you.  I will send congratulations to Lieutenant Braelock later.  But ten captures?  Two of them warships?  That was masterfully done.”

              “Thank you, General,” the major replied.  The lieutenant nodded, but remained silent.

              “Be seated, both of you,” the General said effusively, gesturing to two of the stools surrounding the big table.  They sat.  “Now, we’re going to have the intel wolves scour the destroyer’s databases, but I know you’ve already taken a look.  Now, what have you found?”

              Yanakov shifted a bit on the stool he was perched on.  “Yes, sir, we have.  And since the former crew was so sloppy, they didn’t lock down the ship’s computers.  We had access to a great deal of information.  There’s a great deal of info about the layout of Navy forces in Seylonique, their patrol patterns, number of ships, classes, that sort of thing.”

              Typhon grunted, nodding.  “Useful intel.”

              “Yes, sir.  But the most interesting part concerns the battlecruiser,” the lieutenant said confidently, exchanging glances with the major before looking back to the General.

              “It seems, General,” Nerezek said, picking up the thread of the story, “that the Seylonique Navy has put its battlecruiser into spacedock for repairs.”

              Typhon’s eyes glowed with an inner fire.  He sat forward.  “What kinds of repairs?”

              The major shrugged.  “The logs didn’t say, sir.  Just something about a major engineering casualty.  The former captain of your new destroyer commented on the amount of time the BC was going to be laid up in the yards.  When the destroyer left Seylonique, it was estimated she’d be in dock for anywhere from sixty to seventy-five more days.”

              “And when was that?” Typhon demanded.

              “Fifty-four days ago, General.”

              “Close,” the lupusan replied, tapping his claws on the table.  Unfortunately, the only ship in his fleet capable of reaching Seylonique in anything resembling good time was the new captured destroyer.  “We’ll have to pull crews off of
Illuyanka
to crew the destroyer.  I think we can manage four, maybe five assault shuttles, fully loaded.  That means we can only deployed eight to ten of the CA800s, but I think we can make that work.”  He nodded to himself.

              Nezerek flicked his ears in excitement and his back fur rippled.  “Are you thinking we
take
her, General?” he asked, almost drooling in anticipation. 

              “With a troop load on the shuttles, that’s only two hundred soldiers, Nezerek,” Typhon told him sternly.  “And didn’t I see somewhere that the battlecruiser has a crew and security complement of nearly thirty-five hundred?  My wolves are good, Major, but taking a ship with only that many troops is a very tall order.”

              Nezerek and Yanakov both looked relieved and slightly disappointed.  “Of course, General.  I didn’t think…”

              “But that ship has been bothering me for months, I don’t mind telling you both,” the general said.  Both of the junior officers were immediately silent.  The general wasn’t one to confide in his junior officers, and the younger officers were slightly panicked.  Honored, but panicked.  “When
Lord
Verrikoth asked me to join his attack on Seylonique, I know that both he and I were concerned about that ship dropping in on us at any time during the raid.”  He growled in remembered anger.  “And there’s always the possibility that it could attack us here or at some other place and so long as that battlecruiser survives, the local prey might and probably will rally around it.  But if that ship dies, they’ll all be crazed and terrified, wondering where we’ll strike next.”

              There was a long pause as the general collected his thoughts.  “Yes,” he said slowly, drawing the word out.  “Yes, I think this is something we need to pursue further.”  He sent a message to his second in command, Colonel Arn, letting him know of the plan.  “Major, you’ll be staying here, but you, Lieutenant, are going to Seylonique with myself and the Colonel.  Arn will command the attack force while I maintain overall command from the destroyer.”  He bared his teeth.  “I detest the idea of sitting behind while my wolves get to storm a battlecruiser, but the Colonel should be able to handle it.”

              Nezerek kept his mouth shut on that comment from the General.  He knew better.  Yes, Arn
could
handle the boarding and the assault.  The major was just glad that Typhon wasn’t going to try and personally lead the charge; he was too valuable.

              As it turned out, he didn’t need to say anything, Typhon guessed what his third officer was thinking.  “I’m not going to charge out into the fray, no matter how much I want to, Major,” he said with a smirk.

              The major hung his head.  “Sorry, sir.  I knew you wouldn’t.”

              He glared at the junior officer for another long moment.  Then he shook his head, dismissing the matter.  “We’re going to have to work quickly.  I want to get all senior officers in on this, as well as the senior noncoms who are going to be a part of the attack.  We have to move fast, but I want this done right.”

              Eretria Sterling stood in the portside airlock of the Seylonique battlecruiser, a datapad in her hand, a stern look on her face.  She waited for the airlock to cycle open, then once it did she stepped through and onto the ship.  This was hardly her first time aboard; she was the Yard Manager for the First Principles Shipyards.  She grimaced to herself as she walked through the corridors of the
Leytonstone
.  For some reason the company hadn’t named the shipyard or the asteroid mining station, instead simply referring to them as “the shipyard” and “the mining station”.  It was annoying, really.  It made her feel as though she was working in some sort of mundane corporate job instead of building the finest ships in the system.  Something to bring up at the next meeting of the command staff.  Again.

              Eretria looked over the corridors again with a critical eye as she walked through them.  They showed signs of wear, age, and in some cases, replacement.  Various sections had been repaired, patched and completely rebuilt over the years and especially in the last few months.  While the primary repairs to the battlecruiser had taken priority, there were more than a few sections that had gotten a facelift. 

              She continued on through the corridors of the ship, ones she had walked through many times in recent months as the
Leytonstone
underwent repair and refit.  Eretria was proud of her people; they had worked with incredible speed and efficiency getting the battlecruiser up and running again.  She had fully expected another month’s worth of work, but the engineers and their new AI had pulled out all the stops.  She nodded to a pair of Army soldiers going in the opposite direction.  One of them nodded back, the other looked at her appreciatively.  He was younger than his counterpart and the fact that he was trying to ogle a mature woman like Eretria gave her a mix of emotions.  It also earned him a grimace from his buddy, who cuffed him on the back of the head.  The second looked back at his fellow, indignant as Eretria passed by.                “Show some respect, asshole,” the first one said to the other.

              “Didn’t need to hit me about it,” the second one whined.  “She didn’t seem to mind.”

              “Shut.  Up.”

              She rolled her eyes at their antics without stopping to make further comment.  The one staring at her was twenty years her junior.  His youth probably infused him with decent stamina, she had to admit, but he was little more than a child and thus unappealing.

              Other crewmembers passed her; some acknowledged her, said hello, others simply nodded while still others just walked on by.  Morale was up and with the repairs completed, the crew was eager to get back out into space, even if it was only to patrol the system.

              She approached the bridge and saw the two Army soldiers standing on either side of the bridge hatch.  She recognized them; Eretria led the teams doing the work on this ship and she’d been to the bridge many times in the last few months.  Every time she came to the bridge, they had to go through this obnoxious ritual.  One of them was a large, bulky human male, the other a slender zheen male.  Both were dressed in green Army fatigues, each armed with a needler pistol.

              “I’m here to see the Colonel,” she said to them and they both nodded to her.

              “Need to see your identification, Ma’am,” the zheen replied.

              “Really, Kossak?  You’re going to go through this again?  How many times is it now?  Thirty?  You know who I am.”  Her voice was disgusted as she dug into her pocket for her ID badge.

              “Yes, Ma’am, we do,” Kossak said to her, holding out one hand to receive the badge from her, his datapad scanner in the other.  “But you know that doesn’t matter.  Gotta maintain security and a civilian on the flagship has to be monitored.  You should be honored, Ma’am.  Not many civilians or even contractors are allowed on the bridge.”

              She gave a withering smile.  “Oh, yes.  Honored.  I’d feel a great deal
more
honored if you could just wave me through like you do with some of the others I see going through here.”

              “No can do, Ms. Sterling,” Kossak said pleasantly, his antennae waggling.  “You know the standing orders.  You were there when Colonel Gants told them to you and you complained about them the first time.  You were also here when we had to explain them to you again and again because you didn’t like the answers the first time.”  He seemed quite gleeful to be the one to tell her.  He slotted her ID card into his datapad which beeped in confirmation.  “There,” he said, handing it back.  “Was that so hard?”

              The man was muttering into a communicator and when the datapad confirmed Eretria’s identity, he said something else, too low for the engineer to hear.  Then he nodded.  “Colonel Gants is in the ready room, Ms. Sterling,” the man’s deep baritone seemed to rumble the deckplates.  “He said to come right in.”

              Eretria gave them both a haughty look, snatched back her card from the zheen and them stormed past them and through the hatch.  She could hear the bug chittering laughter behind her but she tried to ignore it.  She knew he was laughing at her irritation and the more irritated she got the funnier he found it.  She pushed the guards out of her mind.  The various bridge officers and operators did not even look at her, save one.  Lieutenant Commander Paxton, the ship’s XO, walked over to her from the sensor station.

              “Ms. Sterling, always a pleasure,” he said, giving her a little bow.

              She smiled at him.  Eretria couldn’t help liking the man.  She knew that he’d been part of the attack on the gas mine all those months ago, as had Gants, but she’d been able to move past that.  It wasn’t that she had forgiven or forgotten all the fighting and the deaths, but it was more that she had accepted it and was moving forward.  She knew that a few of the others in First Principles were trying to do the same, even the Chief of Operations, though Tamara Samair was slower than others to get on with things. 
Though I know I’m being unfair.  She did work to refit this ship, help Malachai work on training and even accepted contracts at a discount from the government. 

              “Commander, good to see you as well.”

              “I assume you’re here to see the Colonel?” Paxton asked politely.

              “Yes,” she said, her smile not slipping.  “But it’s not for the reason you think.”

              He raised an eyebrow.  “Oh?  So you’re not here to present the Colonel with the ship’s clean bill of health?  We’re not getting back out into space?”

              She scowled at him, eyes twinkling.  “You, Commander, are entirely too clairvoyant.  But yes, you’re right.  There are a few things that could stand to use some more tweaks, but nothing critical.  We’ll do another tune up in six months or so, assuming that nothing serious happens.”

              “Like a battle.”

              Eretria gave him a look.  “Yes, Commander.  Like a battle.  Or if the ship takes a few hyperspace jumps that might count as well.  It’s
my
sincere hope that we don’t get into a fight again.”