Torian Reclamation 3: Test of Fortitude (12 page)

“Let’s go,” Brandon said. He stood and Perry followed him.

Azaar grew slowly larger on the bridge screens. They had come out of distortion-drive behind the farthest of Azaar’s three moons and were now using local propulsion to make a gradual—and hopefully unaggressive appearing—approach. Brandon could tell the mood was tense among the flight crew. Everyone knew the potential peril of arriving at an unfriendly advanced world. It was Brandon’s job to lessen that peril. A job he realized he was pitifully unqualified for in his current mental state.

Brandon looked around at the brave volunteers who were flying this ship. They were all trusting in his ability. Would he let them down? If he did, it wasn’t going to be from a lack of effort, dammit. Brandon purposed within himself to dig deep and find whatever he could to keep these Torian natives safe. Olut6 had entrusted him with the ship and crew. How had such a grave responsibility befallen him? And what could he do to stay true to it? How could he make certain the best of his abilities would be drawn upon and diligently employed?

Brandon found himself wondering what kind of advice Arkan9 would give him on such an occasion. Probably something about staying balanced, conjuring up inner fortitude, and honoring the Erobian law. Would Olut6 agree? This mission was a half-calculated gambit which depended on deception to be successful.

At that moment, Brandon had an idea. He turned to Perry.

“Board the IFT1. With the crew.”

“Sir—I mean, what?”

“Just do it, Perry. You trust my instincts, right? Prepare to launch if we open the hangar. If we do, be ready to rock, okay? There’ll be fighter squadrons around us.”

“You don’t want us to engage them, do you?”

“Of course not. They’ll probably fire warning shots in your direction—which is what I want. Be careful. Plot an arbitrary point a short distance outside this system and dag out as quickly as you can. Stay out there ten Torian hours and then come back to us. We’ll still be here. Ten hours, you got that?”

Perry cocked his head.

“I need you to hurry.” Brandon pointed to the lift.

Perry straightened up. “You’re the mission commander. I think I get it. We’ll be ready. Ten hours!”

Perry ran off the bridge.

The flight crew captain spoke. “Brandon, we’re close to broadcasting range. You want us to start hailing their known military frequencies with your message?”

“Yes. Hail away, Captain.”

The ship drew closer. Soon the planet filled the screens. Azaar was a large world with patches of yellow and red breaking up the familiar blue swirls of a hydrosphere planet. There were a dozen small stations in orbit, but no visible space activity other than a few shuttles docked and an occasional lone fighter on patrol.

“Any response to our hails, Captain?”

“No. But they know we’re here. Look.”

The expected welcoming committee suddenly appeared, streaking out of the atmosphere. More than forty fighters flying in a single formation broke up into four groups and came at Brandon’s transport ship from different directions. The Azaarian fighters had round hulls with hawk-like wings fixed over the top and were capable of agile maneuvers, which they seemed intent on demonstrating as they advanced.

“Still no communication?” Brandon asked the captain.

“No. Wait. Yes. We’ve got something. What is it, Milon4?”

Milon4, the communications officer, held his hand over his earpiece and leaned over his screen.

“It’s a demand to leave their space at once,” he said. “A generic message, on a sub-frequency. They’re not responding to our hails. It’s a fairly safe bet they’ve received them, though.”

“Respond directly on that sub-frequency,” Brandon said. “Give them my name, Brandon Foss. Let them know I’m an Earthling from Tora who requests an urgent meeting with their foreign relations delegate.”

“Yes, Commander.” Milon4 got busy with his transmitting equipment.

Brandon turned back to the captain. “Are we close enough to establish orbit?”

“Almost.”

“Slow us down to a crawl. Stay just outside of orbital range while we wait for a response.”

“You got it, Commander.” There was relief in the captain’s voice.

The fighters closed in and buzzed the Torian Class-3 transport ship. First one squadron and then another, flying in front, above, and below them before circling around again.

“They’re certainly trying to scare us off,” Brandon mumbled.

Milon4 spoke. “Commander, we’ve received a response to your last message. They’re refusing us. The only explanation is that they’re not accepting visitors.”

“At least they’re attempting to make it sound impersonal,” Brandon said. “Ask them to reconsider. Tell them it’s about the captured Latian fleet.”

“Yes, Commander.”

Brandon’s ship had now slowed to barely more than a drift. One of the Azaarian fighter squadrons appeared to be taking a stationary position directly ahead, blocking their forward path.

“They say our business with the Latians is none of their concern and demand we leave,” Milon4 said.

“Hit them right back,” Brandon said, “and tell them we know about their transport ship hiding in the upper atmosphere of HD28. Tell them we know why they were there, and why they were hiding.”

All the crewmembers except for Milon4 turned and stared at Brandon. Milon4 simply communicated the message without stopping to think. Brandon liked Milon4. He knew Perry would appreciate him, too. Milon4 was a good soldier.

The fighters stopped buzzing them. The remaining three squadrons now took up stationary positions as well, surrounding Brandon’s ship. Brandon couldn’t be sure, but it may have been due to an order given in reaction to his last message. If that was the case, it was …interesting.

“Any response?” Brandon asked.

“Not yet, Commander.”

“Can you confirm our last message went through?”

Milon4 touched some buttons and looked at two places on his station before responding.

“Yes. It went through.”

Several uneasy minutes passed. Finally, Brandon spoke again.

“Captain, tell the hangar deckhands and the ITF1 crew to stand ready. On my signal they are to launch. No delays.”

The captain nodded and communicated the orders. “They’re ready on your signal, Commander.”

“We’re getting their response now,” Milon4 said. “They deny any knowledge of our last reference to activity at HD28 and are repeating their demand that we leave. If we refuse to depart immediately, it will be considered an act of aggression and appropriate action will be taken.”

“Captain, adjust the angle of the ship,” Brandon said before Milon4 even finished speaking. “Make it look like we’re plotting the dag for departure, but align us so it’s clear to our rear. Then open the hangar and launch the ITF1.”

“Doing it now, Commander.”

Brandon watched two of the bridge crewmembers clutch the sides of their stations tightly. The ship changed positions, and then the captain ordered the hangar opened. Brandon turned around and watched the rear screen.

The hangar door at the rear of the Class-3 transport ship operated quickly—much faster than those on the Class-1 ships Brandon was used to. But still not quite fast enough. The closest Azaarian fighters saw what was happening and burst back to life, speeding towards the rear of the Brandon’s vessel. They arrived just as Perry’s ITF1 emerged from the hangar and engaged its local thrust.

A chase scene ensued. The ITF1 sped straight away, but the Azaarian fighters were faster and gained on it. The ITF1 then abruptly came to a stop and began adjusting its position.

That’s when the lasers started firing.

Because they were now somewhat distant, it was difficult to tell if the laser fire was attempting to hit the IFT1. If those were warning shots, they were good ones—coming close from vessels that had not yet slowed. Ten fighters gave the initial pursuit. Another ten were now behind the open hangar door, as if poised to shoot whatever else might emerge. But the door simply closed on them.

It would have been easy for the ITF1 to take out a couple of the Azaarian fighters with a REEP cannon blast. But that would have been an act of engagement, and Perry had contrary orders. Still, Brandon wondered how difficult it must have been for him not to return fire.

He didn’t. Perry was too good a soldier. As the number of laser beams firing around the ITF1 increased, its dag lit up. In another instant the ITF1 was gone. Several lasers then shot right through the space where it had been a moment ago.

“Excellent,” Brandon said. “That was perfectly done.”

Brandon turned back to Milon4.

“Send a new message. Tell the Azaarians the interstellar fighter they just engaged is on its way home to report their attack. It will be returning with the entire Torian military, unless we follow it home as well. But we won’t follow it until I’ve had a face-to-face meeting on the ground. If we don’t return home, and the Torian military arrives here and doesn’t find us safe, they’re facing an all-out war. The choice is theirs. If they don’t want Tora coming here with everything we have, they must receive me—today. Tell them all that, Milon4.”

“Got it, Commander. Give me a minute.”

The chasing fighters returned. All the Azaarian fighters then moved in closer to Brandon’s vessel. Four larger ships could now also be seen above the far horizon of Azaar.

“Message sent,” Milon4 said.

Brandon turned to the captain. “Ease us into a nice orbit now.”

The captain cocked his head. “You sure?”

“Yes. A bluff only works when you’re ready to die for it, unfortunately.”

“All right, Commander. I’ll try to squeeze by them.”

“No. Go directly into them. They’ll get out of the way. Take it slow.”

Brandon’s ship began moving closer to the planet. As it did, one of the Azaarian fighter squadrons repositioned itself in front of them and fired lasers across their bow. Another squadron then positioned themselves directly above and did the same thing. There was now a laser barrier in front of them that resembled a great red checkerboard.

“Commander?” the captain said.

“Fly right through it, Captain. Slowly.”

“Brandon,” he said.

Brandon looked at him and smiled. “Believe it or not, Captain, I now strongly believe this course of action is not only the best way to keep us safe, but also our friends and families back home.”

“All right,” he replied. “Hope this works.” As they proceeded directly into the laser grid he muttered, “A bluff only works when you’re ready to—”

The lasers all shut off. The fighters moved out of their way. Two of the four squadrons vacated the scene and returned to the atmosphere. The other two withdrew to a farther distance.

“Establish orbit, Captain.”

Brandon turned to Milon4. “Anything back from them yet?”

Milon4 laughed. “No. And I think it may take them a while to respond to your last message. It’s not something everyone can reply to. I expect we’ll be hearing from their high military commander next.”

“Yes,” Brandon said. “I expect we will.”

HD28 was a drab planet for the most part. The rocks, mountains, and soil were all a dull shade of gray. It struck Alan as something of an oddity.

Yet there were still colors. The sky was light blue, though the clouds were also gray. A short distance beyond the spot where the shuttle had landed, a cheerful oasis beckoned. Green trees and grass with patches of red and yellow brush. Other such patches of vegetation could be seen, but they were the exception in the landscape, the occasional island of color breaking up the vast sea of gray that connected everything.

The oceans and lakes were a deeper blue. They could be seen from orbit, and the landing craft had skimmed over some of them before coming to this place. They now stood a short distance from the side of a mountain that featured a series of tall rock outcrops. This is where Trodenjo and Shaldan expected to meet their native contacts. Alan noticed a hole in the nearby natural wall; some kind of cave entrance that apparently led to the natives’ underground home.

Trodenjo and three of his crewmembers walked a ways in that direction and then stood to wait. Shaldan remained with Alan next to the Mparian landing craft.

Jumper and Kayla emerged from the shuttle with Casanova on a leash. The three of them walked down the ramp to the ground, where Casanova stopped to sniff. Alan got the impression he didn’t like what he smelled, as he turned and looked back up the ramp. Jumper and Kayla had to pull him hard to get him to set foot on the soil.

“Such a magnificent animal,” Shaldan said. “I don’t imagine that leash would actually hold him if he had a mind to be somewhere else.”

Alan laughed. “It’s mostly for show. For your benefit, and that of the natives here. As guests, we feel obliged to provide you with a false sense of security.”

Shaldan flashed his corner teeth. “That’s always appreciated, thanks. These felidors of Amulen are obviously apex predators. Why is this one is so tame?”

“We raised him from a cub. He loves us. Jumper and Kayla have taught him to play a role in the war game they designed for their business. So he’s used to tackling strangers in a playful way, knowing it’s a game. I don’t know if Casanova could tell the difference between a real battle and a game anymore, so he’s probably not much use for protection—other than the scare factor.”