Assemblage System, Commandeered Bonthan Courier Vessel and Assemblage Station
“I need a boost,” Teelm said, peering up at the computer console inside the Bonthan courier ship. With a grunt, Lt. Reald made a foothold for him with her tentacles and heaved up. Teelm scrambled onto the console, then reached down to Nach to pull him up with him. “Once Delv makes the connection, I need 5 minutes to integrate my computer.”
Teelm brought the Bonthan security feeds back up as their hardware specialist, Nach worked to pry apart the bridge computer console that they both stood on. “Two of Moktep’s guards are outside the docking collar, looks like they are watching the approach to the ship.” Teelm paused as he switched to another security camera angle. “They’re in armor and…”
“Specialist?” Reald inquired.
“Sorry Lieutenant, you’re going to want to see this,” Teelm piped the video stream from the security monitors into Reald’s helmet’s HUD, showing two Bonthan guards encased in heavy armor, with a 9-meter long tripod mounted particle cannon between them.
“Now that is going to make a mess out of the rescue team when they come around the corner,” Reald said. “Ploel, I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to sit this one out.”
Up until now, Ploel, the sixth member of the Dreeden tactical team, hadn’t participated as Lt. Reald had directed the rest of her team in the capture of the Bonthan courier ship. Now, Ploel gave the Lieutenant a sad smile from behind his helmet and drew a short, stubby blade. “It’s what I’m here for, Lieutenant.”
Teelm shivered a little as he watched Ploel go through a warm-up kata with the small knife in his tentacles, fluid and precise as always. In all the missions that Teelm had been on, Ploel was only needed when things went wrong because when he was involved, things got…messy.
Lt. Reald removed her side-arm from its holster on the thigh of her skin-suit.
Teelm watched the team’s Kethkan finish limbering up. “Rules of engagement?” Ploel asked.
“None specialist. These are Moktep’s personal guards. They won’t be missed.” Lt. Reald replied. “Nach, Faen, Delv and I can provide backup, but we need Teelm on the computer.”
“Easier that way Ma’am,” Ploel said. “I’ll just need covering fire to distract the one of the left while I take the one on the right. Just you, Ma’am, you’re the best shot.”
The tone of Ploel’s voice was cold, professional, but Teelm thought he detected something else there as well, an eagerness. It reminded him of the feeling that Teelm got when he was up against an ultra-secure system. It wasn’t just an obstacle, it was a challenge. Except when Ploel was involved, it wasn’t a computer system that was going to be destroyed, it was lives.
Teelm watched as the Kethkan and the Lieutenant stalked quietly toward the docking collar, where two Bothan guards waited, facing away from the ship toward the corridor beyond.
He held his breath as the two Dreeden crept closer to the guards. If he hadn’t seen Ploel in action before, he would have been nervous for his team members. Instead, he just hoped he didn’t throw up this time after watching the team’s security specialist go to work.
Nuryaw stumbled as two shots rang out from down the corridor they were about to enter, but Wenthan caught her as she scrambled for footing. The wound she took to her side was worse than she had let the others know, and Nuryaw sucked in a pained breath as she straightened.
Upon hearing the gunfire, Cpt. Gupta signaled a halt. “Was that your people Nesh?”
The Dreeden nodded. “I’m in contact with the team, they say that there were two of Mokteps guards outside of the docking collar in power armor with a heavy weapon, but that they’ve neutralized the threat.”
“Your team took out two Bonthan’s in power armor Nesh?” Baden voiced the incredulity that Nuryaw was feeling. After thinking that the Bonthan were the most dangerous species in the galaxy for her entire life, this last month was turning her world-view upside down.
“There’s a Keth on the team, Baden. Pure-strain,” Nesh replied, between gulps of air. Unlike the rest of the Dreeden in their party, who wore powered light armor, Nesh’s didn’t have any motorized assist, and he took advantage of their groups halt to catch his breath.
Baden seemed satisfied with that answer, and Gupta signaled their group to start running again. Nuryaw was grateful for Wenthan’s support again as they made their way through the embassy corridors. She still didn’t know what a Keth was. Another type of alien?
Corporal Carlson seemed to recognize her confusion as she jogged along-side Nuryaw and Wenthan. “I fought alongside a pure-strain Dreeden Keth once, back during my tour with 8th fleet. We were assaulting a Vorshan raiding base. Now, most Dreeden, they don’t care for violence. Doesn’t mean they’re not capable of it, but they don’t take to it like us humans do. More flight than fight in their genes, I guess. Most of those that fight have to train longer, harder, just to overcome that.”
The human trooper paused in her explanation as they came to a junction, peeking her rifle around a bisecting corridor, then continuing on when no chasing security forces could be seen. “Now the Keth, those Dreeden are different. They’re quiet like. Controlled. They feel fear just like anyone else, but they’re wired different than other Dreeden. More like humans with their fight-or-flight reflexes. And they’re well-trained, too. Disciplined. Kind of like warrior monks from the holovids… well, you probably haven’t seen too many of those.
“Anyway, the Keth make up the majority of the Dreeden you’d see on the front lines. Ship captains, infantry, special forces – chances are they’re Keth. Now, from what I understand, if two Keth hook up and have kids, those kids will be, well, like super Keth. They call them ‘pure-strain Keth, or ’Kethkan.’ When I looked at this one back in that assault on the Vorshan strongpoint, I saw the same thing I saw in our high-speed, low-drag spec ops guys. They’re dangerous. Deadly. Capable of facing things that would make most folks turn tail and run.
“This Kethkan was rolling with one of our SpecFor teams in the assault, real tip of the spear types. They went in ahead to recon a guard post, with an estimated 130 Vorshan, my platoon was to come in later with the rest of my company and make the assault. Ten of them went in that guard post, nine of our SpecFor guys and that one Dreeden. An hour later, our platoon rolls up to help secure the post, and here’s that SpecFor team, sitting pretty, cleaning their guns outside of the post. They had taken it, just the ten of them. But here’s what gets me, Admiral. The nine human SpecFor guys? They were cleaning their guns while waiting for our platoon to show. The pure-strain? She was cleaning Vorshan blood off of her knife.”
Hyperspace, Aboard ARTS Helena
Quet ran her tentacles along the side of her fighter. The cera-metallic armor was cold to the touch. Far from being smooth, the surface was pitted and scratched, with different textures betraying where pieces of the fighter’s armored plating had been cut out and replaced over its 70 year lifetime.
Like most Bearcat fighters, Quet’s had been produced during the second Vorshan war, when humans and Dreeden had to fight together a second time to protect their colonies from the expansionist Vorshan. Quet thought that her Bearcat wore its scars well, each one telling a story of a battle. She wondered how much of the fighter was original – her crew chief had once confided to her that most Bearcats were now more replacement parts than original construction.
The hangar bay of the Helena smelled like scorched electronics and sweat, with many of the Bearcats pried open and swarming with repair crews. Her ‘Cat was one of the few that returned from the battle with the Rashan relatively intact, with only its shield capacitors needing a change according to her crew chief’s diagnostics. Still, Quet liked to walk the fighter herself, checking it for any damage that the maintenance crew might have missed. After getting her home again safely, she felt like she owed it that much.
The hangar itself was a beehive of activity. No launch operations could be conducted in hyperspace, so the hangar deck was dotted from end to end with Bearcats and their larger, strike fighter variant, the Tigercat. Maintenance crews in reflective-orange piped jumpsuits surrounded each craft, attaching sensor leads, removing panels, and in some cases, lugging heavy pieces of armor plating over to patch damaged sections. Further down the bay, Helena’s complement of bombers received the same attention.
Quet was surprised to feel wet paint on her tentacles and smiled grimly as she saw two lines of freshly painted fox-head like icons that joined the four Vorshan icons that had graced her fighter since her tour with 8th fleet.
“You know Bug, I thought your head was big before, but how is it going to fit in your helmet now that you’re a double-ace?” Jester smiled broadly as he approached. “Not many pilots get to say that they made ace and double-ace in the same day.”
“I had to start catching up to you sometime Jester,” Quet smacked him in the leg. “I just wish that we had a few more of our squadron to celebrate with,” glancing at the empty fighter bays that lined the interior of Helena’s cavernous hangar.
The ordinarily chipper Jester sombered for a moment. “That was a furball out there, wasn’t it.” He looked down the bay at the remains of Helena’s bomber wing. “And a bad day to be a bomber pilot. C’mon Bug, let’s hit the debrief and then have a drink. I think we’ve earned it.”
“One second Jester,” Quet said over her shoulder, turning back to her Bearcat and leaning her forehead on its armor plating. Thanks again, old friend, for bringing me home safely.
Jester, for once, didn’t make a joke of Quet’s behavior. The only fighter pilots that didn’t have little superstitious rituals like Bug’s had never been in combat.
Assemblage System, Commandeered Bonthan Courier Vessel and Assemblage Station
Two of Moktep’s guards lay in their own blood in front of the docking collar, smoking holes piercing their power armor. A Dreeden leaned against one of the bodies, cleaning its knife, while another strode toward them purposefully, snapping a sharp salute to Nesh.
“Lt. Reald, reporting in sir. Vice Admiral Moktep slagged the ship’s computer core pretty badly, but we’ve got Specialist Teelm on it. He’s splicing in his own system as a proxy.”
“Good work Lieutenant,” Nesh replied. “Will we have navigation functions?”
“As long as we don’t try any fancy maneuvering, Teelm says we’ll be fine.”
“Admiral,” Reald turned to Nuryaw. “The ship is yours.”
Nuryaw allowed herself a small smile and nodded her head to the Dreeden Lieutenant. After being imprisoned, put on trial, dragged through a running battle across the Assemblage and shot, Nuryaw finally felt like she had control of her own destiny again. It was a powerful feeling.
“Bridge crew! Take your stations! Make ready to detach docking collar, I want us underway in two minutes. Wenthan, get the passengers secured. Let’s go catch the Flashing Hooves.”
Nuryaw’s bridge crew, despite their ordeal, snapped to attention and saluted their admiral, then hurried on to the courier ship to prep it for launch, but Wenthan hung back for a moment.
“It’s good to have you back, Admiral.”
“It’s good to be back, Wenthan. Now get these passengers on board. One minute fifty seconds!”
As the group strode aboard, Nuryaw almost didn’t hear Baden’s whisper to Nesh. “She reminds me of Elizabeth sometimes.” She pondered for a moment, then decided that she would figure out if that was a compliment or not at a later time.
Hyperspace, Aboard ARTS Helena
“I’ve brought coffee, Ma’am.”
Jim Wexler carefully balanced a tray with a pot of coffee and two mugs one-handed as he pressed the door chime to the Admiral’s quarters. After a moment, the door slid open, and Jim stepped in. The room was sparsely decorated, with pictures of starships from humanity’s past lining the walls, as well as a large landscape painting from what looked to be from the planet Trappist Major.
Admiral Davies sat at her desk in front of her holo-pad, her uniform jacket draped over the back of her chair. A decanter of whiskey sat open on her desk along with an empty glass. Jim couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under the admiral’s eyes as he poured her a cup of coffee and handed it to her.
Davies smelled her coffee, then gave the mug an appreciative sip.”From Earth?”
“Yes ma’am. Managed to sweet talk the steward into some of the specialty stores. I figured that you would want the real thing. I hope I didn’t overstep, ma’am.”
The Admiral waved her hand dismissively. “You did well, Lieutenant. I needed this.” She motioned to one of the chairs opposite her work desk. “Sit, join me.”
Jim did as he was told, shakily pouring a cup of coffee for himself. He took a sip and blinked. James had never had earth-grown coffee beans before, and it was some of the best coffee he ever had. He brought his cup to his mouth to take another sip but put it down when he realized he probably looked greedy.
“You’re nervous,” Davies grimaced. “That’s my fault, I suppose.” She glanced down at her coffee. “Flag lieutenants are supposed to be the Admiral’s right hand, but I’ve kept you at a distance these past few months. Unprofessional of me.” She frowned.
Jim was going to reply but thought better of it. Whatever the Admiral was going to say, she wasn’t done yet. It was true that Admiral Davies had kept him at a distance, not letting him in her inner circle. As a Flag Lieutenant, his job was to take care of all the minutiae and paperwork of running a fleet, so his Admiral didn’t have to, but it was often a challenge when it seemed admiral never wanted much to do with him.
“You remind me a lot of my last Flag Lieutenant. Another fresh face straight from the academy, she was about your age too. Bright. Enthusiastic.” The admiral ran a hand through her close-cropped silver hair. “Dead.”
“I’m sorry for…”
Admiral Davies dismissed his apology with a waved hand. “No, don’t apologize. Not your fault. Mine.” The Admiral sighed and grimaced at her empty glass of whiskey, but took another sip of steaming coffee. “You’ll have to excuse me, lieutenant, writing condolence letters makes me maudlin.”
Jim wasn’t sure what to say, so he remained quiet and took a sip of coffee instead. Admiral Davies always seemed so in control and dispassionate on the bridge and in briefings, but this was different. He felt like he was intruding something intensely private, but stood his ground. She had asked him here, and it had to be for a reason.
Admiral Davies let out a deep breath and sat up a bit straighter in her chair. “Now, you’re not here to just listen to me complain. It’s time I got over my own reluctance in working with you. I’ve got my hands full trying to work with the League’s fleet, and I have two projects that I need you to work on for me.”
“One.” Davies held up a finger. “I need you to liaise with our intel staff and gather all the technical data we were able to recover regarding the Rashan capital ships, skirmisher craft, and weaponry. That’s not all. I also want you to interview our captains, our pilots, our gunners, even our sensor and E-War techs. Their after-action reports are a start, but we need more. We need a comprehensive picture of what exactly it’s like to fight the Rashan. Strengths, their tendencies, and habits in combat. Everything.”
“Two,” Davies held up a second finger. “An hour after we jumped into the Rashan, our sensor techs picked up a sub-space communication pulse. Heavily encrypted, but it was still out in the open instead of a secure ship-to-ship comm. I’d like you to work with the signals intelligence department to find out why the Rashan would send out a system-wide communication. Your file says that you have some experience in this department?”
“Yes Ma’am,” Jim confirmed. “I ran the signals intelligence shop for the Acadia during my stint with 8th fleet. I’ll do my best.”
“See that you do Lieutenant. I want the first report in two days. Dismissed Lieutenant.”
“Yes Ma’am.” Jim saluted and turned on his heel to leave.
“Wait a moment.” Davie’s voice froze him in his tracks. “Fill up your cup before you go, Wexler. I can’t drink this whole pot myself.”
Jim did as he was ordered. It was really good coffee.
Assemblage System, Commandeered Bonthan Courier Ship
“No response yet from the Assemblage. We’ll be clear of the station’s outer defense perimeter in 15 seconds.” Wenthan reported from the sensor post on the cramped bridge of the courier ship.
The fact that it was built for Bonthan sized crew-members meant that the entire rescue party had no problem fitting aboard. Nuryaw wasn’t sure how the Dreeden tactical team had managed to gain such complete access to Bonthan security systems, but they showed a technical sophistication that she didn’t expect from such a minor species.
There I go again, underestimating the Dreeden and the Humans. For centuries, the species of the League had existed in a stable status-quo. The Bonthans had the most powerful fleet, the Queel were the most technically advanced, the Arkone were the best at engineering, and so on. Nuryaw had a feeling that the Dreeden and Humans cared very little if they upset this pecking order.
“How much time do we have until the Flashing Hooves reaches their jump point?” Nuryaw asked. It felt good to be back in a command couch, despite the pain from the wound in her side. She pushed the pain away as she surveyed the remains of her bridge crew, each of them posted at a duty station on the small bridge. If they can do their duty after the ordeal that bastard put them through, so can I.
Harder for Nuryaw to push away was the pain she felt when she glanced at the empty Bonthan acceleration couches on the bridge, each one a reminder of one of her officers that she had failed. And how many did I fail at Meruk? She asked herself, not for the first time. How many lives did my arrogance cost?
“It looks like five hours before they clear the gravity well, Admiral. If we go full burn, we can catch them in three.”
Nuryaw shook herself from her thoughts and peered down at the Dreeden ambassador, who stood along with two other vacuum suited Dreeden on stacked cargo containers which allowed the diminutive species to reach the ship’s engineering console. “Ambassador Nesh, how are the engine controls coming?”
“Specialist Teelm here has his computer hard-wired into the ship’s systems. Despite Moktep destroying the ship’s memory core, the software for each individual system is intact. We should be able to get full performance from the engines.”
“Admiral, we are clear of the Assemblage defense perimeter,” Wenthan reported.
Nuryaw nodded and clasped her grasping hooves together. “Very good. Helm, set an intercept for the Flashing Hooves. Let’s go get my ship.”
Teelm let out a long breath that he didn’t realize he had been holding as the ship cleared the defense perimeter. It had been touch-and-go for several hours after they had left the assemblage, and while he had manipulated the ship’s IFF so that the courier ship would show up as an Arkone freighter to a cursory inspection, any closer look would have revealed the stolen ship for what it was.
As he sighed, Teelm felt a tentacled appendage rest on his shoulder. He looked behind him to see his squad-leader there.
“Well done Teelm.” Lieutenant Reald said in a rare bit of praise. “Now go get some rest. We’ve got several hours until we reach the Admiral’s flagship, I’ll need you sharp when it comes time.”
“Yes Ma’am.” Teelm sketched a cursory salute and clambered down from the cargo containers that had allowed him to reach the Bonthan controls. Teelm was used to feeling like everything was a little too big for him in the embassy, which was scaled to allow for humans to live and work there as well as Dreeden, but this ship felt cavernous in comparison.
He made his way to the back of the ship where the rest of his squad had commandeered a sleeping alcove. Nach, Delv, and Faen were spread out on the padded floor, their vacuum suits folded neatly next to them. Faen looked fast asleep, while Nach had managed to somehow find a pack of playing cards and seemed to be trying to teach Delv a game. A few meters away Ploel moved through an elaborate kata, tentacles flowing languidly in deceptively slow arcs before straightening in a blink to form rigid strikes and blocks to counter an imagined opponent.
In the opposite alcove, the Dreeden security team from the embassy were sprawled out similarly. Teelm recognized chief Beur among them and resolved to talk to him after he shed his gear.
Teelm hadn’t realized how stifling his vacuum suit had been until he stepped out of it, feeling the cool circulated air from the ship’s environmental systems through his undersuit. He took extra care removing his tentacle EVA gauntlets, not wanting to damage their delicate waldoes that allowed him to operate a computer terminal while in the suit. Once he was down to his skin suit, he walked over to chief Beur, who was quietly conversing with a human marine with twin rank bars on their shoulder. Teelm strained to hear their conversation as he walked closer.
“…is going to be ugly. Light weapons, light armor, no breaching charges, and only one squad of marines, plus your security team and tactical team. Without a miracle, we won’t make it past the airlock.” The human captain spoke softly to chief Beur, who gave the human a pointed look as Teelm approached. The human got the message and straightened to face Teelm as well.
“Appreciated your assist back on the Assemblage, Specialist,” Beur said, reaching out to grasp tentacles with him. “Captain Gupta, Teelm is the hacker I was telling you about.”
Captain Gupta peered down at him. “Chief here tells me that you pulled our asses out of the fire a few times back there.”
“It wasn’t much, really,”Teelm, struggling to sort through what he had just heard. The human is right, how are we going to storm a dreadnaught?. “With the Assemblage network compromised, it was easy enough to re-route the… oof!” Teelm let out a gasp as Lt. Reald walked up, giving him a solid thwap on the back with her tentacles.
“What the Specialist means to say, gentlemen, is ‘thank you.’” Reald grinned at the security chief and then up at the marine captain. “Now I know you two weren’t discussing the tactical considerations of breaching the defenses of a Dreeden dreadnought without including me and my team of specialists, who are all highly trained specifically to get into places that they shouldn’t be, now where you?”
Oh shit. Teelm backed away as his lieutenant stared down Captain Gupta, who towered over her. Reald was short even for a Dreeden, but Teelm had seen her temper before, and he knew that he didn’t want to be anywhere near this confrontation.
“Lieutenant Reald,” Captain Gupta pronounced the rank more slowly than necessary, “As ranking military officer on this mission, I’ll be assuming command of the operation. Your input, however, will be appreciated.”
“My input, Captain,” Reald pointed a tentacle up at Captain Gupta’s face, “is that my team works for the Dreeden Department of State and as such doesn’t fall under your chain of command. Furthermore, as this is a State Department operation, I believe that you’ll find that….”
Whatever Reald was about to say was stopped by Ambassador Baden, whose long strides took him between Reald and Gupta, who were doing their best to stare each other down. For being half Gupta’s size, Teelm thought that Reald was doing a passable job at it.
“I swear to god,” Baden pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s always a dick measuring contest. Every. Single. Time. I think it’s just a rule of nature. Put two different branches of service members together, and someone has to just whip it out.”
Teelm noticed that despite the captain and lieutenant staring each other down a moment ago, that neither of them could meet Baden’s eyes.
“Now,” Baden continued, “it’s been quite some time since I served. But did it ever occur to you that if we’re going to try and gain access to a Bonthan warship, that maybe, just maybe, we should defer to the Bonthan High Admiral that happens to be on this very ship?”
Lt. Reald and Captain Gupta looked like they were going to argue for a moment, but Baden’s ordinarily genial expression turned to ice in a moment, and suddenly both Reald and Gupta seemed to deflate before the ambassador. “Yes sir. We’ll request Admiral Nuryaw to join us.”
Wenthan watched as the little Dreeden hacker’s tentacles danced across the computer console, following Teelm’s progress as he infiltrated the Flashing Hooves’ holo-tablet network.
Wenthan had to admit that the little Dreeden was impressive, bypassing security protocols and network defense algorithms with practiced ease.
Teelm’s tentacles ceased their movement, and he looked up at Wenthan. “You’re in. You’re sure this contact of yours can get us close enough?”
“She should be able to. She’s a bright comm tech, and loyal to the admiral.” Wenthan nodded down at the little alien and moved to remotely access the Flashing Hooves communications network. The next steps were tricky, but Wenthan knew the comm systems on Bonthan dreadnaughts like the back of his hoof.
The courier ship couldn’t make outside contact with the Flashing Hooves without throwing up red flags all across the flagship, and even with Teelm’s considerable skill, trying to bypass the military grade security onboard the flagship to take direct control of any critical systems was impossible, especially since most vital networks were air-gapped.
Instead, they went a different route. While the Flashing Hooves central systems were protected by layers of firewalls and high-grade security algorithms, there was another way to get a message aboard the ship: personal holo-tablets.
Wenthan activated the holo call button on his console. Please pick up, he thought desperately. It had been his idea to go this route when Nuryaw had gathered the odd team of rescuers and rescuees together to brainstorm their plan to take back the Flashing Hooves.
After several tense moments, Wenthan sighed with relief as the call was connected and the surprised face of a young Bonthan appeared on the screen.
“Bridge officer Wenthan?” The Bonthan on the screen peered closer, rubbing at an eye with a fore-hoof. “You were arrested! How did you contact me? Wait, where are you?”
Wenthan tried to keep his voice low and soothing as possible when he replied. “Hello, Ensign Yathed. Please listen carefully.”
“Are you on a ship? How did you escape? They said that you and the bridge crew were traitors.” Yathed’s voice was uncertain, “Is it true?”
Wenthan didn’t notice Nuryaw moving behind him into the holo-call camera’s field of view, but he saw Yathed’s eyes widen in awe. “Admiral Nuryaw?”
“Ensign Yathed! Are you in the habit of questioning your superior officers?” Nuryaw had drawn herself to her full height, managing to somehow look imposing despite the bandages that wrapped her side.
“No Ma’am,” the Ensign stammered. “I just…”
“Silence!” Nuryaw thundered. “Do you want to get busted down to midshipman? In fact, I don’t know if I’ll stop there, I just might drum you out of the service. I know you have questions, but right now there is only one question you should have, and it’s a question for you.” Nuryaw leaned over the console, and Wenthan knew that on the other end of the holo-call, Nuryaw’s holographic head would be looming menacingly out of Yathed’s holo tablet at her.
“The question is,” Nuryaw continued, “is whether you truly believe that the charges against myself and the bridge crew are true.”
Yathed hesitated, then shook her head. “No Admiral. I don’t. Most of the crew doesn’t believe the charges either.”
“Good.” Nuryaw’s straightened back up, clasping her fore-hooves behind her back. I appreciate your loyalty. There will be time enough for questions later. For now, Wenthan will tell you what we need you to do.”
After the holo-call had completed a few minutes later, Wenthan sat back hard in his acceleration couch and turned to Nuryaw. “That was amazing, the way that you took charge. Thank you.”
Nuryaw smiled at him. “First secret of command, Wenthan. Rank structure doesn’t matter as much as you think it does.” Nuryaw gestured down to the blank space on her carapace. “Never underestimate the power of making an ensign cry.”