Out of the Black (Odyssey One, Book 4) (36 page)

“Ambassador LaFontaine.”

“Admiral, welcome,” LaFontaine said with a weary smile. “I understand that you have news.”

“More than news, Madame Ambassador,” Gracen said, holding up a distinctive chip.

The ambassador’s eyes widened as she recognized it. “Orders?”

That was the last thing she’d expected. A secure transfer drive with orders from home hadn’t even been on the list of possibilities in fact.

“How?” she whispered, accepting the drive.

“Covert messenger drone launched from Canaveral.”

“I didn’t even know the launch facilities there were still active,” LaFontaine said.

“They aren’t, but a lot things on Earth are in upheaval,” Gracen told her. “They’re using anything they can reactivate right now.”

“Did they . . . beat the. . .?”

“No.” Gracen shook her head. “So far the combined military forces of the Earth are holding the line, nothing more.”

LaFontaine wavered a little, but nodded. “I understand. What will you do?”

“We’re taking the Heroics out this week,” Gracen answered. “Our first destination is Sol.”

The ambassador frowned slightly. “Those ships are still experimental. Isn’t that risky?”

“It doesn’t matter. Earth can’t hold out indefinitely, so the risk isn’t relevant,” Gracen said, her expression stony. “Nine billion people, every nation on Earth, and every single person that any of us care about depends on ending this in our favor. No, Ambassador, the Heroics are going to Earth.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

ENTERING THE FORGE was as close to a religious experience as Amanda Gracen ever had, or wanted, to see or feel. Just the act of issuing the command that sent a ship on a sun-dive, then sitting there and watching that burning orb grow in your screens practically required religious conviction.

The heat shields on a Priminae ship were beyond amazing, and the way they coruscated as the plasma from the star discharged upon them was stunningly beautiful. But it was not a natural act to dive your ship into the corona of a star and then continue deeper still.

It was even worse, in her opinion, when you
weren’t
the one in command and it was someone else giving that order.

Still, the penetration of the star’s outer layer passed without event and the courier ship dipped deeper into the plasma, both heat and pressure climbing rapidly on the hull as even the most impressive shields were slowly overpowered. Before they could fail, however, they were cleared through the planetary shields of the Forge.

The planet had been the second one in orbit of a rather unremarkable class G main sequence stellar object, not unlike
Sol, actually. According to the Priminae, their sun had begun showing signs of instability roughly ten thousand years earlier, and had begun to surge. It was an event that was as unpredictable as anything in nature could be, but they’d correctly predicted that the star was about to expand massively.

A sane people would have evacuated or, failing that, made peace with whatever creator they believed in. The Priminae instead elected to buckle down and preserve the entire planet, their homeworld, within a permanent shield that fed on the plasma and heat of the star itself.

It was a bold plan, an epic construct, and something so completely insane that Gracen honestly still couldn’t believe it even as her ship docked at the massive construction facility located deep within the Forge bubble.

It was the sort of insanity that made her really like the Priminae.

For all their passive and pacifist tendencies, they didn’t know the meaning of giving up and letting the universe win.

She really liked that in a group of people.

“Admiral on deck!”

Gracen nodded as she stepped onto the bridge of the
Odysseus,
waving casually. “As you were, everyone.”

The command center of the
Odysseus
was
interesting
compared to her own Liberty Station or even that of the
Odyssey,
from which the new ship took her name. In many ways it was a step back for Terran officers, with less light and a more somber feeling. It fit her mood and the mood of her people well.

“Status,” she asked as she slipped into the command station.

“All systems are go, ma’am. We’re running last-minute diagnostics across every board, but so far no red lights.”

“Good,” Gracen said. “The other ships?”

“All ships report go for launch, on your command.”

“Thank you, Susan,” Gracen said. “We’ll launch shortly. We’re still waiting for clearance from the Forge.”

“Aye ma’am.”

She couldn’t quite hide the smile she felt struggling to burst out, contrary to everything she should be feeling considering what was going on at Earth. She hadn’t commanded a ship in a long time and, under normal circumstances, she never would have again. The best she could have hoped for would have been a mobile fleet command, but that had always been an extreme long shot given how long it was taking to build ships back home.

Her current, chosen position was actually more akin to a commodore’s slot than her own actual rank, but she could live with the demotion. Six ships, seven with the
Enterprise,
was a squadron and not a fleet, after all. She found herself rather enjoying the captain’s chair, however, and was fully intending to make the absolute most of it while it lasted.

“Message from Forge, ma’am,” Susan said. “We are cleared for launch.”

“By the numbers, people. Commander Michaels, take us out.”

“Aye ma’am,” the former fighter pilot said, sounding just a little grumpy as he closed his hands around the controls.

The Heroic Class had been adjusted from the frame up by human technology, with the intent of being the best possible combination of Priminae and Terran technologies as well as being as automated as possible. Even with volunteers from the Priminae Navy, Gracen hadn’t been able to scrape up enough
crew to completely satisfy her, but she was unwilling to accept fewer ships if she could possibly manage it.

One of those technical refinements was the addition of the NICS (Neural Interface and Command System) to the control system. The Heroics could be piloted with computer-aided systems or even purely on manual, but with a NICS trained and compatible pilot, the maneuvering precision and response times could be increased significantly. She’d co-opted the former members of the Double A squadron, as well as a few other NICS-compatible individuals, as the Heroics primary pilots, whether they liked it or not.

Fueling and stabilization ties snapped loose from the ship as the slip let them go. The
Odysseus
was floating free at last.

“We’re free,” Steph said calmly. “Station signals all show green.”

“Take us out of the Forge, Commander. Dead slow.”

“Aye ma’am. Dead slow.”

The
Odysseus
shifted slightly, or more precisely her gravity fields did. Everyone gripped their seats and consoles firmly as the ship began to warp space. The twisting of space-time caused the ship to begin to “fall” back and out of the construction slip into the orbital space of the Priminae homeworld. Silence reigned on the bridge as the screens of the one-and-a-half-kilometer-long battleship showed the roiling plasma all around them.

The dark edge of the ship’s bridge was gone now, as the light of the star blasted in from every side. The Heroic Class bridge had open views to all sides, including sections above them. Only the floor didn’t show some view out into space.

“Clear of the slip, ma’am,” Steph said, smiling slightly as he began to feel a little more at home. He might be stuck piloting a pig of a starship, but the visibility around him was almost as good as his fighter.

“The
Achilles
is following,” Susan announced. “
Bellerophon
is powering her drives.”

“Very good,” Gracen responded. “Helm, bring us about. Keep dead slow.”

“Yes ma’am. You want it, you got it.”

Glances were shot around the deck, and Gracen could hear an amused snort from somewhere to her left. She ignored the casual tone in the pilot’s voice, however, as he was doing his job and both his rank and his previous status went far to explain his flippant tone. Yet she did make a note to talk with him about it in private if he took it any further.