Birthright: Battle for the Confederation- Reprisal Read online

  “Alright ladies and gentlemen, I have some news for you,” began Elco. The captain stood up and walked around to the front of his desk and rested back up against it, crossing his arms in a gesture of body language that Loren had come to recognize showed disapproval of something.

  “The Primans gave up without a fight,” joked Merritt, “and we went through all of this for nothing?”

  “You’ll wish that was it after you hear this. I have received official notification that Confed Navy is going to formally adopt some sort of mutual cooperation treaty with remnants of the Enkarran Empire, specifically, a noteworthy chunk of their navy. The ships approached a Confederation task force a while back and their spokesperson has been in negotiations with Confed agents ever since.” Elco paused for a bit to let it sink in. While Loren already knew this from his time at the Gallant briefing, he was curious how everyone else would take it. The looks were mostly of surprise, though there were a few grunts of disapproval.

  “I’m telling you this because Confed wants to be proactive in keeping all of us up to speed so we can keep the rumor mill under control. There is no timetable set for any sort of involvement or integration, and even if that becomes the case, nothing has been agreed to as far as operational orders. We need to keep in front of this, and if people start asking questions, which you know they will, we need to maintain discipline. I can’t imagine this could be in any way seen as a popular move, but apparently Confed HQ feels it was in our best interests. Just let your people know, they may not like it, but that’s the way it might be.”

  There were no questions, only stunned silence. Loren hadn’t told Cory and the rest because he thought that, at the speed most major decisions were made, it would take weeks to even get the next update.

  Apparently he was wrong. The thought of having to work with the people responsible for Delgin Marks’ death made his skin crawl.

  After the briefing was dismissed and the room had cleared out, Loren, Cory, Merritt and Web gathered at a nearby turbolift to wait for the next car. Loren finally let his feelings slip. “Well, there’s fifteen minutes of my life I’ll never get back. I got pulled away from doing something important to hear that we might get to work with the Enkarrans. What a joyous day.”

  Nobody quite knew how to put it any better than that.

  Aboard the Union, Captain Josias Krent would have not been surprised to hear what the reactions of Loren and Company were. He would have felt the same himself, he was sure.

  Officer Nestin had left his cabin for the evening, and Krent was due to make a call to his fleet in a few minutes to give them an update on the day’s negotiations. Things had gone well, and most items had been resolved. It was moving so fast, he hardly had time to think, really think, about what was happening to him and his fellow Enkarrans.

  They were, in effect, deserting the Enkarran Navy, even though the argument had been successfully made that the Navy as they knew it no longer existed. They were out on their own, not quite mercenaries, not quite orphans or guns-for-hire. They were people without a mission, with no homes to go back to since the Primans had swept through Enkarran space and claimed it as their own.

  Krent had spent the afternoon with a different negotiator who had been more interested in trying to get Krent to answer all manner of questions. The captain assumed, correctly, though he would never know it, that the Navy negotiator was in fact an Intelligence agent sent to glean some insight into Krent’s motives and perhaps some useful intel on the Enkarrans in general. Krent had quickly decided that, unless the answer could put his people in jeopardy, to just play along and answer as truthfully as possible the spook’s questions.

  Many of the lines of questioning were aimed at trying to determine if Krent was willing to turn his back on his people.

  “I must ask what may seem like a cruel question,” the man had said. “If you are willing to swap sides in this under these circumstances, what guarantee do we have that your people wouldn’t do it again at a moment’s notice?”

  “It’s a simple matter of motivation,” Krent had replied, finally dropping all pretense that he thought this was some sort of negotiating session. “I don’t know what you attribute our alliance to, but I’ll tell you plain and clear. It’s not remorse, or guilt. I did my duty, just as you would as an officer in whatever branch of Confed you work for. We may not at times like our assignments, but we do them. I’m not doing this as some sort of friendship-building exercise to pave the way to a life of comfortable brotherhood between our peoples. I am doing this, sir, because our survival as Enkarrans, and maybe as simply residents of this galaxy, require it. I will pledge my people’s support and cooperation to this cause because we agree that it needs to be done. The Primans have to be stopped, and maybe, just maybe, a few dozen extra Enkarran ships might help enough to make a difference.” Krent stopped to take a drink from his glass of water in front of him.

  “My home, my Navy, perhaps the planet I live on, are forever changed or even destroyed. When this is all over, should we as a coalition win and part ways, I won’t have a joyous homecoming when I return to my world. The Primans took over our Empire. All I have left to offer my crew and the Enkarrans with me are hope that, by defeating the Primans, we will someday be able to rebuild our way of life and our civilization. We can’t change sides at the last minute, because the Primans are occupying our homes. So yes, we’re in this to the end. It’s probably not the honorable, predictable holovid movie speech you’d like to hear, filled with regret and promises of redemption for our wicked ways. But I promise you, as long as there are Enkarrans under my command, we will fight the Primans to the end, because that’s all we have to do. We can’t run- there are planets and places in the galaxy where we could of course homestead and start over, but we’d be outcasts, people without a history or lineage to cling to. We can’t ask for asylum because who would have us? We will forever be remembered in this part of the galaxy as the people who helped the Primans gain a foothold. And yes, my government did it because we hoped to benefit from it, there’s no point in arguing that fact.

  “Now, however, the only thing we can do is try to rid the galaxy of them. That’s the only way to get our homes back, and truthfully, the worlds of the Enkarran Empire are quite possibly the only place in this galaxy we will probably ever be accepted. So yes, we will fight, to the end if need be, alongside Confederation, Talaran, or any other forces who will do so. We will do it because we need to, and whether you judge that to be a worthy enough reason for you or not, I don’t much care. It’s the truth, and we will abide by it.”

  The spook had actually seemed quite pleased with Krent’s words, and after he left, Krent was informed that a deal would be signed in short order. He assumed that the Confeds wanted just one last chance to delve into his motivations, and apparently, he thought with a jaded grunt, he must have passed the test.

  Mithus was standing watch on the security monitors when his personal comm chirped briefly. It was a short, directed transmission that he knew had originated far out-system from a Confed ship or probe. It contained only a few characters, but the code was understood. The extraction was on in two hours.

  He summoned Von to his position in the Senator’s compound with three quick clicks of his comm device. Seconds later, the other operative arrived and, after a quick briefing, Mithus left to find the Senator and his aide, Ples Damar. He noted with professional satisfaction that Von quickly went to the weapons cache and started cleaning and prepping their weaponry one last time. Since the use of Confed weapons would be an obvious giveaway, they had acquired through various means numerous locally made civilian-market weapons, though they had been able to modify a few to be more powerful to suit their tastes.

  He found the Senator and Ples Damar in the small broadcast studio, still poring over notes and plans for their victory speech upon what they considered a sure-fire rescue. Mithus had been on enough of these to know that assuming a success was not the mindset that would suit them best, but
he said nothing, reasoning that whatever kept the two civilians compliant and focused would work best for him and the remainder of his team.

  “Senator, Mr. Damar, I have good news,” Mithus announced as he strode into the dingy room. The room itself was in a dismal state, everywhere except for the one corner where they had created the backdrop for the Senator’s video broadcasts. “We’re going to be receiving visitors in about two hours.”

  He let that sit in the air for a minute, waiting to see how they’d handle the news. It would give him important information on their mental states and how they’d handle the stress of extraction. Both men perked up, eyes bright, but otherwise maintained their composure. That was good news to Mithus.

  “The Confed extraction force is on the way. They know roughly where we are, and upon landing we will make an open broadcast to give them our exact position. This will likely bring down some sort of Priman response, so we must be prepared to make our way out under fire.” Mithus had debated for a long while what, if anything, to arm the men with. Traditionally, it would have been unthinkable to give untrained civilians weapons, but with two of his team gone, he had decided to give them small personal blasters as a last-ditch measure for themselves. He reached into his back waistband and pulled out two small, locally made blasters. They were designed for personal protection, and weren’t good for much combatwise, as they didn’t have much range or the ability to punch through body armor unless it was within ten feet or so. However, Mithus figured that if the worst case presented itself, perhaps having these two armed would give them a chance to save themselves. Either way, he thought they deserved the chance to fight for their freedom if he and the rest of his team didn’t make it.

  He hefted the small weapons, and gave one to each of the men. The Senator looked at it with some disdain, though Damar received the weapon and simply nodded resolutely. “I don’t expect you two to use these, and I don’t want you trying to help us fight our way out. But if everything goes to hell and you two find yourselves alone, you should have options. These are only good for close range, two or three blocks at best if you’re not trained on their use, and their power packs are only good for about twenty shots.”

  Damar looked up at Mithus. “You don’t sound very optimistic.”

  “When you’re in my line of work, you keep very low expectations when planning. Then, if it goes well, you’re pleasantly surprised.” Mithus added the last sentence with a big, cheerful smile, hoping to show them that at least he and his men were at ease doing this. Making backdoor deals and greasing palms was what the Senator was good at; causing extreme mayhem and hurting others was Mithus’ gift.

  “Do you expect us to use these on ourselves?” asked the Senator. “Is that what you meant by things going to hell?” The Senator was starting to pale, and Mithus thought that now was not the time to have the man crack up on him.

  “No, I’m saying that I’m a realist, and there is always a chance some of us will get killed, separated from the group, or pinned down alone. If that happens and we’re not around, but you see your chance to get to freedom and get rescued, you take it. Understand? I can fend for myself, and my job is to get you two out of here. So if you have the opportunity to escape, and that little pocket rocket I gave you helps you do that, then it’s served its’ purpose. That’s all.”

  After Mithus left, Damar had tried to give the Senator one last pep talk about how, after they’d escaped, Damar would find a way to contact his Priman comrades. With no other government in place, the Senator would be alone in control of the Confederation for a time. Ples had invested a lot of effort in the Senator, and was now seeing the potential payoff. Damar would have the Senator would do everything he could while in power to enable the Primans’ goals in the galaxy, and when the time was right, would find a way to convince the people of the Confederation to welcome the Primans with open arms.

  All the Senator could think of was that, with no other elected government officials to speak of, he would be the sole voice of the people and, conveniently, the sole proprietor of the Confederation government. He wondered how long he could postpone elections to replace the Senators who were still presumably under lock and key with the Primans.

  It was Commander Velk’s first briefing of the day, and already he was not happy. He knew via Representative Terir on Delos that the Confederation rescue of the Senator was imminent. His plan to trap the rescue force in-system with the ships he had assembled for the assault on Confederation Navy HQ depended on the element of surprise. If he had no idea where or when the Confeds were coming, it was hard to guarantee that surprise. Terir had informed him that his agent there, Ples Damar, hadn’t been heard from in over two days since the agent warned of an impending communications blackout. Not knowing made Velk annoyed and short-tempered, and everyone around him knew things weren’t going according to his plan.

  One of those people was Representative Tash, who could only see this as an opportunity. He knew just as much as Velk, maybe more, thanks to Terir’s secret communications from Delos. It was obvious that Terir wasn’t doing this simply out of an altruistic sense of goodwill towards the success of his people. Terir’s family, though long before Terir himself had been born, was a former ruling clan who had once sent up a Commander for all the Priman forces. The trouble was, that had been during a scarce and troubled time, when the Primans were still hovering around the edges of the galaxy, picking off the occasional freighter or commercial ship to stay alive until the time was right to make their triumphant return. Terir had missed out on all of it; now his family’s influence was waning, and soon enough they would be out of government altogether. Couple that with the man’s personal ambitions to be a part of the new ruling force in the galaxy, and Tash had an ally that he knew he could depend on, whatever the man’s true motives really were. The truth was, Terir needed Tash to ascend to Commander and displace Velk’s family. Promises had already been made that would ensure Terir and his family would remain connected and involved.

  So Representative Tash sat patiently and attentively during the briefing, doling out advice when called on, and speaking up enough to ensure the appearance of eager servitude. The idea that the next ruling family must be essentially the servants of the current rulers was meant to instill a sense of service so they’d remember their place once they had uncompromised power. Tash merely felt it was belittling. And to have to go back to being the lackeys again after they had finished ruling was something Tash didn’t envy, either. Perhaps he could get the council to change that little roadblock at some point after he had dominated the galaxy. After all, they’d be much more compliant after rousing success, as opposed to their current lack of progress during the tedious tooth-and-nail fighting with the ungrateful inhabitants of this galaxy.

  At one of the final staging areas, the fleet was assembled and ready to make the last jump into the Delos System. Vessels of all sizes, from destroyers and specialty jamming ships up to Sabre class heavy carriers and their escorting Starshaker class battleships, aligned themselves for the maneuver.

  The ships were in various states of repair, a visible reminder of the half-year long struggle the Confederation Navy had been through with the Priman invaders. Some ships were pockmarked with damage, the occasional brand new components contrasting starkly with the rest of the ship’s weathered and worn exteriors. Two ships, a Confederation class cruiser and a Crusader class hunter/killer, were in fact so new they weren’t even finished off with their low-observable dark grey paint, instead showing up in the brushed metal color of their unfinished hulls.

  All this Loren watched from C3 in Avenger. He had an amazing amount of information available to him at a glance, orders of magnitude more than he could have ever seen from the cockpit of a Talon. Through the constant fleetwide datalink, he could see the condition of the reactors of any vessel, shield and damage control status, and even noticed that the destroyer Event Horizon had taken her hyperdrive offline to do an emergency coolant flush.

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p; He saw on the giant holo in the front of the room the layout of not only his division of the fleet, but the other two attack forces as well.

  He was conflicted about where he should be right now. He was a great pilot, and he could say that without sounding egotistical. The Talon was his instrument, and with it he was a force of nature, expertly combining tactics, awareness, and an intuitive ability to know how to fly against an opponent. He was completely familiar with the Talon after having flown it for years now. He could tell by the smell of the engines on a post-flight which powerplant he had run harder. He could tell where his blaster bolts would impact on the target range without looking at the computer projection. He could even listen to a lineup of idling ships and tell how many were actually running just by listening to the noise. He should be out there, one person, in one fighter, contributing in the way he had grown accustomed.

  But he couldn’t shake Captain Elco’s comments that maybe it was time he moved on to something bigger. Maybe he could have a greater impact on the war from inside the Avenger than from the cockpit of a fighter. Part of him was afraid to find out, that maybe he’d either be good at it or like it and decide to stop flying. Part of him was afraid of disappointing his friend, mentor and patron, for he realized that Elco had more than likely trampled a few regs to get him placed as the temporary XO. If the impending battle hadn’t occupied all of his waking energy, he might just have taken the opportunity to have a serious episode.

  Loren stood up straight, determining to banish those distracting thoughts until a more appropriate time. He tugged at his uniform sleeves, pulling them down to his wrists. It made him feel uncomfortable to be facing conflict wearing a standard shipboard uniform and not a flightsuit; he felt rather naked without it. The fact of the matter, though, was that he was in charge of C3, and needed to look like it, not appear to be some lost fighter jock who had accidentally wandered in and been placed in command.