Pledge Allegiance (5 page)

L
ater
, a low-pitched chirping sound woke me. I sat up in bed, the mattress adjusting itself beneath my moving form. The chirping sound came from speakers somewhere in the room. I wasn’t familiar with this particular call sound but I was aware that it was the ship’s comms system calling me. Someone wanted to speak with me. The ship’s computer knew where I was and was directing the call to my bedroom.

“Captain Blake,” I said into the room. Stating your name was usually enough to get the computer to recognize that you were answering the call.

Morrow’s voice came out of the speakers. “Captain, we’re approaching the first gate. I thought you’d like to know.”

“I’ll be there shortly,” I said.

Sliding off the bed, I went through the living area to the door but then hesitated before opening it. I returned to the bedroom and opened the closet. Since I was captain of this ship, I might as well look like it. I took a uniform from one of the hangers and laid it carefully on the bed. Next to the uniform, I placed the belt and a blaster pistol.

Then I went into the bathroom and took a quick, hot shower before dressing in the form-fitting blue uniform and adjusting the belt so that the pistol sat comfortably at my hip. After checking myself in the mirror, I strode out of my quarters to the transporter.

When I arrived on the bridge, Morrow and Vess were sitting where I’d left them over nine hours ago. I hoped they’d taken a break since then. Baltimore was gone, perhaps taking a break of her own right now.

“ETA two minutes to the gate,” Morrow said when he saw me take my seat.

Vess gave me a wave and then turned his attention to the windows. I didn’t know why he looked so excited because he must have traveled through at least three gates just to get to Iton-3. I guessed that going through the gate meant we were one step closer to his daughter and that was the cause for his excitement. I wondered if he’d be so excited if he knew about the tracker on board the
Finch
.

Ahead, I could see the four bright blue lights set in a square pattern that indicated the presence of the gate. “Any other ships in the area?” I asked Morrow.

He shook his head. “All clear, Captain.”

“Then let’s go.”

He nodded and brought us out of FTL before typing something into the navigational computer. As the ship slowed, I felt a slight lurch in the pit of my stomach. That was totally normal on these older ships.

A thought occurred to me. If the person tracking us was on this side of the gate, then they wouldn’t be able to track us once we went through. The moment we passed through the gate, the
Finch
would be light years away from our current location. No tracking device in the galaxy could transmit over that distance.

So maybe whoever was monitoring the tracking device was on the other side.

“How many gates do we pass through before we get to Savarea?” I asked Morrow.

“Two, Captain.”

So there were three sections of space, all light years away from each other, that we would be traveling across. This was the first section, from Iton-3 to the first gate. There would be little point tracking us for that short distance, and since we’d arrived at the gate without incident, I surmised that it was unlikely our trackers were interested in us yet.

“How long will it take us to fly from gate one to gate two, Mr. Morrow?”

He checked his computer. “At FTL, it will take three days and seven hours, Captain.”

“And from gate two to Savarea?”

“Twenty-three hours.”

So the longest section of our journey was between gates 1 and 2. I had no idea why someone wanted to track us but it made sense that they would want to do so during the largest section of our journey, if only statistically. I had nothing else to go on, like the unknown person’s motive for tracking us in the first place.

I guessed that they would be waiting on the other side of the gate, within range of the tracking device that was fixed to our engine.

“Gate entry in ten seconds,” Morrow said. “Nine…eight…seven…”

I had a habit of physically bracing myself before entering a space gate. There was no need at all to do so; one second the ship was at one point in space and the next second it was light years away, but the transition was unnoticeable from within the ship itself.

It was the idea that I was about to travel thousands of light years in an instant that made me tighten my grip on the arm of the chair.

“Six…five…”

I had a sudden fear that the person tracking us might actually be waiting on the other side of the gate. We wouldn’t know they were there until we transitioned to that part of space, and we would be an easy target if they were waiting with weapons armed.

I jabbed the intercom button and said, “Battle stations.”

Hearing my words, the ship’s computer put the
Finch
into battle mode. An alarm began to sound throughout the ship, accompanied by red lights. I heard the whirring of the nearest gun turret as it was raised from the hull above us.

On Morrow’s screen, I saw a digitized blueprint of the ship begin to light up at the areas where the weapons were located. A message appeared beneath the diagram. WEAPON SYSTEMS ARMED.

In Engineering, the same message must have flashed on Tegan Prime’s computer screen because her voice came through the comm link in my chair.

“Weapon systems armed, Captain.”

Vess looked at me, his expression a mixture of confusion and worry. “Captain, what’s happening?”

I didn’t have time to answer him right then.

“Four…three…two…”

I tensed. In one second, we could be in a world of trouble. From our perspective, enemy ships would suddenly appear around us as we entered their space through the gate.

“One…”

The alarm continued to sound. It would turn off automatically after twenty seconds.

“Transition,” Morrow announced as we passed through the gate.

I prepared to give the order to fire the laser canons.

“Transition successful,” Morrow said. The navigational chart on his screen completely changed as the computer adjusted to our new location in space.

The view through the window also changed, the stars shifting position.

There was nothing out there but the void.

No enemy ships.

If there had been any other ships within range of our sensors, the computer would have reported their location by now. We were alone.

I breathed a sigh of relief, pressed the intercom button, and said, “Stand down.”

We were safe.

For now.

V
ess and Morrow
turned to look at me as if I had lost my mind. The ship’s alarm ceased its wailing but I could still hear its echo ringing in my ears. The red lights were extinguished and the regular bridge lighting returned.

“Captain?” Vess asked, bewildered. “Was there some reason we went to battle stations before entering the gate?”

“Yeah,” Morrow said. “What the hell was that?”

I couldn’t tell them of my concerns or the basis for those concerns. We had an enemy somewhere out here, or at least someone who wanted to keep a close eye on us. But I couldn’t say any of that to Morrow or Vess. Not yet.

“Just a precaution,” I told them. “When you pass through a gate, you never know who’s waiting on the other side.”

Morrow looked at me dubiously. He wasn’t fooled by my false explanation. “Why would anyone be interested in us? We’re just an old Avis class fighter.”

“I think the captain is forgetting that he isn’t on an Imperium vessel,” Vess suggested. “This is why I chose the
Finch
, Captain. No one will give her a second glance. We shouldn’t be of interest to anyone out here.”

I wanted to tell him that we were of great interest to someone, but I kept my mouth shut. For now, I wanted to keep my knowledge of the tracker a secret but I realized that, eventually, I was going to have to come clean with the crew and Vess regarding my concerns for the ship’s safety. I couldn’t set off the battle stations alarm every time I got spooked.

And the tracking device attached to our engine was definitely spooking me.

“I know we look like an insignificant little ship compared to most other vessels out here,” I said, “but I don’t like to take chances. Granted, going to battle stations may have been a hasty decision but you have to remember that I’m rusty when it comes to commanding a ship. I might need a little time to settle into my new role.”

“Of course, of course, Captain.” Vess smiled at me in a way that reminded me of my father on the day I’d announced to my family that I’d signed up to be an Imperium recruit.

We had been sitting around the dinner table and I’d told them excitedly that I was going to join the military and travel to far away galaxies. My mother had looked worried. I was only eighteen years old and I’d never ventured far beyond our farm in Idaho, never mind travel off-planet. Mom thought I was going to blunder blindly into a world I knew nothing about. My two younger sisters had snickered, probably glad that I was finally leaving home so they could claim my bedroom as their own.

My father had simply smiled. It was a resigned smile, as if he knew there was nothing he could do to change my mind. I had to make my own mistakes, and I was sure to make plenty of them. This was just one in a long line.

As a teenager, I had always been rebellious against authority, which was probably why my father thought that joining the Imperium had been a bad decision on my part. He was sure I wasn’t going to be able to take orders.

But he hadn’t said any of that. He had simply smiled.

Now Vess was giving me the same smile. Maybe he was regretting his choice of captain already. Maybe he was wondering if my time on Iton-3 had changed me from the man his daughter admired into something else.

“Set a course for the second gate,” I told Morrow, ignoring Vess and turning my attention to the pilot. When traveling through gates, the ship’s course had to be plotted after each transition.

“Aye, sir,” Morrow said, swiveling in his chair to type commands into the navigation console.

I sat in my chair, brooding for a while. Eventually, feeling useless on the bridge, I told Morrow to take a break, if he hadn’t already, and put the
Finch
into autopilot. She was more than capable of flying herself and the computer would alert us if there was anything we needed to be aware of, like other ships in our space.

Without waiting for his acknowledgement or reply, I left the bridge.

My mood was dark. I had an ominous feeling that something bad was going to happen and it was coupled with a fear that I might not be up to handling it when it did. I’d thought Vess might be wondering if my time on Iton-3 had changed me but now I was wondering the same thing myself. Spending a year gambling and drinking was bound to affect me both mentally and physically, but what if I’d totally lost my edge?

When the transporter arrived, instead of pushing the button for the crew quarters, I hit the one that would take me to the gym. I felt a frustrated anger building inside me and I might as well take it out on a heavy bag.

I wasn’t even sure who or what I was angry at. Maybe I was mad at Vess for choosing me to be his captain. Or I might be angry at myself for accepting the position. I was definitely pissed that someone had bugged the ship and I hoped that a session on the heavy bag would let off some tension.

The gym was busier than the last time I’d been here. After my battle stations order had ceased, these people must have wandered back here and resumed working out. I knew that for many Imperium soldiers, fitness was a religion and something such as a battle stations order simply meant a quick break from the iron and more sets and reps when they returned.

As well as a new group of soldiers urging each other on at the bench press station, there was a lot of activity in the free weight area. Even Sergeant Hart was there, barking orders at a few of the men and women squatting with heavy barbells across their shoulders.

The fighting area was empty. I was hoping that I might run into Sumiko Shibari and have a sparring session with her but, for now, the bag would have to suffice.

I walked past a line of treadmills to a space near the window where the bags hung on thick chains from steel beams running along the ceiling. The window showed a beach with a deep blue sea lapping up onto golden sands. Men and women frolicked in the surf, all of them wearing bathing suits and all sporting perfect bodies.

It was supposed to be motivational, I supposed, but I found it distracting as bikini-clad lovelies ran past the window. I knew the scene was a projection but the scale and perspective had been adjusted perfectly to make it seem as if the beach really was just beyond the gym window.

I took a pair of boxing wraps from a shelf near the bags and began to wrap my hands tightly enough to support my wrists. I wondered if there were workout clothes somewhere in my closet. Vess had thought of everything else, so I was sure there were, but my uniform would have to do for now.

“Captain.” I looked up to see Sumiko coming toward me, walking gracefully past the treadmills in a black kimono. She had a grin on her pretty face and her eyes were alight with what I could only guess was joy. Maybe I should try meditation myself sometime if this was the result.

But right now, I just wanted to hit something.

“Hi, Sumiko,” I said, nodding to her.

“Would you like to fight with me?” she asked hopefully.

“Well, I was going to hit this bag a few times to let off some stress.”

She nodded, grinning. “That will be a good warm up. When you are ready, I will be waiting over there.” She pointed to the fighting area. “Do you have a favorite weapon?”

“A blaster pistol,” I said.

She laughed, and said in a sing-song voice, “Captain, you are so funny. I will choose the weapons, then.” Humming to herself, she skipped back past the treadmills to the fighting area.

I wondered if I had bitten off more than I could chew. The onna-bugeisha had a reputation of being fiercely-skilled warriors. Sumiko’s personality seemed at odds with that but I’d been around long enough to never judge someone by outward appearances. I also made sure I didn’t let her age fool me. She was only in her early twenties but that meant nothing as far as her skill went. She could have been training since she was a young girl, probably had been if the stories about the onna-bugeisha were true.

Although I was older than her, Sumiko Shibari probably had much more fighting experience.

I completed wrapping my hands and put on a pair of boxing gloves, giving the heavy bag a few experimental jabs before increasing the force of my blows. I hit the forgiving leather with a combinations of jabs, straights, and hooks for five straight minutes. I even kicked the bag a few times, working my legs.

By the time I was done, I was breathing hard and covered in sweat but at least I felt better. Endorphins coursed through my body, the natural drug giving me a temporary high. My muscles felt pumped underneath my uniform, especially my shoulders and upper back.

I slid the gloves off and went over to the padded fighting area.

Sumiko was waiting for me, standing at the edge of the mats with two energy lances in her hand. The lances were each six feet long, much taller than Sumiko. Still, I had a feeling that she knew how to use them expertly. She’d chosen them, after all.

“Are you skilled in the energy lance, Captain?” she asked as I got closer.

“I wouldn’t say skilled, no.” The last time I had used one of these weapons was during a battle against the Horde on a faraway planet called Seragen. The Horde aliens on that planet were beetle-like creatures that attacked us in waves like hungry cockroaches. I was holding an enemy bunker as part of a team of marines and we’d run out of ammo. After scavenging for hand-to-hand weapons to fight off the big bugs, we’d found energy lances and swords.

They weren’t what we were used to, and we had to rely on muscle-memory acquired during our academy training to use them effectively, but we managed to hold off the enemy until air support arrived.

“We can use a different weapon if you prefer,” Sumiko said.

“No, these are fine.” I may not have touched an energy lance in a while but I knew a few tricks.

She handed me one of the lances, a mask, and a pair of the gauntlets that had to be worn when using the weapon. The metal lances were electrified and delivered a devastating shock to anything they touched. The gauntlets, which looked as if they were made of dark leather, were actually made of a polymer that was resistant to the lance’s charge. You still had to be careful not to touch your own body with the lance, though, because only your hands were protected. The mask consisted of a polymer hood and face grille.

Lancers, experts in the weapon’s use, wore whole suits of armor made from the polymer. But for practice purposes, only the gauntlets were worn so that the weapon’s user had to learn precision of movement to avoid shocking themselves. The lack of armor also motivated the practitioners to avoid being hit by their opponent, because even though the weapons were dialed down, they still stung when they touched you.

Sumiko and I walked to opposite edges of the fighting area. I donned the gauntlets and mask and switched on my lance, trying to remember my academy training. The energy lance was based on the ancient quarter staff and was used in a similar way. The main difference between this modern weapon and the staff of old was the blue spark arcing along the length of its metal surface.

Before putting on her gloves and mask, Sumiko laid them and her lance on the mat in front of her and removed her kimono. She wore a figure-hugging outfit of black and brown leather that displayed the hard muscles and lithe curves of her body. I was trying to remember my academy training, yet facing me was a woman who clearly trained every day in the martial arts.

I was about to get my ass kicked and I knew it.

She slipped the gauntlets and mask on and picked up her lance. It sparked blue as she activated it.

Advancing slowly, I held my lance with both hands, angling it across my body in a defensive manner. Sumiko held her weapon with one hand, out to the side of her body as if ready to strike. She moved quickly and before I knew it she was upon me, twirling her lance expertly in her hand to avoid the block I attempted to throw in her way.

I felt a jolt in my ribs like a dozen bee stings. Staggering backward, I swung my lance at Sumiko clumsily. Now she had her lance in two hands. She batted my weapon aside and came in beneath it to deliver a second stinging strike to my stomach. I fell to the mat and rolled to avoid a third attack, regaining my feet quickly out of sheer panic. Even at practice setting, the lances hurt enough that I’d try anything to avoid being hit again.

Sumiko didn’t give me time to catch my breath. As soon as I was on my feet, she swept her lance at my legs, knocking my feet out from under me and sending a shock through my right calf.

As I lay sprawled on my back, she stepped over me so that her bare feet were on either side of my torso and placed the tip of her lance inches from my throat.

“I concede,” I said, holding up my hands.

She grinned and stepped away, letting me struggle to my feet. My body ached where her lance had touched me.

“I concede,” I repeated as I stood shakily on the mat. Then I added, “I concede the first round.” I lunged forward, striking Sumiko’s hip with the tip of my lance.

She let out a squeal that might have been one of pain, or delight that the fight was continuing, and sprang back, bringing up her lance defensively.

My attack had been a dirty trick but there was no other way I was ever going to land a blow against her. She was too good.

“You tricked me, Captain,” she said, smiling through the grille of her mask. “I like that.” Then she leaped forward with such speed that I barely had time to raise my weapon. Sumiko lashed out at my lance, pulling it from my hands. It flew into the air and landed at least ten feet away.

I stood before her and raised my hands. “I’m unarmed.”

She grinned. “Why should that stop me? I thought we were playing dirty.”

“
I
was playing dirty,” I corrected her. “You’re too good for me to play otherwise.”

She stepped back. “Very well. You may collect your weapon for round three.”

I walked over to my lance and bent to pick it up. A sudden jolt of pain in my buttocks sent me staggering forward.

“What the hell?” I turned to face her, rubbing my sore behind. “That was my ass.”

She was still grinning, her lance held firmly in both hands. “I decided to play dirty too.”