The Chaplain's War (40 page)

CHAPTER 54

THE TRIP TO THE FLAGSHIP’S EQUIVALENT OF A BRIDGE WAS resumed.

“If you’re still locked out,” I yelled ahead, “how in the hell are we supposed to get there?”

“I will make us a way,” The Queen Mother said.

I didn’t have the breath to argue. The pain in my side had become almost too much to bear standing up. I began to fall behind. Thukhan—of all people—slowed, then put a shoulder under the arm on my good side, and helped me forward.

“You’d better be effing right about this,” he said to me.

“Yes,” I wheezed. “I certainly hope I am.”

We pushed through scene after scene of human and mantis carnage. Fleet had committed at least several companies of marines to taking the ship, and so far as I could tell—as we wound our way down several corridors—Thukhan and his squad might be the only ones left alive.

When we were confronted with shut bulkheads or stalled lift tubes, we took still other turns through other corridors, passageways, and even a short trip down another maintenance shaft—albeit a shallow, single-story affair. All the while, rumblings through the structure told us that the war outside the flagship was ongoing, even if the fight within had come down decisively in the mantes’ favor.

Finally, we arrived at a very large set of sealed pressure doors.

The Queen Mother hovered defiantly before them, trying her codes. When they did not work, she floated up to them and banged her functional forelimb on the metal several times.

Two small hatches to either side of the doors popped open and armed mantis warriors came out, their weapons trained on us all. The Queen Mother glared at them, her antennae erect and dignified.

“What are they doing?” Thukhan asked.

“She’s demanding entry,” I guessed. “The guards have orders from inside to not permit her—”

The Queen Mother faced back towards us, and pointed with a forelimb.

“—and she’s indicating we’re unarmed,” I said.

Several moments passed.

Finally, the large doors unsealed and hummed open on their motors. Inside, a contingent of harried mantes were clustered around several oval tables that projected out of the deck. Holographic displays were suspended in the air over each table, and though the scene was mostly silent, it had the look of tremendous agitation.

When the Queen Mother floated into their midst, every mantis in the command nexus stopped to watch her. She looked around at them, antennae still erect—challenging any of them to deny her right to rule.

I stared at the holographic imagery over one of the tables. Differently colored symbols were spread across the air: some of them blinking, others swirling, and still others gradually disintegrating until they were but wispy motes of nothingness.

“How many Fleet ships?” I asked Thukhan quietly.

“Classified,” he said.

“Oh, come on,” I said. “The only one who doesn’t know at this point is me,” I said.

“Twenty,” he said. “The mission briefing told us ten would go in hot against the staging base, while the rest would hang back near the system’s most likely exit points—for mantis ships coming out of jumpspace. We hit everything that came through, hoping that one of them would be yours. And that the Queen Mother would be alive and aboard.”

“What about the rest of the war?” I asked. “How bad has it been?”

“Fleet won’t say,” Thukhan said, keeping a straight face. “But we’re here, right? You said it yourself. How
could
Fleet Command commit so many marines and ships? Draw your own conclusions, Chief.”

So. I’d been right. Seizing the Queen Mother was a desperate gambit. I wished to hell I could hear what she was saying to her subordinates.

“Do they accept your authority?” I asked.

“On this ship, for the moment, yes,” she said. “But until the battle with your Fleet attack armada is concluded, the staging base is refusing my requests.”

“Do we have any officers aboard who can talk to Fleet?” I asked Thukhan.

“Marine captains arguing with Fleet generals? Good luck. Besides, did you see anyone left alive to ask?”

“No,” I said. “But what was the plan, assuming your boarding parties were actually able to take the Queen Mother into custody? Surely you have a signal.”

“We do,” he said.

“Well,” I said, “what are you waiting for?”

“If I use it, Fleet will be expecting immediate liftoff from one of the assault carriers that’s resting on the hull of this ship, and I don’t even know if any of those assault carriers are still intact.”

I looked to the Queen Mother.

“Well?”

She quickly discussed it carriage-to-carriage with her officers.

“No,” she said. “All of the human ships which had attached to our hull have been destroyed. As was the main vessel from which they were launched.”

Thukhan sighed, then pulled his helmet off. The rest of his squad did the same.

“Then we’re screwed,” he said.

I watched the holographic display. It wasn’t hard to guess which color was assigned to Fleet, based on the dwindling numbers.

“Won’t we retreat?” I asked him.

“No,” he said. “The orders were to bring the Queen Mother back alive.”

“Or?” I pressed.

“Or . . . the briefing didn’t give us instructions beyond that point. Bring the Queen Mother back alive. That was all.”

I suddenly felt faint. Whether because of shock from my injury, or the realization that nothing could be done to stop the battle.

“Please put me down,” I said to Thukhan.

He walked me over to one of the bulkheads—mantis eyes staring at us as we walked into the command nexus—and helped me take a seat on the deck. I hugged my hurt side under one arm and kept the opposite hand clamped over the wound as I slowly put my knees up and leaned my forehead onto them.

Sick. I felt sick at the fact that nothing could be done.

“Talk to the Fleet,” I muttered.

“I told you—” Thukhan said, but I cut him off.

“No, not you. Queen Mother, talk to my people. They obviously know who you are and they know your value. Send out a blanket broadcast. Platoon Sergeant Thukhan will know the encryption key for our combat network. If you broadcast to our ships using that key, it should tell them something about your intentions. Maybe they’ll have the good sense to listen, and back off, before your ships finish tearing our ships to pieces. Once the remainder of our ships clear out of the system, your staging base should allow us to make contact and issue new instructions on your side. Right?”

“That is probable,” she said.

I looked up at Thukhan. “Give her the key.”

A few moments later, the Queen Mother was floating in front of a second oval table with a camera and an audio pickup projected from the surface.

“Human vessels,” she said, “I speak to you now as the Queen Mother: ruler of all mantes throughout all the galaxy. Your continued attack on this mantis star system is futile. Your ships will be destroyed unless you cease and desist. Now. I will command my own forces to allow you to jump to safety, but you must cease fire and withdraw all combat troops from all mantis vessels. Signal me that you will comply.”

Moments stretched on in silence.

One of the holographic images over one of the tables changed from tactical display to real-time external image. I got a look at a very-bright sun far in the distance, followed by a large gas giant world. The mantes’ space stations appeared to be in orbit of the gas giant—probably manufactured on-site from the ores present in the loose ring of tiny asteroids. It was impossible to see distinct ships, but occasionally a sudden flash would indicate the detonation of a warhead, or the going-up of a reactor. Tiny colorful halos surrounded small dots that were moving visibly. Again, color coded for either human or mantis forces. It was pretty obvious that the Fleet force was outnumbered five to one.

The Queen Mother repeated her imperative.

Still, there was nothing.

“It’s no use,” she said.

I growled and slammed my fist several times on the deck.

“Help me back up,” I said to Thukhan.

“What for?”

“Just effing help me back up,” I said.

He hesitated, then stooped down and put his arm back under my arm on my good side.

He helped me around to where I could stand next to the Queen Mother.

“Are we on?” I asked.

The Queen Mother looked to one of the bridge staff, who said nothing, but whose antennae flexed slightly.

“You are now,” she said.

The pain was excruciating. I hoped I could enunciate well enough to be intelligible over the broadcast.

“This is Harrison Barlow of the planet Purgatory. You all know me, and I’m told you know of Captain Adanaho by now. Who is dead. By our own hands. People of the Fleet, we’re slitting our own throats. You have to trust the Queen Mother, she’s good as her word. Withdraw! Withdraw and save yourselves. This war only ends if we take the first step. The Queen Mother is going to recall her armadas. But it can’t happen until you all disengage first. I helped stop the war once—saved us all, or so Adanaho thought. Well, now it’s time for me to stop the war again. Withdraw! Before it’s too late.”

I’d almost shouted the last part, and clasped my wounded side while gasping for breath.

“Is there nothing you can do for him?” The Queen Mother asked Thukhan.

“You killed all of our medics,” Thukhan said.

“Wait,” one of the marines said. “If we could put the chief into one of our armor suits—”

“One that’s not full of holes.” Thukhan said gruffly.

“What would that accomplish?” The Queen Mother asked.

“The suits have automatic medical response systems design to staunch the flow of blood and prevent infection, if ever the suit is compromised and the wearer wounded.”

“Forget about me, what about the Fleet?” I said through clenched teeth.

Silence, for almost a full minute.

Suddenly the few remaining human ships in the real-time display began to break off and regroup, headed away from the gas giant.

“That’s it,” I said. “They’re breaking and running.”

“But we’ve received no signal—”

“Do what you have to do,” I said, “but keep your end of the bargain. Keep your people from annihilating my people.”

The Queen Mother’s antennae wove a quick, thoughtful pattern in the air, then she spun to her officers and they had a silent conversation for about ten seconds.

The sound of the ship changed, and the real-time hologram began to shift.

“What’s happening now?” Thukhan asked.

“Since I cannot give direct orders to the staging base as a whole, yet, I have ordered this vessel be put in the path of any mantis vessels which fire their engines in pursuit of your Fleet ships.”

“Will that work?” I asked.

“We shall find out,” she said. “Meanwhile, I have ordered that an armor suit be stripped from one of your dead, and brought here. So that whatever aid can be rendered for you, will be done.”

“Thank you,” was all I could manage.

The pain in my side had turned wicked, to the point I wondered if I’d pass out.

“Back down,” I wheezed.

Thukhan—my oldest enemy—complied without a word.

Sitting and leaning against a bulkhead definitely felt better than standing. I allowed myself to close my eyes and breathe shallow breaths as the minutes ticked by: our flagship maneuvering to intercede on behalf of the Fleet’s leftovers. Would our ships interpret this as a hostile act, and fire? Would the mantes themselves interpret this as a hostile act, and fire?

“Hang tough,” Thukhan said, sitting down beside me. I opened my eyes to see him with the other marines arrayed in a circle around us.

“You know, there was a time when I wanted to break your head open,” I said, a small smile creeping onto my lips.

“I know,” Thukhan said.

“How?” I asked.

“I’ve got ears, stupid. I remember that night when I was in the head. I could hear you and Capacha talking. It’s good you didn’t try anything, because I’d have almost certainly killed you.”

“You could have killed me today,” I said, putting my head back and reclosing my eyes. My mouth was getting dry and a mild lightheaded feeling had begun to grip me.