In the Presence of My Enemies (12 page)

   As the team strode off, Shawn ventured one last look at the broken remains of his once
-beautiful ship. The stylized “
Sylvia’s Delight
” painted on the port side was gleaming in the sunlight, and Shawn felt a lump form in his throat. Quickly swallowing it, he offered his ship a relaxed salute before turning back east.

* * *

   Several hours later, by the time the sun had fully set behind the mountains far off in the distance, the castaways stopped to make camp. While the day had been a hot and arduous one, Shawn’s computer informed him that Falorin was apt to become very cool at night. Using bed linens and various scavenged material from the Mark-IV, Shawn and Trent had erected a handful of tents in a semi-circle around a small campfire.

   As their rations cooked, Shawn looked across
at Melissa, who was dabbing a cloth on the ambassador’s forehead. McDermott had been out all day, not regaining consciousness once during their nearly four-hour trek to this position. In a way, that had suited Shawn just fine. In another, it began to frighten him. Only Melissa’s assurance that the ambassador was stable stopped Shawn from going into an all-out panic.
Please, God, don’t let him die. Don’t let this all be for nothing.

   Trent, for his part, was silent. He’d taken to throwing bits of twigs into the fire, watching them pop and sizzle,
and then repeating the action. Shawn could tell that his friend was both bored and frustrated, and wished he could do something to alleviate either of those things.

   Colonel Tausan was on guard duty, a position that Shawn suggested they rotate every few hours to allow the others to rest. The
colonel was at the periphery of the firelight, his Kafaran eyes easily able to see well into the darkness that would have otherwise obscured human vision. The colonel still carried the old shotgun, which was loaded with three shells. Likely, it wasn’t enough to do serious damage to any large wild animals that might be out there, but it would be sufficient enough to alert the rest of the group.

   A moan from the
ambassador’s direction drew Shawn’s attention.

   “I think he might be coming around,” Melissa said, reaching into the small medical pouch and withdrawing a handful of vitamin supplements.

   Shawn walked to the opposite side of the fire to kneel by her side. The ambassador’s eyes fluttered as his head rolled from side to side while Melissa dabbed a wet cloth on his dry skin. There was another series of moans, as if he were fighting against the state that was keeping him unconscious. With a sharp intake of breath, McDermott’s eyes popped open, quickly scanning the unfamiliar surroundings.

   “Welcome back to the land of the living,” Shawn said with a smile, grateful that McDermott’s condition had somewhat improved.

   The ambassador began speaking through raspy breaths. “How . . . how long have I been out?”

   “Several hours now, Scott,” Melissa said as she continued to dab at his head. She held a cup of water to his mouth and he drank greedily. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

   It seemed to take the ambassador a moment to recall the memory. “An explosion of some sort. After that . . . I don’t know what happened.” He turned his head, surveying the makeshift camp and the figures gathered near the fire. “Am I to assume we’ve landed?”

   “We don’t normally start fires on the ship,” Trent replied acerbically, then looked sideways to Shawn. “Not intentionally, anyway.”

   “Trent,” Melissa chided, but was cut off by McDermott.

   “No doubt by the
commander’s skillful piloting, I’ll wager,” he continued.

   The ungrateful tone in the
ambassador’s voice could have been attributed to almost anything. Still, it ruffled Shawn’s feathers. “If by that you’re proposing how we survived the encounter, then I’d agree. Otherwise—” His words were silenced by Melissa clutching at his leg and the stern look she gave him when their eyes met. “We’re alive for the time being, Ambassador,” he continued, pulling away from her grasp. “As far as for how long that’s going to continue, I’m not sure.” He then leaned down close to the ambassador. “But one thing’s for certain, and that is that you’re no longer able to effectively lead this mission.”

   “Quite right,”
the ambassador said to Shawn’s surprise, then chuckled. “That’s why I’m placing Colonel Tausan in command for the time being.”

   “The
colonel?” Melissa asked, equally as shocked as Shawn.

   McDermott gave a throaty cough, then caught his breath. “He
is
the ranking officer here, Agent Graves. Besides, he has more ground command experience than any of us. It’s only fitting.”

   Shawn turned to the Colonel, who was staring at the Ambassador impassively. “Colonel?”

   Tausan stood, his eyes staring into Shawn’s. “A word, Commander Kestrel,” the Kafaran’s translator squawked.

  
Tausan wants to speak to me alone, and I can understand why.
Shawn nodded, then turned to Melissa. “Keep him awake if you can. He needs to be rehydrated.” When Melissa’s head dipped in return, Shawn and the colonel walked to the far side of the campsite and out of earshot of the rest of the team.

   “What’s on your mind, Colonel?”

   Tausan reached down, turning down the volume on his translator. “I’m not fit to lead this mission, Commander.”

   Shocked at the words that were about to come out of his mouth, Shawn found himself disagreeing. “The
ambassador’s right: you’ve got more experience in planetary operations than any of us. You don’t make colonel by issuing questionable orders, not in any branch of the service I’m aware of. I may not have a lot of experience with dealing with Kafarans on the ground, but I’ve fought in space against your kind . . . and beside them. I doubt your empire is much different.”

   “Your words honor my people, but
. . . I am accustomed to issuing those orders to trained battalions of soldiers ready to die for our empire, Commander. Human beings are—”

   “Are no different when the stakes are the same.” Shawn found himself smiling, then did something he thought he’d never in his life do. He gave the Kafaran a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Have a little faith in humanity, Colonel. You may be surprised by what you see.”

   Tausan looked to his shoulder where Shawn had touched him as if the gesture were completely alien to him.
It probably was.
Tausan then inclined his head back toward the camp. “If their resolve is no less than yours, Commander, I have no doubt that your statement will prove true.”

   “A compliment?”

   “A fact, Commander. However, Falorin is far from our final destination. Once we are back in space, which I trust will be quite soon, I will gladly relinquish command to you. You, after all, are more experienced in
that
arena than any of us.”

   Although he had no idea how they were going to get off the planet, Shawn found himself smiling again. Satisfied of the outcome, the two men returned to the group.

   “Did you boys play nicely?” Trent teased.

   “Everything is fine,” Shawn said, holding his arms up in surrender. “The
colonel and I were just discussing our next moves.”

   “And those are?” McDermott asked in a scratchy voice.

   “We will rest here for the evening,” Tausan began in his most authoritative tone. “There will be a rotating watch, which I will assume first. Commander Kestrel will relieve me in three hours, followed by Sergeant Maddox. Agent Graves, you will keep a vigil on the ambassador, and alert me to any change in his condition throughout the night, but do not let it hinder you from your own slumber. We will move out at first dawn.”

   Shawn smiled. “Sounds like a
s good enough a plan as I’ve ever heard.”

   McDermott nodded slowly from his reclined position. “Agreed, Colonel.”

   “We will begin the first watch now,” Tausan said as he stood and grabbed for the shotgun.

   Instead, Shawn offered the fully automatic assault rifle he’d taken from their fallen Marine comrade. “Better safe than sorry, Colonel.”

   The Colonel examined the weapon, then nodded at Shawn. “Get some rest, Commander. I will wake you in three hours.”

“
Men often oppose a thing merely because they have had no agency in planning it, or because it may have been planned by those whom they dislike.
”
—Alexander Hamilton, First Secretary of the Treasury, United States of America, Old Earth calendar 1789.

“[In reference to the above quote]
It should be remembered that Hamilton was fatally wounded in a duel, one in which his main intent was
[arguably]
not
to kill the other party.”

—
Biloxub Nesher, PhD.
Professor of Ancient Earth History, Unified Sector Command Academy, Primary Campus, Third Earth.  

   There was an explosion. Shawn had no idea the cause, but the shock wave immediately caused his fighter to pitch to starboard. Quickly regaining control of the craft,
he could clearly see a swarm of Kafaran fighters harassing a smaller number of Sector Command interceptors about half a mile from his position. The sky above was pink, the water below was red as blood, and the distant mountains were almost black against the setting suns. Shawn angled his craft nose-down, heading toward the fight at full speed.

   As a Kafaran fighter strayed into his si
ghts, there was another explosion, this one directly in front of his craft. The cockpit was engulfed in flames, and Shawn frantically reached for the ejection handle. Pulling it at the last moment, he managed to eject just as the fighter exploded under him.  

   Opening his eyes with a start, Shawn snapped from his slumber to the sight of a weapon pointed dangerously close to his face. Stunned, the
commander reeled back to see Colonel Tausan leaning close to him, the Kafaran’s large hand resting on his shoulder. In the fog of slumber, Shawn had no immediate idea if this were a nightmare or reality. Regardless, he instinctively reached for his gun, pleased to find that the pistol was still tucked safely inside his jacket. Intent on pointing it directly at the Kafaran, Shawn was brought back fully into reality by Tausan’s words, and he stopped the maneuver.

   “Commander, something is coming.”

   Shawn leaned up on an elbow, wiping at his eyes as the last of the fog in his mind cleared. Shawn could see that the sun was still an hour from rising, with the orange and violet hues of the morning light just beginning to form an aura near the peaks of the distant mountains. “Can you be more specific?”

   “A surface ship, possibly a transport.”

   Shawn heard nothing. However, the Kafaran craned his head up, then tilted it from side to side as if he were trying to better triangulate the origin of the noise. “From the west. Moving quickly.”

   “How far?” Shawn said, getting to his feet and looking in the indicated direction.

   “Impossible to say.”

   “If they’re coming from the west, it’s likely they saw our wreckage.”

   Melissa, awoken by the two men talking, stood and neared Shawn. “It could be a rescue team.”

   “Or it could be cannibals looking for breakfast,” Shawn
said. “We have no way of knowing.”

   “Did someone say breakfast?” Trent sighed from beside the fire. “I could sure use some bacon right about now.”

   Shawn began to hear the noise the colonel was referring to. It started out as a dull hum, then increased to a high-pitched whine. “Trent, get me those binoculars from my bag.”

   He did as he was asked, but not without a requisite protest. Flipping them on, Trent handed the instrument to Shawn. “Hopefully you’ll find some food with these things.”

   Shawn scanned the distance, flipping through several thermal and visual filters before the fast-moving object came into view.

   “Commander?” Tausan asked.

   After a moment, Shawn handed the device to the colonel. “See for yourself.”

   Holding the small device to his dark eyes, the Kafaran scanned the distant horizon. After a moment he saw it
: it was a skimmer, hovering just above the desert sand and kicking up a small storm in its powerful wake. The hull was a mottled mix of dark reds and browns, with patches of silver bolted on where there craft had taken damage in the past. At the bow of the angular craft was a pair of lethal-looking barrels, but it was impossible to tell whether they were beam weapons or chemically charged rounds. Whatever crew manned the vessel, they seemed to be inside, with no one riding atop it.

   “I have not seen a craft of that designation before,” Tausan said as he handed the binoculars to Melissa.

   “I’ve seen something similar,” Shawn replied as he checked the charge on his weapon. “I’d say it was Rugorian.”

   “Pirates,” Melissa breathed.

   Shawn nodded. “Probably scavengers.”

   Roused from his sleep a moment before, Ambassador McDermott propped himself up on his elbows with a laborious grunt. “We must make contact with them.”

   “Out of the question,” Shawn said slowly as he looked back to the skimmer in the binoculars.

   “You forget, Commander, that the
colonel is in command, and—,” but the ambassador was quickly cut off by Tausan.

   “I concur with the
commander,” Tausan grunted. “We cannot risk contact at this juncture. With one person immobilized, we would be at an extreme disadvantage if they decide to become hostile.”

   “That’s a chance I’m willing to t
ake, Colonel,” McDermott said with conviction, as if anything he proposed on the matter had a one-hundred-percent chance of success. Shawn was far from convinced, and it seemed Tausan felt the same way.

   “I am not, Ambassador.  The craft is not on a direct course to intercept us. I doubt they are aware that we are here.”

   Now visible to their naked eyes, Melissa watched as the craft passed their location by no less than half a mile, continuing over a rise in the same direction as the energy reading the team was following, and then disappeared. “Shawn?”

   “My guess is they saw
D
go down and went out to investigate. They may not be after us right now, but it’s a safe bet they know someone is here.”

   “How far is the reading from this location, Commander?” Tausan asked.

   Shawn looked to the computer, verifying that the information he’d read before going to sleep was still accurate. “About two miles.”

   “We should be able to cover that in less than two hours,” the
colonel said with a nod. “We must break camp immediately. It will be to our advantage to go to them before they come after us.”

* * *

When the final pack was filled, Shawn hefted it onto his back and locked on to the energy reading with his computer. For the time being, Tausan and Trent would carry along the ambassador, who by then was feeling well enough not to need Melissa’s constant supervision. So she and Shawn walked side by side, and over the next hour and a half very little was said between any of them.

   It wasn’t until they reached the bottom of a slow rise of hills that Shawn wordlessly stopped the team. Turning to Tausan, he gave the
colonel a signal to follow him up the small embankment. Near the top of the steep rise, the two went down to their stomachs to minimize their profiles. Crawling on forearms, they shuffled to the top of the ridge and tentatively looked over.

   The slope of the hill on this side was far more gradual, transitioning into a valley that had likely been a lakebed in the far distant past. Now it was little more than a hard surface, baked and cracked into a million pieces and speckled with boulders of every conceivable size and shape. About two hundred yards from the hill, an area roughly a hundred square yards had been flattened into a rectangular landing pad.

   Parked neatly on the pad was a sleek Rugorian blockade runner, a type that Shawn had grappled with during the Great Galactic War. He knew from experience that its tapered front end housed several beam weapons. From there, the hull elongated back into two fin-like structures, each containing sensors and even more weapons. The three-hundred-foot-long vessels, with their oversized engines, were built for speed—meant to rush past enemy blockades or anything else that stood in their path. It was the craft of choice for a great many pirates currently plaguing Unified space, and this one seemed no exception to that rule. Around the base of it, a small cadre of support workers tended to the vessel that appeared to be getting ready to take off.

   To the side of the vessel, a disk-shaped support structure standing atop of thick stalk
s had been erected. It looked as if it had been there for decades. The configuration was unfamiliar to Shawn, but it didn’t look Rugorian in origin. It was a large metal mushroom sprouting from the desert floor, with windows lining its widest portion, which would give anyone in the post an unobstructed three-hundred-sixty-degree view. It was impossible to tell how many pirates were in the building, but Shawn guessed it was substantial. Besides the building sat the now-unmanned skimmer they had witnessed earlier.

   “An outpost of some kind,” Tausan said as he surveyed the structure.

   “Probably set up as a staging grounds for raids into Unified space,” Shawn agreed. 

   “If that is the case, then we may have a way in to their installation.”

   “Oh,” Shawn said in surprise. “And just how would that be?”

   “The Rugorians were once allies of the Kafaran Empire, Commander. If I take you as my prisoner, it’s possible they will allow us to venture closer.”

   Shawn chuckled. “Okay, that’s almost as crazy as McDermott’s earlier suggestion of stopping the skimmer and asking for directions.”

   “I am open to suggestions, Commander. If you have any.”

   Shawn sighed, then looked back to the runner and its maintenance crew. “I’m working on it.” The three men nearest the vessel appeared to be unarmed, but they could certainly have some weapons concealed in their flowing garments. The Unified team had the high ground, and that was to their advantage, but it would give them little protection if the Rugorians decided to lift off and take a swipe at them. And, if this ship was getting ready to depart permanently, there was no telling when the next one would be around. “Fine,” he huffed. “I’ll entertain you for a second. What’s your brilliant plan?”

   “For the ruse to work, it will have to appear that I
have captured all of you.”

   Shawn chuckled. “Impressive, for a Kafaran. Capturing everyone one of us all
by your lonesome.”

   “
Are you suggesting I couldn’t have done it if the situation had called for it?”

   Shawn shook his head. “You would have had better luck in killing us.”

   “That would have been the easiest way, true,” Tausan acknowledged. “But prisoners are more valuable.”

  
I’ve never heard of a Kafaran taking prisoners. They usually just slaughter indiscriminately.
Shawn had the good sense not to speak the words aloud.  “McDermott may get a mind to open his mouth and ruin the whole thing if we’re not careful.”

   “I’m quite sure there is a way to
. . .
silence
the good ambassador.”

   Shawn
smiled in amusement. “I
do
have a tranquilizer in the med kit.”

   “Then it would seem that you have found a solution to that problem, Commander.”

   “He’s not going to like it.”

   Tausan grunted before turning to Shawn. “Good. I loathe politicians, regardless of the species.”

   “Colonel, I think you and I might become friends after all.”

* * *

   Inside the upper portion of the outpost, First Mate Makau leaned against a computer terminal and glared at his captain, Hast, who had just informed him of some very bad news. Their ship, the
Golden Storm
, was going back into Unified territory on another supply run. It was no wonder that Captain Hast had waited until the ship was nearly ready to depart to deliver the orders passed to him from his superiors. The House of Dracton, head of the largest collection of Rugorian ships in the quickly splintering pirate navy, was running dangerously low on supplies. The task of gathering had been delegated to any ship capable of delivering, and hefty rewards were promised for those items most needed: medical supplies and weapons. They were also the most dangerous to acquire, and many crews failed to return at all, let alone deliver. After looting many of the nearby systems dry, the
Golden Storm
would have to seek out more lucrative sources away from Falorin—and that meant Unified space, and an inevitable run-in with Sector Command. 

   “I don’t like it,” Makau protested. “It’s too dangerous.”

   Captain Hast took a slow drink from his brandy and then set the glass down on the armrest beside him. Makau was as good an officer as the captain had ever served with—possibly the best—but the increasing frequency of his disagreements with the House leaders was beginning to give Hast trepidation. After all, it was never a good idea to question the House. If they discovered Makau’s disobedient streak, which Captain Hast had the good decency to keep out of their periphery, it would have surely meant the death of his first mate weeks ago.