The Lazarus Particle (39 page)

“And the planet is habitable?” Orth asked.

“Yes, sir, quite habitable. The atmosphere and landscape are ideal for supporting carbon-based life. In fact, our team on the surface has found evidence that some areas were recently inhabited, however briefly.”

“Where?”

“Primarily this archipelago near the equator—” Pruitt whisked his fingers across his flexpad in a series of practiced gestures. In response, the projection of the planet rotated, zooming in to reveal the chain of islands to which he was referring. “—but several other sites scattered across the planet, as well.”

“How many?”

“At the archipelago? Thousands, at least. The other sites range from a few dozen to the low hundreds.”

“What do you suppose they were doing?” Stannick wondered rhetorically.

Rhetorical or not, the question drew a chuckle from Commander Orth. “Isn’t it obvious, Rutger?”

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

“R and R,” Orth said. “They were at war with Clan Kerikeshaala for nearly a year—a war which they were very nearly on the verge of losing before Fenton Wilkes and his merry band of fugitives arrived, I might add.” Ndeeldavono nodded stoically at this. “What better way to celebrate than to bivouac on an uninhabited, virgin planet for a few days before pressing onto their next objective?”

“Well reasoned, Knolan. I would agree that is the most likely explanation.” Trufant steepled his fingers and nodded. “You may continue with your report, Ensign Pruitt.”

“Yes, sir. The second anomaly is less obvious but still important, if for no other reason than the implication it suggests.”

“Go on,” Trufant prompted.

“The Errene Belt,” Pruitt said, sending an image of the belt to the projection hub. “A collection of asteroids spanning tens of thousands of kilometers with the distinction of being the only known celestial body occupying this system.”

“What about it?” Hondo asked. “Looks like a bunch of dusty old rocks.”

“It’s gone, sir.”

Trufant narrowed his eyes. “Gone?”

“Gone.”

“How… how could that
be
?” Itzin gaped, struggling to wrap her head around the concept.

“The working theory is that Major Wilkes directed his nanites to deconstruct the asteroids at the molecular level, using their constituent parts as a pool from which to draw and construct the planet.”

Pruitt expected this statement to make a major impact. He was not mistaken. Everyone from Itzin to Trufant was visibly rocked by the news that Wilkes had reached such an advanced stage in his research. Even Commander Orth was struck by the enormity of it.

“He
made
a planet?” Orth asked, breaking the silence they were all laboring beneath.

“Fascinating,” Ndeeldavono said, drawing out the word.

“A small planet, technically. But yes. It’s the only logical explanation, sir.”

“Holy fuck,” Hondo muttered. “How is that even possible? He’s literally playing god.”

“Who cares how it’s possible?” Itzin countered. “How do we even fight someone with that kind of power? Who knows what he can do?”

“Let’s not get too carried away, people,” Trufant advised in a rare display of well timed leadership. “Ensign, do you have any estimation as to how long it would take to do what you are claiming occurred here? Any timetable at all?”

Pruitt looked off as if calculating some unseen equation. “I would say at least a few weeks,” he said after a few moments. “Certainly not overnight. Probably Major Wilkes had this location mapped out well in advance as a potential test site before deciding to go on the run. It just happened to be his luck that Commander Orth’s yacht provided an ideal staging platform. My guess is that he changed out a torpedo payload with some of his nanites, then guided it toward the densest part of the belt and initiated a controlled detonation to release them. Afterward, they would have had plenty of time to seek out the Free Planetary Irregulars while the nanites fulfilled their programming and constructed the planet.”

“Amazing,” Trufant allowed, and truly it was. Pruitt had gone over the data several times before he could deliver the news confidently. “And what of those unusual fighters our intercept squadrons were chasing before they were engaged by the wing the Irregulars abandoned in their retreat?”

“Ah, yes. We of course have little experience dealing with the Free Planetary Irregulars, so I shall defer here to Lj Rejvollori, whose team has had the opportunity to observe and dissect the combat footage recorded during the recent engagement with the Irregulars. Would you do us the favor of summarizing your findings, my Lj?”

“Of course, Ensign Pruitt. The craft itself is incredibly nimble, exhibiting characteristics consistent with your own proprietary ultralight ceramic engines. These fighters gave chase but appear to have been unarmed, as they went to great pains to avoid direct engagement with either of our forces. As a result, we cannot extrapolate any findings as to their combat capability from this film. In summation, having consulted with several other clans, we can find no previous instance or engagement in which the Coalition of Free Planetary Republics and their Irregulars made use of these craft against our forces.”

“Thank you, Lj Rejvollori.”

“Exhibiting characteristics consistent with our own engine technology,” Orth paraphrased as the looped footage began anew.

“Meaning they somehow managed to reverse engineer the original yacht stolen from your station before loading it with the nuke used to annihilate Clan Kerikeshaala,” Trufant observed.

“Apparently so, sir. From there they most likely used the base schematic information to program the nanites to produce a new, cutting-edge fighter based upon whatever parameters they fed into it. Certainly our engine tech would be one component. It would explain why the squadrons had such a difficult time locking in on them.”

“Is there any indication they have more of these new fighters?”

“No, sir, but they’ll be producing them quickly, I would think, especially given how we ambushed them.”

“Do they have pilots capable enough to fly them?” Stannick wondered.

“Hard to say, though from what I understand, Ohana Cassel was very accomplished. If she’s been turned to their cause, we have to assume she’ll have told them all she knows. We have no choice but to prepare for all eventualities.”

“Or we would, if we had any notion of their next destination.”

Here, Ndeeldavono smiled. “As a matter of fact, we believe we may have known all along.”

“I would hope you do not plan on keeping us guessing, my Zj,” Trufant prodded.

“Why, the very planet where we earned that blade, Commander.”

Pruitt knew. He had already deduced the nature of the 'enemy' populating Ndeeldavono’s story. An enemy so savage as to draw the everlasting wrath of the Tyroshi? A planet and people nuked to the brink of extinction? A group of fugitives and freedom fighters—including a Shih’rahi huntrex and commandant of the Free Planetary Irregulars—who just happened to be in possession of seemingly all-powerful nanites?

No matter the math, the equation had only solution.

“Shih’ra,” he found himself saying almost involuntarily.

“The very same, Ensign,” regarding him with a predatory smile. “At last, it has all come full circle.”

39 • NEW BLOOD

Ohana stood with Dell and the rest of Gold Wing, watching in her borrowed Irregulars’ dress uniform as the twenty-four pilots selected to fill the martyred ranks of
Liberator’s
Red Wing marched forward to receive their wings from Commander Harm. Many veterans of other wings in the fleet had been reassigned to give the new roster some depth and leadership. Several greenhorn wingers obviously fresh out of what passed for the Irregulars’ version of flight school rounded out the assembly. It was a motley assortment, but they would have to do.

A small voice inside her reminded her that she was hardly one to judge.

The minimalist ceremony complete, Commander Harm welcomed them aboard
Liberator
. Then he allowed them to elect their wing commander. The vote proved merely a formality. Rishi Mon Claire won unanimously, having volunteered to give up his command of Blue Wing to his more than competent young second. Red Wing needed leadership, and he was undoubtedly the man to take the reins from its erstwhile commander, the late Drusilla Estes.

“Congratulations, old friend,” Commander Harm said. “Red Wing brings the heat.”

“That we do, that we do.”

Turning from Rishi to Dell, Commander Harm showed the favor he possessed for his protege by crossing the deck to stand before him. “We have a few more new pilots to bestow wings upon, but I think given that they’ll be going to Gold Wing, their Wing Commander should be the one to have the honor.”

Dell was obviously taken aback by his mentor’s statement. “Sir? I don’t understand.”

Commander Harm clasped Dell’s shoulder, almost as a father would his son’s. “We’ve come a hell of a long way together, you and I, but you’ve been the heart and soul of this wing for a while now, Dell, not me. Besides, this is no job for an old man like me. For the first time in my life, I think I’m ready to step behind the podium.” He produced a velvet-lined box featuring the pips of a Free Planetary flight marshal. “Promotion came through this morning. I’ll be overseeing all the wings aboard
Liberator
, as well as those of its support vessels. It would mean a lot to me if you would pin them on me, son.”

“Holy…” Dell’s hand trembled just so as he took the box. Commander Harm was already removing the pips representing his previous rank. Tilting his head back, he smiled when Dell pinned the new pips to his collar. They saluted, savoring the moment as only mentor and protege could. Then Marshal Harm held out his hand. In his palm rested the two pips commemorating his long standing command of Gold Wing.

“Sir,” Dell said quietly. “I couldn’t.”

Marshal Harm just smiled. “Humble as ever. It’s these or nothing else, Commander DeCoud. We don’t exactly have lots of these just boxed up, waiting to be claimed.”

Swallowing, Dell nodded. “In that case, sir, if you’d do me the same favor?” Dell lifted his chin, exposing his collar and the now obsolete wingman first class pips adorning it.

“Gladly.” A moment later they were shaking hands, both having taken a great step forward in their careers. “They look damn good on you, Commander. Congratulations, Gold Wing is yours. You’ve earned it. Now, about your new recruits…”

“Actually, sir, if I may?”

“Yes, Commander DeCoud?”

Dell drew himself up straight as an arrow, apparently emboldened by the commander’s pips on his collar. “We had a talk last night, sir,” he said, indicating the surviving members of his wing. “We feel the best way to honor our fallen brothers and sisters is to adopt their designation. That is, unless Commander Mon Claire has any objections.”

Rishi smiled in that curiously melancholy way of his. “I think it a most fitting tribute, Commander DeCoud. Consider the designation yours with my blessing.”

Nodding his thanks, Dell turned to address his wingmen. “They were the bravest among us, always and forever. We’re still here today because they’re not. That was their choice—their gift—to us. Let’s do them proud.” Jaw set, he bowed his head and lifted his fist into the air. His wingmen followed suit, huddling in close. “Red Wing!” he barked. “
Sound off
!”

“Red Wing brings the heat!”

“
Again
!”

“RED WING BRINGS THE HEAT!”

“
AGAIN
!”

“
RED WING BRINGS THE HEAT
!!”

The moment was electric, bristling with catharsis even for Ohana. She had been out there, too. She owed her life to the former members of Red Wing as much as any of those huddling up with Dell.
 

“Marshal Harm,” she said, stepping forward as the huddle broke up amidst much embracing and back-slapping. “I’ve made my decision, sir. I’d like to enlist, here and now.”

The statement caught everyone by surprise, to say the least. “Say that again, Miss Cassel?”

“I want to join the Irregulars. You need pilots,” she said, her back ramrod straight as she addressed him. “You’ve let me train them. Now let me fly with them. I won't let you down, sir. That is a promise.”

“And who would you fly with?”

“Red Wing. If Commander DeCoud will have me, sir.”

Marshal Harm raised an eyebrow at Dell. He responded with a single nod. Apparently that was all it took.

“Raise your right hand,” Harm said. She did as instructed. “Ohana Cassel, do you hereby swear to uphold the
Locus Manifesto
of the Coalition of Free Planetary Republics with all your mind, body, and soul?”

“I do, sir.”

“Do you forsake all previous allegiances and obligations, swearing in the course to be bound by Coalition laws, and to execute the orders of your superiors without hesitation or deviation?”

“I do, sir.”

“Do you take this burden upon yourself freely and without reservation or purpose of mental evasion?”

“I do, sir.”

Marshal Harm nodded. “Commander,” he said, nodding toward Dell. “Yours should suit her just fine.”

It took Dell a moment to realize what he meant. Fishing into his pocket, he found his old first class pips. Ohana tried to keep a straight face when he stepped up to pin them on the collar of her now-official dress uniform; instead, they shared an awkward smile, but otherwise played it fairly cool. At least she thought so.

“Congratulations, Wingman First Class Cassel. Welcome to Red Wing.”

“Thank you, Commander DeCoud. Red Wing brings the heat.”

They barely got back to his quarters after the ceremony before stripping each other of their dress uniforms and tumbling onto his woefully undersized rack.

As fantastic as the sex was, Ohana couldn’t sleep afterward. Mostly because she knew it had to be the last time. She liked Dell. A lot. Maybe because she had saved his life. Maybe because he was cute and funny and the best damn pilot she’d ever laid eyes on (other than herself, that is). Maybe because they made some pretty amazing things happen between the sheets, despite the fact she was his first.