Prime Obsession (4 page)

Approaching the Galanti, fifty hours later

Getting past the pirate mother ship was anticlimactic; the enemy ship’s weapons did not function.

The
Leonidas
’s sensors showed the old Volusian battle cruiser was dead in space.

Mel ordered one of her squadron’s battle cruisers to lock onto the beleaguered ship and to tow it away from the
Galanti—
and the danger zone. Later, they’d board the pirate ship and place the crew under arrest for crimes against the Alliance. Right now, it was contained and out of the way.

She smiled. However they’d done it, the Prime had effectively trapped the pirate boarding party on the
Galanti.

Unfortunately for the pirate boarding party, they were now sandwiched between two sets of predatory creatures—the Prime and the Alliance. This should be easy to finish—or at least it would be if they could contact the Prime and coordinate an attack on the pirates now on the
Galanti
. So far all attempts to hail the Prime on the ship had been fruitless.

Something was blocking all signals in—and the only signal coming out was the emergency signal she’d already heard.

They’d have to contact the Prime face-to-face and that entailed boarding the ship.

Mel was pretty sure the Prime controlled most of the systems on the ship under the Code Argenta. Something drastic must have happened to keep them from overpowering the pirates.

She’d know soon enough.

Maneuvering her small transport for the final approach, she issued orders over her ear-com unit. “Prepare to board the Prime ship. Switch now to alternating com-code ZZY.”

She wasn’t taking any chances the pirates might be able to monitor her teams’

communications. The codes would change every half-standard hour.

Each of the five small transports she led into the suspiciously wide-open docking bay of the
Galanti
checked in. All communications were now self-contained among their team. The rest of Gold Squadron and the approaching ships of Blue Squadron were not to communicate with her team until she gave an “all clear”—after the self-destruct mechanism was shut down.

“Okay, soldiers. Our first job is to secure that docking bay. No one else goes in and no pirates get off.”

“That’s clear, Captain,” Commander A’tem said. She’d brought her chief engineer along in case the Prime needed assistance in stopping the self-destruct. Plus, the Volusians were noted for their fierceness in hand-to-hand battle. “How do you want to go about contacting the Prime once we are on board?”

“We’ll seek out the one defensible position on the ship—which in all Prime military ships is the engine room.”

“What if there are friendlies between us and the pirates? How will we tell the good guys from the bad?” Nowicki’s calm tones came over the headset.

Mel had worried about that also, then she realized that the Prime planned for that under Code Argenta. The ancient military plan was a drastic, harsh—and final—solution.

Any Prime crew member who had not made it within the designated defense perimeter would be dead.

“We won’t know until we get there, but I suspect that the only live bodies we’ll find on that ship other than the Prime in the secure location will be pirates.” And possibly the traitors that had allowed the pirates in. There had to have been traitors in the Prime crew. There was no other way to breach a Prime starship. The Prime weren’t careless with security.

Mel added, “Prime history has shown that they will do whatever is necessary to eliminate the enemy.”

“The Prime would’ve shut off the air to all decks once they had secured their defensive perimeter,” Nowicki concluded in a flat, disapproving tone.

“That’s my guess,” Mel said. But it wasn’t a guess. She knew that is what the Prime captain had done. She’d read of such situations in several Prime military histories in her father’s private collection.

“But the pirates might have had breathing units,” J’ar said.

“The pirates might not have suspected the Prime would cut off the environment as long as some of their crew might be outside the safety of the secured location,” Mel said.

“They would’ve only realized as their peers started to drop dead.” Only the hardiest, some of the pseudo-reptilian species or other humanoid hybrids that could go without air for a short period of time, would’ve survived to don breathing units.

“Man, what are we letting ourselves in for allying with the Prime?” one of her soldiers muttered. His shock came clearly over the com.

“The Galactic Alliance Council has valid reasons.”

“Like what?” the same soldier asked.

“The Antareans,” she said.

Those two words would evoke recent memories from the jump station for her team.

Mel took a breath, blocking out the too-vivid images from the jump station and more distant ones that still haunted her from childhood.

“The Prime have protected themselves and the rest of the Milky Way for eons from the Antareans. The Antareans kill, rape and mutilate with impunity. They do not surrender. They do not give up.” Mel stopped and swallowed the lump forming in her throat, struggling to regain the control she was in danger of losing. “You have to beat them or die trying. Don’t ever forget that. The Prime haven’t, and they are still here to fight.”

“Listen to the Captain,” Nowicki said. “She’s seen the results of Antarean land raids before in the Prater region.”

Damn
, she forgot Nowicki knew that story—one she’d only shared after one too many scotches one interminably long, sleepless night.

“What I’m trying to say is don’t prejudge the Prime too harshly,” she said. “They are now a part of the Alliance. Their methods, although draconian by our measures, work.

Just be thankful we only have to fight pirates this go-round.”

“I’m betting no other pirates will ever attack a Prime ship again—after this lesson,” joked A’tem.

Laughter at the Volusian’s conclusion came across the com. She sighed with relief.

Her troops were wholly on board. They’d do their job and do it well for the pride of the Alliance and Gold Squadron.

“Let’s go in. Shields on full. Take out anything moving in that docking bay.” A roaring war whoop from A’tem, J’ar and the other Volusians on the boarding team echoed across the ear-coms.

* * * *

Prime Star Ship Galanti

Mel stood on her second blood-covered deck within the last fifty-plus standard hours. The jump station hadn’t been quite this bad, because they’d reached it soon after the initial SOS call. Here there was barely a surface that did not have blood, body parts, or bodies covering it. The Prime soldiers had put on a valiant effort, but they’d been surprised and most likely outnumbered.

Swallowing back the bile threatening to come up her throat, vomiting was not advisable when wearing a breathing unit, she stepped around one of the dead Prime crew, his weapon still clutched in his hand. She bent over and gently closed his eyes, murmuring a benediction for his warrior’s soul.

As she made her way through the large bay toward the perimeter and the control consoles, Mel idly wondered who the traitor or traitors had been that had shut down the ship’s security against intruders and allowed the raiders to board. She guessed she’d find out later, once she made contact with the remaining Prime.

“Status, Nowicki?”

She moved to stand near her second-in-command as he re-entered the docking bay with his team. The control console monitors were all dark. All power to this level was cut off, and as suspected, environmental was dead. Emergency lighting provided an eerie glow in the cavernous bay.

“We checked the two contiguous levels, using the maintenance tunnels since the lifts are inoperable. All the bad guys we encountered are either dead or secured.” He nodded toward the opposite wall to where the prisoners were being lined up by A’tem’s team.

The pirates wore leg and arm manacles. “All the Prime found are dead. No torture. Looks like they died fighting after the initial invasion.”

“Jesus,” she muttered. “Why just the two levels?”

“One of the prisoners advised us that we were outnumbered, Captain.” Nowicki angled his head. “As it was, we only subdued this bunch because of surprise. I decided not to risk the boarding party until we could assess status more completely.” Mel’s narrowed gaze traveled the line of prisoners. A few of the pirates were Erians, a reptilian species that gloried in mutilating prisoners, very much like the Antareans. In fact, the Erians were rumored to be distant cousins of the Antarean race, separated by several centuries.

“I would’ve done the same.”

Nowicki nodded his acknowledgment.

“Any Prime women among the dead?” she asked, dreading the answer. The Prime diplomatic legation might have brought their wives, although she doubted it. The Prime hid their women away and protected them to the point of being excessive. The crew would always be one hundred percent male.

“No women.”

Unconsciously, the tension that had stiffened her posture dissipated.

Nowicki shot her a look of understanding.

Her nightmares dated back to the Prater region and an Antarean raid. She’d survived—others hadn’t. Since that time, she couldn’t handle the evidence or even the thought of rape and mutilation. Her traumatic childhood experience was the reason she’d joined the military, to fight the dregs of the universe that felt the need to prey upon the helpless and unaware.

Nowicki had made sure she hadn’t seen the bodies of the women raped and then killed by the Antareans back at the jump station. As fast as they’d responded, the lizard-bastards managed to mutilate two women. Guilt burned in her gut that they’d not been quick enough to save the women the horror.

Killing the two Antareans in the control room had helped somewhat.

So, no women on board the
Galanti
was a good thing as far as she was concerned.

Space pirates, especially Erians, were almost as bad as Antareans in their treatment of captured women.

“Are we secure for now?”

“As far as we can be. The two levels we took had very few pirates.” Nowicki frowned. “I’m betting that the main thrust of the boarding party is on the level leading to the engine room and on the command deck.”

“No bet there. It’s certain,” Mel said.

Ensign J’ar approached them. “One of the prisoners says he knows you, Captain. The guy’s from Obam II. Has something to tell you. Won’t talk to anyone but you.”

“Bring him.”

J’ar loped over to a man on the end of the row of prisoners, lifted him up, and all but dragged the prisoner over to where she and Nowicki stood. J’ar handed the Obam male a com unit set to the current code.

“Mistress Dmitros.” The man bobbed his head in greeting. He was a typical male from the Obam region. Thin and tall to the point of being a walking skeleton with skin colored a pale orange. His sky blue gaze met hers briefly then shifted to the floor.

A brief memory of sharing a cool icy snack with him one very hot, dusty day flickered across her mind.

“Slate, isn’t it? You dug for my parents on Obam IV.”

“Yes, Mistress.” His eyes looked everywhere but at her. Obam males culturally avoided looking foreign females in the eyes; it was considered rude.

“What are you doing with the pirates?”

“Thought we was in it for money and goods.” That did not surprise her, that was why most of the Obam people helped with her father’s dig—for the chance to find and steal treasure. “But once on board found out differently. Then couldn’t leave. So, exist.” He shrugged.

Slate didn’t act ashamed or even guilty. But she expected that. As far as he was concerned, he was not like the men he ran with.

She reached deep inside and used the extra sense that no one knew about and that had saved her many times to read the Obam.

His energy was calm and his aura read as truthful as any of his race ever did. His voice presented the facts as they were—or as he perceived them to be. The Obam were like that, they took things as they came and adapted. The morality of it all was as fluid as their adaptive lifestyle. She’d bet he’d avoided the killing during raids. No Obam male she’d ever met had the balls to kill. They were even vegans. Stealing was okay, but killing was not in their genetic makeup.

“You know men like me, Mistress. We do not kill. Slate waited for escape.”

“Do you believe him, Captain?” J’ar’s Volusian pale blue skin tones had darkened to a deeper blue, almost as dark as a deep space void. J’ar was angry.

While Volusians were a warrior race, like the Prime, they abhorred anyone who fought without honor. Even more, they despised ambiguous morality like Slate’s. To J’ar, Slate was just as evil as a warrior without honor.

“Yes. Obam males are like that.” She looked at Slate who smiled and good-naturedly nodded his agreement with her conclusion.

“Yes, Mistress. What happen to Slate now?”

“You will sit with the other prisoners. Later, once we control the ship, I’ll make sure you are sent back to Obam for judgment.”

“Thank you, thank you, Mistress Dmitros.” Slate bowed his head, his chin almost touching his chest. Bringing his sly blue gaze to look past her right ear, he said, “You can not make way to the Prime crew in the engine room. There are many, many pirates left.” Obviously, Slate had been Nowicki’s source for the pirate head count. “Most of them are lizard-people. Very, very bad, mistress. They not need air as much as human-types and tough to kill.”

Lizard-people was Slate’s name for the Erians.

With Slate’s extra information, Nowicki’s decision to stop at two levels was even more judicious. Erians were damn hard to fight. Their skin was thick and leathery. Lasers would merely sear them and they’d continue to fight, even more enraged. Just as the Antareans she’d killed on the jump station, knives to their main blood supply was the best way to kill them quickly. Damn. Her men would have to fight hand-to-hand.

The risks had just increased. And the self-destruct clock still ticked in her mind.

“How many, Slate? An estimate is fine.”

“Still living? One hundred, maybe?” He looked around the docking bay, his eyes reflecting his skepticism. “You have not enough men to take them. Why not bring more?”

“Later. I need to establish contact with the Prime.” She turned to Nowicki. “Looks like the maintenance tunnels are the best bet to get to the engine room.”

“No! No! Mistress do not do that. Slate could never face your sire Dmitros again here or in the afterlife. There is death in the tunnels. Five men went in and never came out. Please do not go.”

“Thank you for the warning, Slate, but I know what I’m doing.” She smiled at the Obam man.

Slate muttered dire warnings in a mixture of Obamian and Alliance Standard, his head shaking side-to-side with his agitation.

“Ensign J’ar take good care of Slate.” She glanced at the line of prisoners, who eyed Slate with narrowed, angry glares. Many of the Erians would kill Slate if they could.

“Might be a good idea to keep him away from the others. Have one of the guards get any other intel from him that they can. He is not lying.”

“Thank you, Mistress.” Slate bowed his head.

A still skeptical J’ar led Slate away.

Mel turned to A’tem and Nowicki. “We have, by my count, very few hours left on the countdown clock. I want you to take the away teams and the prisoners off the ship and dock with the
Leondias
outside the blast perimeter and stay there until I give the all clear.”

“What in the frigging hell are you planning, Mel?” Nowicki hissed under his breath.

Her second only called her Mel when they were private or he was under the influence of a strong emotion. Since they were not private, he must be furious.

“I wasn’t sure until Slate confirmed it.”

“Wasn’t sure of what?” A’tem asked.

“That we might not be able to get to the Prime crew’s location and get the Prime captain to turn off the self-destruct device. Slate just confirmed it.”

“All we have to do is bring in ten more teams and take out the pirates,” Nowicki growled.

“You know how the Erians fight. You had a hard time taking those few over there,” Mel said, placing her hand on Nowicki’s tense arm. “You heard Slate. The bulk of the remaining pirates are thick-skinned, hard-to-kill reptile-like men with enough cunning to know that you’ll have to engage them hand-to-hand. We’d eventually win, but it would take hours and a great risk of loss and injury to us. And then there is the self-destruct. I will not risk that many soldiers. I refuse.”

She lifted her hand when Nowicki would’ve spoken. “Royce,” she whispered.

“Don’t worry. I can make it through the traps. I read Prime dialect. I’ve read the military texts my parents unearthed and cataloged. I know the types of traps they use. They used them in their battle fortresses and I have encountered many of them on the digs. They’ll use similar traps here.”

When he tried to speak once more, she glared him into remaining silent. “Plus, the traps will be aimed at large male intruders. I am, if you haven’t noticed, smaller than most men and female. I can get through.”

“Dammit all, Mel. I don’t like it.” Nowicki ran a hand through his hair.

“I know. But there is no other choice. I’ll be fine.” She shot him a quick grin. “I’m betting they have cameras in the tunnel and maybe communications. I might be able to establish contact that way and get them to shut down the traps—and the countdown, and then I’ll contact you and we can figure out how to flush the rest of the pirates out
with
the help of the Prime. We’ll use the usual sequence of signals.”

“Why not just have the Prime call us in when you get to a useable comm point?” Nowicki asked, still belligerent.

“No, no one comes back unless the order comes from me. I’m not willing to sacrifice the crew’s safety when the pirates could contact you as easily as the Prime, and you’d never know the difference.”

“Then let me go in,” Nowicki begged.

Mel shook her head. “They’re more likely to ignore a man and let him die. Me? They know the pirates don’t allow women on their crews. I have to be an Alliance officer.” She shook her head in warning as he opened his mouth once more. “I won’t risk any of you.” A’tem looked from one to the other of them with a look of extreme concern in his navy blue eyes. “Commander Nowicki, the Captain is well within her authority to act in this manner. I do not think you have the authorization to say her nay.”

“Thank you, A’tem.” Mel smiled at the always proper Volusian. “I know I can always count on my Volusian officers to be the voice of reason.”

“Dammit, Mel!”

She patted his arm. “I’ll be fine, Royce. Now move it, mister. We don’t have that much time. I’m counting on you to get these men away and to advise our ships and Captain Warten as to the plan.”

“Yes, Captain.” Nowicki saluted and stalked away, anger in every line of his body.

“I’ll watch him, Captain. He’ll be fine.”

“Thanks, A’tem. He’s the closest thing I have to a brother.” She’d always known her second-in-command felt more than brotherly love for her.

His emotions right now were off the map of the proper relationship between a superior officer and her second. She’d striven never to give him any idea she might return that love. She couldn’t return an emotion she didn’t possess. She was pretty sure her whole squadron knew how Royce felt about her, but they also could never point to any action on her part that welcomed or accepted anything more than close friendship.

A’tem’s departing “Yes, ma’am” was a point in fact. His tone and manner stated he knew what she’d said was true; too bad Royce had never accepted her feelings as they were.