The Catherine Kimbridge Chronicles #4, Retribution Read online

  "Here are the numbers you were looking for sir and my apologies... this is the first time I have used this particular slave and it would seem obvious that its training is incomplete."

  Ricky pulled faint memories from the link he had with the real Rockclam. "We anticipate no problems meeting the deployment deadlines. As you know, the hyperfield jump limits that adversely affect the size of jumps moving into the galactic core are not a factor moving outward. Our forces should arrive at the staging area within the next two cycles. There are no anticipated deviations from the attack plan."

  “What about in the target universe?” Snatch Bait asked.“Our invasion force will be jumping in near a galactic core. My understanding is the more closely packed stellar masses occur, the more difficult it is to calculate extended jump coordinates… and the slower one must travel.”

  “You are absolutely correct, sir. However, each universe has a wide variety of attendant galaxies. The size of the particular galaxy in which we are engaging in this hostile takeover is less than a third the size of ours. We will have no trouble calculating jumps of several thousand light years... even in the general vicinity of the galactic core.”

  "Excellent, Admiral," Snatch Bait said. He immediately turned his attention to the next admiral in the room and continued polling the various members of the board for their individual statuses.

  At long last the meeting was done. Ricky slipped away as fast as decorum would permit. Honey walked a respectful three steps behind him. He snapped his fingers and held up the data pad. She meekly took it from his hand. The ride down the turbo lift was conducted in absolute silence. Neither knew for a fact that the chairman didn't routinely monitor or record conversations within the Syndicate Center headquarters complex.

  Thirty minutes later the real Admiral Rockclam awoke with a bit of a headache in a corner booth of a dark drinking establishment he had no memory of entering. He was no stranger to this particular establishment, so he waved to the barkeep on the way out. He would settle his tab later, when his head wasn’t spinning so much.

  ***

  Fedom was a small creature from a small world located in what he considered to be the smallest and darkest corner of Modos-controlled space. Despite his size, he had big dreams. He dreamed of a time when he and his people were again free. This was a dream that he shared with countless others. The Modos Syndicate had come to their world many generations ago, and yet the memory of freedom remained… bitter and sweet and completely unobtainable.

  His people had tried to throw off their oppressors in the past. The response had been quick and brutal. Legions of Modos soldiers had stationed themselves on his world. What little freedom his people had under Modos rule soon disappeared. Families and entire nest colonies were uprooted and separated. Food, already scarce, became even scarcer. The largest of his people were taken as slaves and personal servants. The rest were‘pressed into labor camps and forced to produce whatever the Syndicate required.

  This was what life had become for his people: a life of servitude, never-ending and absolute. Fedom had spent a lifetime looking for a way out of the bondage. It had always been a dream while the Modos legions were camped in their small little part of the universe… That is, until today.

  Fedom watched contrail after contrail form as rockets blasted off from the various legion bases scattered around the major cities of his world. The bulk of the Modos forces were leaving. He didn’t know it at the time, but it was a sight duplicated on hundreds of other worlds.

  The Modos were leaving… but for where, and would they be back? He turned his back on the contrails and made his way back into his underground den. It was time he reported to the others. Perhaps the day had finally come to take back their planet.

  ***

  Ken Kirkland pushed back from the table. His wife was unquestionably the best cook in the service. Unfortunately, she was also a Lieutenant with advanced degrees in environmental sciences and xenobiology. Her unique combination of skills meant she was invaluable for certain challenges faced by the GCP. As a result, she was on temporary duty assignment (TDY) with a new race called the Yagur.

  The Yagur were a desert people who had recently been discovered by the GCP. As a species, they could not tolerate moist atmospheres well. This meant that, although they were oxygen breathers, they would have difficultly serving on most Coalition vessels. In addition, the ability of humans and the D’lralu to actively sweat moisture made working directly with these races especially difficult for the Yagur.

  Ken’s wife, Lieutenant Rebecca Kirkland, had designed an active-nanite-infused fabric that could filter out H2O from perspiration and store it in a reservoir in a pouch located near the small of the wearer’s back. A mask provided the same service for exhaled breath. Rebecca was onboard a Yagur starship attempting to develop a similar system that would allow Yagur to visit and perhaps even serve on GCP ships.

  The end result for the Yorktown’s first officer and chaplain was that he had to deal with his own cooking. Despite holding doctorates in both engineering and theology, he had never taken the time to learn how to cook anything more ambitious than a fried egg or a hotdog. Rebecca had been gone for a week and there were only so many ways to fry an egg or boil a hotdog. Ken missed his wife. The fact that her captain’s mess held the only Michelin star ever awarded to a kitchen on a starship only served to remind him of what he was missing.

  His commlink bleeped for his attention.

  “Kirkland here” he answered as he gathered his plate from the table.

  “Sir, this is the bridge. Admiral Kimbridge’s shuttle is about to dock.”

  “Roger that, bridge. Notify senior department heads that there will be a briefing in the captain’s ready room at 16:00. Kirkland out.”

  ***

  The next several days were busy for the crew of the GCP Yorktown. While Admiral Faragon coordinated with the various member-worlds of the Galactic Coalition to create a coherent defense strategy; Cat worked with WhimPy 101, Captain Takei, and his team, which now included Ricky Valen and his synthetic copilot, Honey. Their mission was to digest the flood of information coming in through the ENOs and to develop a strategy to refocus the Modos Syndicate’s attention away from the Alphaverse.

  Cat’s plan centered on the general sense of unrest on many of the Modos-conquered worlds. The fact that the GCP had significant advantages in terms of FTL communications and the limited ability to jump between universes at arbitrary locations was somewhat offset by the sheer mass of the Modos invasion machine. If Cat could convince the various rebel factions to seize this opportunity to rise up against their oppressors there might be a chance of reversing the tide in this conflict. The key was going to be meeting with and convincing as many of the rebel factions as possible that the GCP could and would help them. Many had long histories with the Modos, and they knew that no one had successfully rebelled against the Syndicate. For any uprising to succeed it had to be part of a larger and coordinated campaign. The ability to do this was the carrot Cat hoped to offer these potential allies.

  The current meeting, which had been going on for hours, included Commanders Ben and Kirkland, as well as the rebel liaison, Captain Running Stream. Ricky, Honey, and Captain Takei were present as holograms from the Betaverse, thanks to a micro-transdimensional conduit facilitated by the massive and sentient Heshe weapons platform known as WhimPy-101. The table in the ready room was strewn with the remnants of many hours of discussion. This included scattered data pads and a not inconsiderable number of empty coffee cups.

  “So, we are agreed,” Cat said, quietly.“Naanac is going to be key. The emancipation forces on Naanac regularly take advantage of the normal flow of traffic between the Syndicate’s home office and the older worlds nearer the core. Their leaders are known to the peoples of those worlds.”

  Captain Running Stream nodded.“If we are going to earn the trust of the core worlds we have to first earn the trust of the people on Naanac.”

  “So the
question remains,” Ben added,“how do we aid the opposition? If we supply weapons we have no idea how they will be used.”

  “That’s aside from the fact that to arm a non-GCP entity with advanced GCP technology would violate several hundred GCP regulations,” Ken mused, while pouring himself the last of the coffee.

  Cat stood up and smiled, nodding toward Ken’s half full cup.“The coffee seems to be done, so as far as I’m concerned this meeting is over.” Clearing her throat she continued.“Ben, I want you to work with the Marines Admiral Faragon was good enough to assign to the Yorktown. I want an insertion plan for a support team and whatever equipment they may need. Their objective will be to neutralize any remaining Modos occupation forces. Ken, you and Running Stream are to work out who we need to contact and when on each of our target worlds.”

  Cat looked over toward the holograms of Ricky, Honey, and Takei. Hakaro smiled and raised his cup.“We have plenty of coffee here Admiral… any time you want to visit just let us know.”

  Cat returned the smile but continued issuing orders.“Captain Takei, I need you and the Honey Dipperto do a special job for me.”

  “Certainly, ma’am. Will it upset the Syndicate?”

  “Most certainly” Cat grinned.

  Chapter Four– The Battle of the Breach...

  Debbu carefully hopped from the cover of the moss shrub that had been his hiding place for the last hour. He was just outside the northern most gate of the sprawling spaceport city of Harromog. At his belt were a couple of small packages. One held several ounces of a newly discovered and highly potent aphrodisiac from the human worlds. Because these worlds were not yet under syndicate control the substance was still exceedingly expensive. As a result is was a very portable and convenient material to use for illicit bribes. Such was the case today.

  The three ounces of what the humans called‘Arabica Roast’ would be used to secure passage to the inter worlds for the second of Debbu’s packages. This was a pair of data crystals. They appeared identical and both contained encoded messages. One also held a validation phrase that the rebel leadership could and would use to authenticate the proper of the two messages. The proper message would then be used to retrieve the full and complete message using an age-old technique commonly called a book cipher. The decoded message was finally one of hope. He-that-should-not-be-named had finally blessed his people with the hope of salvation. Salvation in the form of strange aliens with even stranger ideas… that all sentient beings have an equal claim on peace and prosperity.

  The word-in-the-marsh (and confirmed by visitors from a so-called Galactic Coalition) was that the Syndicate was mobilizing a huge response to the Humans and their allies. The response was of such a size and scope that if properly handled it could represent an opportunity for the rebels that might not be repeated for untold generations. Debbu’s resistance cell was looking to coordinate with cells on other planets to best take advantage of this situation.

  The problem was of course timing. FTL Communication within the Syndicate systems was limited to the maximum distance one could establish and hold open a hyperfold corridor. The closer one moved toward the core worlds near the galactic center the more limited this distance became. The harsh reality was that communication to the core often took days and was nowhere near real-time. This made coordination a virtual impossibility and yet try they must.

  ***

  Ricky Valen leaned forward in his pilot’s seat and adjusted a dial on the navigation panel in front of him. The Honey Dipperwas fully cloaked and traveling through Modos controlled space. Ricky could have made the adjustment by sending a mental command to his partner and friend, Honey, who is the ship’s AI but he found he liked the feel of the controls on his fingers. Humans had been using fingers to accomplish such tasks since the Creator had put humankind in the cosmos. There was a satisfaction that tactile feedback produced that a thought-controlled cybernetic interface would never be able to duplicate.

  Honey for her part smiled at his movement. She found his fondness for physical switches and knobs endearing. Most ships as advanced as the GCP Honey-Dipper employed touch screen, holographic inputs and thought-actuated control systems. In point of fact Honey could reconfigure this ship to use the same in a few minutes but the current configuration was the mode it generally operated in. She supposed the anachronistic fondness for 20th century hardware by a man firmly locked in the 22nd century was part of his charm.

  “Captain Takei and his team are ready to deploy the next set of hyperfield suppressors.”

  “Right on schedule” Ricky said.“Hakaro, I’m going to open a hole in the cloak for six milliseconds. I can’t open for any longer because that beastie has an active scan cycle that will pick us up if I go any longer.”

  “Roger that Ricky” Takei answered from the loading dock aboard the Honey-Dipper.‘That Beastie’ was a Modos Dreadnaught class ship parked in a geosynchronous orbit around Naanac. The MS Typhoon was the Syndicate flagship. The latest ENO reports indicated the Chairman himself would be traveling on her. That simple fact represented too great an opportunity to miss.

  Hikaro tied his systems into the ship’s AI and confirmed the interlock. He had a team of six that were reconfiguring SJ rounds into simple and potentially non-lethal suppression buoys as fast as they could uncrate them from storage in the Dipper’s hold. The captain-turned-insurgent toggled his commlink.

  “Honey now has control of the actual deployment. All units are now actively cloaked and ready to deploy on her go.”

  “Well, it’s nice to know at least some of the men in my life are willing to trust me to handle things. Thank you, Captain Takei,” Honey said from the co-pilot’s chair.

  Ricky snorted.“Admit it, sweetie. Ya love me handling yer buttons and knobs.”

  Honey blushed—which was purely voluntary in an android.“Please, captain!” she said in mock alarm.“Not in front of the crew!”

  At the correct moment Honey micro-jumped the contents of the loading platform into the space surrounding the dreadnaught. The suppressor probes immediately attached themselves to the massive ship at strategic locations. They would remain cloaked and undetected until they received a special signal. At that point they would engage a hyperfield-dampening system that would effectively prevent the dreadnaught from engaging in a jump or maintaining their shields.

  Scattered throughout the system were numerous similar probes. Some were attached to ships, while others were placed strategically to automatically hitch rides on ships hyperjumping into or out of the Naanac system. For the moment the units were inactive. They would remain so until Admiral Kimbridge signaled the start of the GCP counteroffensive. Once that began, the Modos Syndicate would suddenly find itself unable to jump into many of its outlying systems, including its de facto capital, Naanac.

  Captains Valen and Takei had already visited over a dozen star systems currently under Modos control. In each there was a strong underground that the GCP was hoping to support.

  ***

  Newly promoted Commodore Jason Ruck commanded the SgrA task force near the galactic core. His task was a simple one: Make a good showing for the GCP while minimizing his loses. His command ship, the Mador, was a virtual twin of the GCP Yorktown. It represented the best technology available to the GCP. His task force consisted of twenty such ships, as well as several hundred lesser vessels from the various Coalition worlds. That said, he was under no illusion about the ultimate outcome of their encounter with the Modos forces.

  Thousands upon thousands of ships would soon be streaming out of the hyperfield conduit that would soon form near the massive gravitational well that represented the galactic core of the Milky Way. It was a simple matter of numbers. The Syndicate had them and the GCP did not.

  “Here they come, sir!” Ensign Riker reported, from his sensor station in the back of the Mador’s bridge.“There is a massive neutrino surge building up. Dexter estimates the corridor will open in sixty seconds.”

  Commodore Ruck
swiveled in his seat to nod an acknowledgement toward the Ensign, while at the same time facing his new XO, Commander Decker.

  “Jim, have Dexter coordinate with the Rutledge, Timkim, and Reliant. See if we can’t pin down the entry point. Feed the results fleet-wide. I want all ships within twenty AU to micro-jump away from the expected backwash.”

  “Aye aye, sir!” the XO responded crisply in his characteristic West Country English accent. Dexter was the ship’s newly upgraded AI.

  Hitting his fleet-wide comm link Ruck, briefed the armada under his command.

  “This is Commodore Ruck on the Mador. I want everyone sharp. Our mission is to engage the enemy but not sacrifice ourselves. This will be a battle won or lost by numbers. They have them and we don’t. Victory for us will be surviving to fight another day while at the same time giving the Syndicate one hell of a black eye. Our ships are faster and our general level of tech is better. But none of that will matter if you allow yourselves to be overwhelmed by their numbers. I want all ships of the fleet to engage in our preplanned Rabbit Hole Alpha formation.‘Float like a butterfly and sting like a bee.’ Micro-jump in, fire, micro-jump out. Use your rabbit holes to keep your people safe. All jumps are to be coordinated by interlinked ship’s AI using FTL bands. The Modos have nothing like it, so let’s keep them hopping. Good hunting… Ruck out.”

  The tall black man leaned back in his command chair. The grey of his temple had become more pronounced in the last year but his face and body remained as youthful as ever. He would need that stamina if he and his people were to make it through the next few days. The GCP had several tricks up its sleeve for dealing with the massive Syndicate invasion force that was coming. The fact that covert ENO’s had been planted on virtually the entire command staff meant that the GCP, because of their FTL communication capabilities, actually had a better idea of Syndicate fleet deployments and pending maneuvers than the Syndicate’s chairman– a Modos called Snatch Bait.