Border wars, p.7
Border Wars, page 7
part #8 of On Silver Wings Series
Now that they had allowed him on board the SOL, however, Sienel found himself with more questions than answers.
Nothing to be learned here on the transport, He decided as he rose to his feet and looked around at his team. "You will comport yourselves with the highest standards of the Alliance in mind, or I will have your detailed explanations why... and you will not be enjoying the debriefing, I promise you that."
The team nodded nervously, and he stared at them for a long moment before nodding to the transport master and the Parithalian hit the lock with a casual motion, causing a hiss of pressure equalization.
Sienel held back the urge to grimace as the odor of the human ship swept over him. Many of the Alliance races were able to breathe a similar enough atmosphere that they didn't require much more than simple supplements to ensure they had no issues. Supplements through subdermal implants would keep him from choking to death, thankfully, but they did nothing at all for the smell.
He steeled himself, though, and stepped calmly out of the transport and onto the steel deck of the human ship.
There was an honor guard, snapping to attention as his first foot touched the deck. Sienel examined the discipline of the men with interest. They looked professional, and lethal, just the way a good force should. He wasn't certain how much was for show, but in either case he had no doubt they could handle their duties.
Sienel turned his focus to the officers standing ahead, their eyes on him in turn. He recognized most of them by sight and put a human smile on his face.
"Admiral Ruger, General Mattan, it is a pleasure," He said in the human language known as English, "Thank you for your hospitality on the Sol."
"It would be the Captain's hospitality, Mister Sienel I believe it was, yes?" Ruger asked him.
"Yes indeed, and then I thank you... Captain, is it?" Sienel asked, "A Master of Ships, I believe?"
"As close as one can equate the ranks, I believe, yes," The Captain said, tipping his upper body forward just slightly, "and welcome aboard my Sol."
Sienel nodded, turning back to the Admiral, "That would make you a Master of Fleets?"
Ruger shrugged slightly, "I believe that would be close, though I suspect it isn't exact."
"Of course," Sienel said, before turning to Mattan. "I am afraid I do not understand your rank precisely."
"In human terms, the Admiral and I are of similar rank, but assigned to different services." Mattan said stiffly. "I am afraid I don't know an equitable rank and position within the Alliance to compare. Who commands your ground forces?"
"Ah, a Sentinel then?"
Ruger and Mattan exchanged quick glances.
"Not... necessarily, as I understand things," Mattan said carefully, "However it isn't entirely inaccurate."
Ruger cut in before Sienel could say more, "Perhaps we might continue this at another time. I believe we have more pressing and immediate concerns at the moment. Between the operation on the surface and the anomaly in the outer system, time is short."
"Of course, I apologize," Sienel said easily, "My team has the best information we could gather on both. Could we be assigned space to work?"
"Absolutely. I have staff on hand to help you with whatever you need," Captain Ramirez said immediately. "All you need to do is ask, and they'll see to it. Please, follow them to your assigned space."
"We've opened VIP quarters and space near the Admiralty Deck," Ruger added as the group began to walk. "We hope you'll be at home on the Sol."
"I have no doubts everything will be more than adequate, Captain, Admiral. Thank you."
*****
Alliance Battleship Lifting Wind
Master of Ships Perihlon stood at the back of the command deck as the Lifting Wind continued to accelerate powerfully out of the gravity well of the star system, scanning bright and noisy with no intent to even bother trying to sneak up on their target.
There was little point in that, in his opinion, if they were dealing with an enemy either insane or powerful enough to use an unstable jump point then he was quite certain that they would have done the minimal research needed to know who was in the system over the last period of time.
With that in mind, he had elected to approach the situation as a System Guard Vessel might.
It felt uncomfortable to him, as a Master of Ships in the Alliance Combat Fleet, but Peri was well aware that occasionally some tactics he would normally never employ could be of value.
I only wish that I might have had far more support before electing to employ this particular tactic.
Being loud and visible made for a good peacekeeping method, which was what he hoped would be all he needed here... or, failing that, what Perihlon very much hoped his enemy would believe him to be. It was, however, a nerve - wracking tactic for a combat flyer.
"Nothing on the scans as yet, Master of Ships."
Peri could see that, but he acknowledged the report with a curt nod, shifting to examining the scanner feed more closely.
They were likely hours out yet from any likely contact, but he refused to be caught by surprise.
Better to be overly careful than badly surprised.
*****
Chapter 6
God is Great, Surface
Sorilla stepped into the light of the APC, planting a foot on the ramp as she shucked the muddied local garb and tossed it to one side.
"Put that somewhere it can dry," She told one of the men who was closest. "I may need to monkey suit up again before this is done."
"You got it, Colonel."
Sorilla gestured gratefully as she hooked a hand into the overhead and swung herself properly into the warm confines of the APC.
"What did the Sol say about the situation?" She asked, dropping into a padded seat and accepting a food pack that was pushed in her direction from another member of the fifth.
"Not got back to us yet," Strickland said, "Looks like something is up, topside."
"Is that a pun?" Sorilla cracked a smile, before she nodded to the screen, "Do we have details?"
"Very little," Kriss said, his tone filled with disquiet. "I also received an update from above. Neither of our groups appear to be quite certain what is happening."
"I can't say I like the sound of that. What do we know?"
"Looks like a gravity anomaly, likely a jump point transit," Strickland told her.
"And there's none scheduled?" Sorilla was a little puzzled, not sure what about that would trigger the reactions she was seeing between Strickland and Kriss.
"There's no jump point where it was detected," Strickland countered.
Sorilla winced, "Ouch."
She knew enough about Jump Mechanics to know that was trouble on toast. Best case scenario, she supposed, was that the signature was a mis-identified natural phenomenon. During the war, however, whenever they encountered ships coming through areas of space-time with no designated Jump Points, that generally meant serious trouble.
"Only the Ross had that capacity during the war," She said, "and they already had a shot at this world, didn't they? And took a hard pass?"
Kriss nodded, grimly, "Indeed. For whatever reason, the Ross'el had no interest in this system and they do not backtrack within any living history. No one truly understands what the Ross are drawn to, but whatever it is it does appear to be consistent to them at least."
Sorilla nodded, "Do we have any changes in orders?"
Strickland shook his head, "Not as yet."
She continued to nod, absently thinking the situation through. Finally, decision made, Sorilla looked around.
"We'll continue on mission until we hear something new. Someone wanted me dead or alive," She said, "Let's find out who and why. Speaking of, are the tags I dropped on those two idiots broadcasting?"
Strickland tapped a few commands into the console in front of him and brought up the locations of the tags in question. "That's affirmative. They're moving back toward the town, slowly."
"One is unconscious and the other has a load in his pants that can't be pleasant," Sorilla snorted, "So I'm not surprised."
"Plan of action, Colonel?" Strickland asked, amused but also interested in the plan going forward.
"Full court press. Suit up, and let's roll," She said, "If they've already blown my cover, then let's bring the game to them and show them why it would have been better to play along in the first place."
Kriss' near featureless face twisted in a way that sent shivers down the spines of those who could see him.
"I like the sound of this plan," He said in his gravelly voice.
"You would," Strickland rolled his eyes before he sighed and nodded in agreement, "but so help me, I agree. I'm tired of sitting in this damn tin can. Let's do it."
Sorilla grinned, popping open the field ration bag and plucking some morsels of food from inside to fill her belly.
"See if the Sol can give us a good scan of the local town," She ordered as she ate, "I have a feeling that there's more to that than meets the eye. We'll plan our next move around whatever they managed to find... or not find."
Strickland nodded and twisted around, back to the communications panel, where he got onto the uplink to the Sol.
"And someone pull my coffin down from the exterior rack," Sorilla called out the back, "I want some real clothes on my back again."
She plucked distastefully at the thick and heavy covering that women in the outer reaches of the local culture were encouraged to wear.
It wouldn't have been so bad if the damn things actually held in the heat. Whoever designed this was both a man, and a sadist. Prick.
*****
Abar grunted, pissed off and still shaking with terror as he dragged the unconscious body of his young partner with him toward the lights of the village.
The demon of darkness had left them alive for whatever reason, and he was grateful, but the memory of his terror was burning in him with each step he took. He had never felt such fear in his life, nor the humiliation he felt at having surrendered to it.
A roving light near the city gate landed on him and Sewen, and he heard a shouted challenge.
"It's me you baccar fools!" He snarled, "Come out and help me with this imbecile, I need to speak with the Imam!"
A pair of armed men emerged from behind the gates, casually waving their rifles about as they walked over until they were close enough to recognize him with certainty.
"Abar! What the hell's happened to you?" The first demanded, eyes wide as he looked at the limp form of Sewen, "Is he alright?"
"He'll live," Abar snapped, walking forward and leaving Sewen on the ground. "See to him, I need to get to the Imam."
"But what happened?"
"Not your concern!"
He brushed through the gate, ignoring the comments and questions from the others as he did. He quickly crossed the town, heading toward the mosque that rested at the center of the village but walked past it as well and straight to the elaborate manor that rose up just beyond it.
He was challenged at the entry, but his arrival had been expected that night or early the next morning, and he found himself passed through. In an ornate inner chamber, Abar found himself sitting in wait until the village Imam appeared in his night clothes.
"Abar Halun," The Imam said softly, "Did you complete your assignment?"
Abar bowed his head, "I failed, Imam."
The man scowled for a long moment before silently and elaborately taking a seat on a raised dais in front of Abar. Finally, he spoke again, "Explain."
"I and Sewen of Irar set out just before the falling of the sun," He started, "We chose our position carefully, based on what you told us of the target. It was after dark when the target came close to the village, and I lined up my shot. I fired and, I swear, they could not be human! The target threw herself... itself... whichever, to the side, and rolled into cover with no hesitation. So, we approached... then... and... and then..."
"Yes, yes, and then what, Abar?" The Imam demanded impatiently.
"She came from the darkness, like a wraith," Abar said, shivering, "Eyes glowing blood red, I swear! That was no human... I... I believed I missed my first shot, but now I am not so certain. Sewen fell, knocked out instantly, and I was slammed to the ground... those glowing eyes looked down on me from the dark..."
"What happened to the target!?" The Imam hissed, irritated with the obvious 'enhancements' to the story.
"She told me not to allow myself to meet her again, and she faded into the darkness like a ghost."
The Imam curled his lips up, disgusted by the man now prostrating himself in front of him, "Get out of my sight."
Abar crawled clear as quickly as he could manage, clambering to his feet as he reached the exit of the room. The Imam watched him retreat until he was out of sight, then rose to his own feet and made his way into a back room.
A computer terminal rested there, the wall itself a single large screen that was lit with information from all across the colonies. He activated a control with a pass of his hand and the screen changed, showing a white form that was not quite visible.
"Our man failed to eliminate or capture the target," He said, "Current location unknown."
The white form was silent for a long moment, then the screen went black before flickering back to the map and details of the colony that had been on it before.
The Imam said nothing, but internally he was cursing deeply.
He retrieved his prayer mat and set it on a carefully measured inclined plane that pivoted a fraction of a degree before he knelt on it and prostrated himself to pray to the holy world.
One day, we will win it back.
*****
Sorilla finished sealing her armor, leaving the helmet where it sat on the seat beside her as she leaned over to where Strickland was still examining the take from both the Sol and the tags she had hit the two bozos with.
"Anything interesting?"
"Maybe," Strickland said, uncertain as he pointed to a point on the map. "We've got imagery of the village, high quality, from the Sol in orbit now. One of your chew toys hasn't moved since he reached the gates, that's the one you knocked out I wager. The other went straight to a large mansion inside the central keep of the town. I'm guessing the big boss is there, and he was reporting."
Strickland glanced back at her, "You sure letting them go like that was good idea?"
"Maybe not, but frankly it doesn't matter much. People would get the idea they failed once they didn't report back," Sorilla said with a shrug, "Might have lost a few hours, but we also wouldn't have been able to confirm who sent them. When will the tags pulse what they recorded?"
Strickland checked the time, "Another hour."
"Update me when we get that," She ordered, "In the meantime, unless something changes, I want to know who sent those bozos after me... and the only one who knows that, is in that mansion, I'll wager."
"No bets," Strickland snorted. "So, you're just going to raid them?"
Sorilla nodded, "We've tried to soft touch. And if we had time, I would be all for more of the same, but the facts are facts. We're burned, somehow. Let's burn them right back."
"I'm all for that," Strickland said with a calm shrug, "But shouldn't we figure out who the hell we're trying to burn before we break out the torches? I mean, the local Imam set those two on you, but there's no way he's the source of the order."
"No doubt," Kriss responded, his gravelly voice a little feral, "however I am certain we could convince him to expose the source of his orders."
Strickland was somewhat less sure of that, however, "These sorts don't respond well to enhanced methods, they'll lie and tell us whatever they think we want to hear as long as it isn't the truth, and we don't have nearly enough local intelligence to confirm or deny anything he might tell us. That option is just a waste of time."
"Probably," Sorilla said as she picked up her helmet, "But he'll have records on site. Computers, files, probably recordings of conversations. We want those, more than prisoners to interrogate, at least for now."
She thought about it for a moment.
"The trail of Alliance weapons has led here," Sorilla said, "This is a small village, there shouldn't be any sort of center of arms trading here of all places. Which means someone picked this village for a reason. Maybe it's just to try and avoid attention, maybe something else. Either way, it's the best lead we've had in two weeks."
She lifted her helmet off the seat beside her and slipped it on, her voice changing as it reverberated through the helmet's speaker.
"So, suit up, we're going hunting."
*****
Alliance Battleship Lifting Wind
The Master of Ships prowled the command deck, a nervous energy infusing him that he found he couldn't quite suppress. There had been no new developments even as they accelerated away from the human inhabited world, toward the source of the original gravity anomaly.
That was concerning in and among itself, in his opinion.
A ship arrival should have passed the detection threshold some time earlier, and the fact that it hadn't raised the possible specter of a ship engaged in stealth. There were no legitimate reasons for that, not in a system such as this at least. In some areas, where there were possible piracy concerns, it could be an argued point, but there was too little traffic here to warrant that sort of response.
No, the only reason to be hiding out here is because they should not be out here.
Of course, it was also possible that there wasn't any ship to find and he was chasing a ghost that had resulted from some bizarre confluence of natural events. Such things did happen, from time to time, and were duly investigated until they were clearly understood so that they would not waste so much time in the future.
This time, though, there was nothing to indicate whether he was chasing shadows or flying right into some damn trap.
"Begin oscillating deep scans, full active," He ordered.
There was little sense trying to hide since his vessel hadn't been running in stealth when it left the only habitable planet in the system. Any hostile ship with any sense would have been looking right in their direction all along, after all.
"Yes, Master of Ships."
Nothing to be learned here on the transport, He decided as he rose to his feet and looked around at his team. "You will comport yourselves with the highest standards of the Alliance in mind, or I will have your detailed explanations why... and you will not be enjoying the debriefing, I promise you that."
The team nodded nervously, and he stared at them for a long moment before nodding to the transport master and the Parithalian hit the lock with a casual motion, causing a hiss of pressure equalization.
Sienel held back the urge to grimace as the odor of the human ship swept over him. Many of the Alliance races were able to breathe a similar enough atmosphere that they didn't require much more than simple supplements to ensure they had no issues. Supplements through subdermal implants would keep him from choking to death, thankfully, but they did nothing at all for the smell.
He steeled himself, though, and stepped calmly out of the transport and onto the steel deck of the human ship.
There was an honor guard, snapping to attention as his first foot touched the deck. Sienel examined the discipline of the men with interest. They looked professional, and lethal, just the way a good force should. He wasn't certain how much was for show, but in either case he had no doubt they could handle their duties.
Sienel turned his focus to the officers standing ahead, their eyes on him in turn. He recognized most of them by sight and put a human smile on his face.
"Admiral Ruger, General Mattan, it is a pleasure," He said in the human language known as English, "Thank you for your hospitality on the Sol."
"It would be the Captain's hospitality, Mister Sienel I believe it was, yes?" Ruger asked him.
"Yes indeed, and then I thank you... Captain, is it?" Sienel asked, "A Master of Ships, I believe?"
"As close as one can equate the ranks, I believe, yes," The Captain said, tipping his upper body forward just slightly, "and welcome aboard my Sol."
Sienel nodded, turning back to the Admiral, "That would make you a Master of Fleets?"
Ruger shrugged slightly, "I believe that would be close, though I suspect it isn't exact."
"Of course," Sienel said, before turning to Mattan. "I am afraid I do not understand your rank precisely."
"In human terms, the Admiral and I are of similar rank, but assigned to different services." Mattan said stiffly. "I am afraid I don't know an equitable rank and position within the Alliance to compare. Who commands your ground forces?"
"Ah, a Sentinel then?"
Ruger and Mattan exchanged quick glances.
"Not... necessarily, as I understand things," Mattan said carefully, "However it isn't entirely inaccurate."
Ruger cut in before Sienel could say more, "Perhaps we might continue this at another time. I believe we have more pressing and immediate concerns at the moment. Between the operation on the surface and the anomaly in the outer system, time is short."
"Of course, I apologize," Sienel said easily, "My team has the best information we could gather on both. Could we be assigned space to work?"
"Absolutely. I have staff on hand to help you with whatever you need," Captain Ramirez said immediately. "All you need to do is ask, and they'll see to it. Please, follow them to your assigned space."
"We've opened VIP quarters and space near the Admiralty Deck," Ruger added as the group began to walk. "We hope you'll be at home on the Sol."
"I have no doubts everything will be more than adequate, Captain, Admiral. Thank you."
*****
Alliance Battleship Lifting Wind
Master of Ships Perihlon stood at the back of the command deck as the Lifting Wind continued to accelerate powerfully out of the gravity well of the star system, scanning bright and noisy with no intent to even bother trying to sneak up on their target.
There was little point in that, in his opinion, if they were dealing with an enemy either insane or powerful enough to use an unstable jump point then he was quite certain that they would have done the minimal research needed to know who was in the system over the last period of time.
With that in mind, he had elected to approach the situation as a System Guard Vessel might.
It felt uncomfortable to him, as a Master of Ships in the Alliance Combat Fleet, but Peri was well aware that occasionally some tactics he would normally never employ could be of value.
I only wish that I might have had far more support before electing to employ this particular tactic.
Being loud and visible made for a good peacekeeping method, which was what he hoped would be all he needed here... or, failing that, what Perihlon very much hoped his enemy would believe him to be. It was, however, a nerve - wracking tactic for a combat flyer.
"Nothing on the scans as yet, Master of Ships."
Peri could see that, but he acknowledged the report with a curt nod, shifting to examining the scanner feed more closely.
They were likely hours out yet from any likely contact, but he refused to be caught by surprise.
Better to be overly careful than badly surprised.
*****
Chapter 6
God is Great, Surface
Sorilla stepped into the light of the APC, planting a foot on the ramp as she shucked the muddied local garb and tossed it to one side.
"Put that somewhere it can dry," She told one of the men who was closest. "I may need to monkey suit up again before this is done."
"You got it, Colonel."
Sorilla gestured gratefully as she hooked a hand into the overhead and swung herself properly into the warm confines of the APC.
"What did the Sol say about the situation?" She asked, dropping into a padded seat and accepting a food pack that was pushed in her direction from another member of the fifth.
"Not got back to us yet," Strickland said, "Looks like something is up, topside."
"Is that a pun?" Sorilla cracked a smile, before she nodded to the screen, "Do we have details?"
"Very little," Kriss said, his tone filled with disquiet. "I also received an update from above. Neither of our groups appear to be quite certain what is happening."
"I can't say I like the sound of that. What do we know?"
"Looks like a gravity anomaly, likely a jump point transit," Strickland told her.
"And there's none scheduled?" Sorilla was a little puzzled, not sure what about that would trigger the reactions she was seeing between Strickland and Kriss.
"There's no jump point where it was detected," Strickland countered.
Sorilla winced, "Ouch."
She knew enough about Jump Mechanics to know that was trouble on toast. Best case scenario, she supposed, was that the signature was a mis-identified natural phenomenon. During the war, however, whenever they encountered ships coming through areas of space-time with no designated Jump Points, that generally meant serious trouble.
"Only the Ross had that capacity during the war," She said, "and they already had a shot at this world, didn't they? And took a hard pass?"
Kriss nodded, grimly, "Indeed. For whatever reason, the Ross'el had no interest in this system and they do not backtrack within any living history. No one truly understands what the Ross are drawn to, but whatever it is it does appear to be consistent to them at least."
Sorilla nodded, "Do we have any changes in orders?"
Strickland shook his head, "Not as yet."
She continued to nod, absently thinking the situation through. Finally, decision made, Sorilla looked around.
"We'll continue on mission until we hear something new. Someone wanted me dead or alive," She said, "Let's find out who and why. Speaking of, are the tags I dropped on those two idiots broadcasting?"
Strickland tapped a few commands into the console in front of him and brought up the locations of the tags in question. "That's affirmative. They're moving back toward the town, slowly."
"One is unconscious and the other has a load in his pants that can't be pleasant," Sorilla snorted, "So I'm not surprised."
"Plan of action, Colonel?" Strickland asked, amused but also interested in the plan going forward.
"Full court press. Suit up, and let's roll," She said, "If they've already blown my cover, then let's bring the game to them and show them why it would have been better to play along in the first place."
Kriss' near featureless face twisted in a way that sent shivers down the spines of those who could see him.
"I like the sound of this plan," He said in his gravelly voice.
"You would," Strickland rolled his eyes before he sighed and nodded in agreement, "but so help me, I agree. I'm tired of sitting in this damn tin can. Let's do it."
Sorilla grinned, popping open the field ration bag and plucking some morsels of food from inside to fill her belly.
"See if the Sol can give us a good scan of the local town," She ordered as she ate, "I have a feeling that there's more to that than meets the eye. We'll plan our next move around whatever they managed to find... or not find."
Strickland nodded and twisted around, back to the communications panel, where he got onto the uplink to the Sol.
"And someone pull my coffin down from the exterior rack," Sorilla called out the back, "I want some real clothes on my back again."
She plucked distastefully at the thick and heavy covering that women in the outer reaches of the local culture were encouraged to wear.
It wouldn't have been so bad if the damn things actually held in the heat. Whoever designed this was both a man, and a sadist. Prick.
*****
Abar grunted, pissed off and still shaking with terror as he dragged the unconscious body of his young partner with him toward the lights of the village.
The demon of darkness had left them alive for whatever reason, and he was grateful, but the memory of his terror was burning in him with each step he took. He had never felt such fear in his life, nor the humiliation he felt at having surrendered to it.
A roving light near the city gate landed on him and Sewen, and he heard a shouted challenge.
"It's me you baccar fools!" He snarled, "Come out and help me with this imbecile, I need to speak with the Imam!"
A pair of armed men emerged from behind the gates, casually waving their rifles about as they walked over until they were close enough to recognize him with certainty.
"Abar! What the hell's happened to you?" The first demanded, eyes wide as he looked at the limp form of Sewen, "Is he alright?"
"He'll live," Abar snapped, walking forward and leaving Sewen on the ground. "See to him, I need to get to the Imam."
"But what happened?"
"Not your concern!"
He brushed through the gate, ignoring the comments and questions from the others as he did. He quickly crossed the town, heading toward the mosque that rested at the center of the village but walked past it as well and straight to the elaborate manor that rose up just beyond it.
He was challenged at the entry, but his arrival had been expected that night or early the next morning, and he found himself passed through. In an ornate inner chamber, Abar found himself sitting in wait until the village Imam appeared in his night clothes.
"Abar Halun," The Imam said softly, "Did you complete your assignment?"
Abar bowed his head, "I failed, Imam."
The man scowled for a long moment before silently and elaborately taking a seat on a raised dais in front of Abar. Finally, he spoke again, "Explain."
"I and Sewen of Irar set out just before the falling of the sun," He started, "We chose our position carefully, based on what you told us of the target. It was after dark when the target came close to the village, and I lined up my shot. I fired and, I swear, they could not be human! The target threw herself... itself... whichever, to the side, and rolled into cover with no hesitation. So, we approached... then... and... and then..."
"Yes, yes, and then what, Abar?" The Imam demanded impatiently.
"She came from the darkness, like a wraith," Abar said, shivering, "Eyes glowing blood red, I swear! That was no human... I... I believed I missed my first shot, but now I am not so certain. Sewen fell, knocked out instantly, and I was slammed to the ground... those glowing eyes looked down on me from the dark..."
"What happened to the target!?" The Imam hissed, irritated with the obvious 'enhancements' to the story.
"She told me not to allow myself to meet her again, and she faded into the darkness like a ghost."
The Imam curled his lips up, disgusted by the man now prostrating himself in front of him, "Get out of my sight."
Abar crawled clear as quickly as he could manage, clambering to his feet as he reached the exit of the room. The Imam watched him retreat until he was out of sight, then rose to his own feet and made his way into a back room.
A computer terminal rested there, the wall itself a single large screen that was lit with information from all across the colonies. He activated a control with a pass of his hand and the screen changed, showing a white form that was not quite visible.
"Our man failed to eliminate or capture the target," He said, "Current location unknown."
The white form was silent for a long moment, then the screen went black before flickering back to the map and details of the colony that had been on it before.
The Imam said nothing, but internally he was cursing deeply.
He retrieved his prayer mat and set it on a carefully measured inclined plane that pivoted a fraction of a degree before he knelt on it and prostrated himself to pray to the holy world.
One day, we will win it back.
*****
Sorilla finished sealing her armor, leaving the helmet where it sat on the seat beside her as she leaned over to where Strickland was still examining the take from both the Sol and the tags she had hit the two bozos with.
"Anything interesting?"
"Maybe," Strickland said, uncertain as he pointed to a point on the map. "We've got imagery of the village, high quality, from the Sol in orbit now. One of your chew toys hasn't moved since he reached the gates, that's the one you knocked out I wager. The other went straight to a large mansion inside the central keep of the town. I'm guessing the big boss is there, and he was reporting."
Strickland glanced back at her, "You sure letting them go like that was good idea?"
"Maybe not, but frankly it doesn't matter much. People would get the idea they failed once they didn't report back," Sorilla said with a shrug, "Might have lost a few hours, but we also wouldn't have been able to confirm who sent them. When will the tags pulse what they recorded?"
Strickland checked the time, "Another hour."
"Update me when we get that," She ordered, "In the meantime, unless something changes, I want to know who sent those bozos after me... and the only one who knows that, is in that mansion, I'll wager."
"No bets," Strickland snorted. "So, you're just going to raid them?"
Sorilla nodded, "We've tried to soft touch. And if we had time, I would be all for more of the same, but the facts are facts. We're burned, somehow. Let's burn them right back."
"I'm all for that," Strickland said with a calm shrug, "But shouldn't we figure out who the hell we're trying to burn before we break out the torches? I mean, the local Imam set those two on you, but there's no way he's the source of the order."
"No doubt," Kriss responded, his gravelly voice a little feral, "however I am certain we could convince him to expose the source of his orders."
Strickland was somewhat less sure of that, however, "These sorts don't respond well to enhanced methods, they'll lie and tell us whatever they think we want to hear as long as it isn't the truth, and we don't have nearly enough local intelligence to confirm or deny anything he might tell us. That option is just a waste of time."
"Probably," Sorilla said as she picked up her helmet, "But he'll have records on site. Computers, files, probably recordings of conversations. We want those, more than prisoners to interrogate, at least for now."
She thought about it for a moment.
"The trail of Alliance weapons has led here," Sorilla said, "This is a small village, there shouldn't be any sort of center of arms trading here of all places. Which means someone picked this village for a reason. Maybe it's just to try and avoid attention, maybe something else. Either way, it's the best lead we've had in two weeks."
She lifted her helmet off the seat beside her and slipped it on, her voice changing as it reverberated through the helmet's speaker.
"So, suit up, we're going hunting."
*****
Alliance Battleship Lifting Wind
The Master of Ships prowled the command deck, a nervous energy infusing him that he found he couldn't quite suppress. There had been no new developments even as they accelerated away from the human inhabited world, toward the source of the original gravity anomaly.
That was concerning in and among itself, in his opinion.
A ship arrival should have passed the detection threshold some time earlier, and the fact that it hadn't raised the possible specter of a ship engaged in stealth. There were no legitimate reasons for that, not in a system such as this at least. In some areas, where there were possible piracy concerns, it could be an argued point, but there was too little traffic here to warrant that sort of response.
No, the only reason to be hiding out here is because they should not be out here.
Of course, it was also possible that there wasn't any ship to find and he was chasing a ghost that had resulted from some bizarre confluence of natural events. Such things did happen, from time to time, and were duly investigated until they were clearly understood so that they would not waste so much time in the future.
This time, though, there was nothing to indicate whether he was chasing shadows or flying right into some damn trap.
"Begin oscillating deep scans, full active," He ordered.
There was little sense trying to hide since his vessel hadn't been running in stealth when it left the only habitable planet in the system. Any hostile ship with any sense would have been looking right in their direction all along, after all.
"Yes, Master of Ships."
