Starship Alexander (25 page)
Hammett wore his sword to his meeting with the admiralty. He sat in a plush waiting room in Spacecom headquarters, fighting to stay awake. It was two days since the final battle, and he was exhausted. The
Alexander
was a hulk, drifting in a high orbit above the Earth, the only life on board the science crews analysing the remains of the boarding party and studying the damage the ship had taken.
He had no regrets. His ship was gone, but she'd died gloriously. There would be no ignominious decommissioning for the
Alexander
. She was legendary now. She would never truly be gone.
For himself, he had a pretty good idea what the future held. There would be endless debriefings, like the gruelling sessions he and every member of the crew had been through ever since the aliens broke and ran. He would spend the last few months of his Navy career in meetings and sitting in front of committees while they picked his brain for every scrap of insight he might have.
It would be ignominious, and vexing, and unbecoming to a warrior. But he would do his duty, and he wouldn't complain.
A low chuckle escaped him. "Like hell I won't complain." It was all right, though. His time in the Navy was ending, but he was the man who had fought the alien horde to a standstill. He was a legend too. He would never truly be gone.
As he waited he scanned a news feed projected from the arm of his chair. His implants were still not repaired, and he was feeling badly out of touch. The big news was the alien invasion, followed by the fall of Earth's planetary government. A terrified populace was blaming the old leadership for being soft, complacent, and trusting.
A minor parliamentarian named Acton was poised to sweep into power on a platform of unflinching strength and the wielding of an iron fist. Hammett found a still pic of the guy. He had the fiery, soulless eyes of a fanatic, and his speeches were full of vitriol. He was promising to punish anyone who failed to support the war effort, and Hammett felt a stirring of unease in the pit of his stomach. Not all the harm that the invaders had done was direct damage to ships and stations. They were damaging the foundation of an entire society, making cracks that would take a long time to heal.
"Captain Hammett?" The lieutenant who stood in front of his chair looked barely older than his brave cadets. But then, his cadets looked like battle-hardened veterans now. Which they were. He closed the feed, glad to be distracted from politics.
Give me a nice simple war any time.
"This way, please," she said. "Can I get you anything? A beverage, perhaps?"
Two days of meetings and interrogations had taught him the value of managing his fluid levels. Admirals didn't like it much when captains excused themselves to use the bathroom. "I’m fine," he told her, and followed her through the tallest set of doors he'd ever seen in an office space. The boardroom beyond gleamed with understated elegance. It was an opulent cave of thick carpets and polished oak, with a conference table you could have landed the
Falcon
on, and a double row of stern admirals seated in plush chairs.
"Sit down, Captain." The speaker was Admiral Castille, a sharp-featured man with hard, shrewd eyes. Hammett saw an unexpected hint of compassion, though, as Castille said, "You've been through a tremendous amount over the past several weeks, and I understand we've been running you ragged ever since. Please, sit down." To the lieutenant he said, "Bring a snack tray. The captain has been on restricted rations for quite some time."
Hammett smiled his thanks and lowered himself into a chair. Quiet electric motors hummed as the chair reshaped itself to fit his body, and he sighed quietly. He was as comfortable as a man could be while facing almost all of the senior admiralty in Spacecom.
"I assume you know you've performed brilliantly and done your planet a great service," Castille said, and smiled. "However, you might want to know that we've noticed. You have our gratitude and our congratulations."
"Thank you, Sir." They were kind words, but they had the feel of a spoonful of sugar designed to prepare him for a dose of bitter medicine.
The smile disappeared.
Here it comes
, Hammett thought.
"I hope you've had a chance to rest a bit," Castille said, "because I'm afraid your work is not done." He made a gesture and a star map appeared above the table. "The alien invaders – the media are calling them 'The Hive' for reasons I haven't been able to figure out – have been driven away for the moment, but they most certainly have not been defeated."
Hammett nodded. He was pretty sure Castille was right.
"We have learned from them," Castille said, "but they have also had the opportunity to learn from us. You and your crew have reported instances where they modified their tactics in response to an earlier encounter."
"Yes, Sir. They learn and adjust."
"When we face them again, it will be a very different sort of fight. We are going to find out who can learn and adapt more quickly."
It was a sobering thought. Hammett didn't speak, just waited for the admiral to tell him which science facility he was going to be consigned to.
"You're the only captain in the fleet with direct, successful experience against these creatures," Castille said. "You've also demonstrated that you can learn and adjust and think on your feet. Therefore, we think you'd be wasted here on Earth. You'll be going back into space, just as soon as we can complete an emergency refit on the corvette Tomahawk."
Hammett felt his jaw drop open, and quickly closed it.
"The ship has its own wormhole generator, and it's being fitted with extra weapons. You'll be leaving within forty-eight hours," she continued. "It isn't prudent, but we're under tremendous pressure to get a ship to Naxos and protect the colonists there. Your assignment will be to fly immediately to Naxos and assess the situation, then remain on station until a support fleet can reach you."
The Naxos system lit up on the holo-map, and Hammett stared at it, trying to figure out if he was horrified or delighted.
You're going to get me killed. But I'll die in space. I'll die fighting those things.
Castille said, "When the fleet reaches you, you will continue with the next phase of your mission. It won't be a very large fleet, I should warn you. It will be the ships we will be able to refit within a week or so."
"Not all the ships we'll be able to refit," another admiral interrupted. "Somebody has to protect the Earth."
Castille nodded impatiently. "A small fleet," he repeated. "With that fleet you will repair Gates Four and Five, and travel through Gate Five if it functions."
Hammett felt his pulse increase as Deirdre lit up on the map.
"You will retrace the path the invaders took on their way to Earth. You will engage and destroy whatever enemy forces you encounter. You will work your way from system to system until you reach Calypso, and then you will look for clues to the original source of these attacks. By this time I hope that the Gate system will once again be online, and we will be able to directly supply and reinforce you. You will carry on regardless. You will not stop, and you will not return, until you have tracked the enemy back to their hive and destroyed them."
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.
Volume Two, Starship Tomahawk, is coming soon.
I'm also the author of Star Raider, a serial now collected into one volume, available from Amazon at
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00W0E1KOO
. Cassandra Marx is a thief, and a good one. This time she got greedy, though. She swiped a priceless artifact from Carmody, the most powerful man on Hesperus. He's been beating his daughter, Lark, so Cassie took the kid too.
Now Carmody is tearing the galaxy apart hunting Cassie down. The artifact isn't just a priceless relic of a lost civilization. It's the key to a galaxy-wide conspiracy. Cassie needs to figure out the significance of the ancient egg, but with bounty hunters and mercenaries hounding her from one end of the galaxy to the other, she and Lark have another puzzle to solve -- how to stay alive.