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  “We are not.” The Admiral replied, striding ahead of Joe in his dress uniform. “There are a few places that you don’t go with a ship like the Seven, Mella II being one of them, it gives off the wrong signals.”

  “Agreed.” Val-Lar added. “We have requested transportation aboard Commodore Smid’s flagship, the Peta. It will serve our purposes.”

  Joe nodded. Commodore Smid was the 3rd Reconnaissance Squadron Commander and a friend of Earth’s.

  A quick shuttle journey brought them out to their transportation, a very modern light cruiser that had all the bells and whistles of the finest ships that were in limited production today, but without the grace and beauty of the older ships from the Imperial day. Once onboard, Joe noticed how the corridors and passageways were cramped just like on the Epsilon.

  When they reached the bridge, Smid greeted them and showed them to some available stations where they could observe the crew in action as they prepared to leave the station and jump to Mella II. Joe had met the Commodore on a few occasions previously and was thrilled when he was given a datapad with the full operational capabilities of the ship translated into English for his reading pleasure.

  Distracted with his reading material, Joe tried to relax and understand the capabilities of the ship he was currently sitting in. Before he knew it, they were gone from Traxis space and were flung roughly six-hundred light years into the centre of the Etelainen.

  Putting the datapad into his bag, Joe thanked the Commodore for the transport and followed the admiral and Val-Lar off the bridge to the cramped shuttle bay where their transportation to fleet headquarters awaited them. Joe never saw himself as a salesman, but today he had to not only pitch the viability of taking back Earth, he needed to make the most senior officers of the Alliance believe that is was an effort worth undertaking. He not only needed to sell his plan, but he also needed to sell his species and his home-world.

  The facility in orbit of Mella II was not what Joe was expecting. He wasn’t able to see the exterior of the station in transit, but once they boarded he couldn’t help but notice that while the bulk of the station looked fashioned in the standards and styles that he expected from something dating back to the years of the Empire, but every so often there was a section of the station that looked either very new, or put together in a slip-shod manner. Val-Lar noticed that Joe was taking in his surroundings and informed him that the station had been attacked numerous times since the war had started, and every time the station was repaired section by section.

  Joe thanked her for the information and continued to keep his head on a swivel. This was by far the most diverse location he had been for alien watching. It was unbelievable that so many different species and cultures had been brought together like this. He knew the Empire was old, but it must have taken decades and centuries to form this kind of society.

  Admiral Taark had been following a junior staff member since they had got off the shuttle, and he finally stopped outside a large set of doors and looked at Joe and Val-Lar.

  “On the other side of these doors are the primary offices of the three most senior members of the Alliance Fleet. The Grand Marshall, who oversees the entire fleet and his two deputies. It is a rare occasion to get an audience, so chose every word with care.” The admiral looked at the aide and signalled him that they were ready to proceed.

  The entryway to the inner sanctum was as regal as Joe would have expected. Numerous banners and flags covered one side the corridor while the other was covered in images of the various classes of ships that were employed in fleet service. Once they were through the hallway, they entered into a large circular space with five doors leading off of it. In the centre was a receptionist desk. The droid at attendance stood up and paid respects to the admiral, then directed them to the large briefing room that was shaped like an amphitheatre, taking up space on the level they were on, and two below them.

  The admiral gave Joe and Val-Lar a quick glance, then started walking down towards the front of the room. “When you speak to the Grand Marshall, address him as Grand Marshall, Marshall or Sir. Keep your answers brief and accurate.” They reached the front of the room, and the Val-Lar went about setting up the necessary kit to project their presentation onto the main view screen. Once it was set up, the admiral nodded and took a seat on the front row bench. “Now we wait.”

  When the main doors of the room finally opened, Joe and his party had been waiting over two hours, and instead of the Grand Marshall and his two deputies and a few aides walking in as expected, Taark was shocked to see that every fleet commander walked in, along with the heads of every department in the fleet from Rescue Technicians to Dynamic Operations to Fleet Support. Once over half the seats in the room were filled, the Marshall’s two deputies strode in and walked down to the front of the room and spoke with Taark out of Joe’s earshot.

  Before Taark could tell Joe what he had been told, the room came to attention as the Grand Marshall walked in, and made his way down to the front of the room. He exchanged some pleasantries with Admiral Taark, then asked him, Joe and Val-Lar to be seated. There was a change in plans.

  The Grand Marshall was a Floxian like Ranix, and he activated a microphone and went through some quick thank you’s for everyone being able to make the briefing, then he cut to the heart of the matter.

  “I have asked all of you here because this is not Mechcharga. This station is one of the very few places in the cosmos where I feel secure. Here and D-O Headquarters.” Il Rotana was sitting a few rows back from the front and blushed while the rest of the room gave off a happy chuckle. “We are at a critical point in the survival of not only this fleet that we love so dear, but of the Alliance and any future there may be for reconstituting the Empire.” The Grand Marshall started walking slowly to one side of the room, his eyes fixed on his audience. “We can no longer allow politicians to control our fate. They have neither the training, nor the inclination for strategic thought, and are leading us to our doom.”

  The Grand Marshall pulled out a controller from his pocket and activated the room’s primary view screen. “Before the War of Succession started, the Empire spanned approximately 475,000 systems. Occupied roughly 40,000 inhabited worlds and had over 100,000,000,000,000 citizens. The fleet had almost 20,000 capital ships, and there had not been an external threat from beyond the Reach in decades. Now.” He let his previous numbers sink in. “Things are very different.”

  The Marshall changed the screens to show a new set of numbers. “My most current information puts the population of the Etelainen around 1,000,000,000,000.” He pointed at the screen. “That is spread over 18,000 inhabited planets spanning 200,000 systems.” He turned to look at his audience. “And to control that we have just 2826 capital ships.” He let that number sink in. “That means each ship would be responsible for a territory spanning seventy systems. That ratio is unsustainable, and every year the number of citizens, worlds, and systems and ships drops.” He paused and looked around the room. “More and more systems are going off the grid. Declaring their independence. Refusing to pay royal levies. Some of you are well aware of this fact, and yet we are powerless to do anything about it. And if this war continues to drag out, there won’t be an Etelainen, let alone the prospect of reforming the Empire.” The Grand Marshall paused, then delivered the punchline.

  “What I am proposing is a peace treaty at all costs with the Coalition.”

  “This is treason!” Came a shout from the rear of the room.

  Joe had sat in silence on the front row in between Taark and Val-Lar, trying to figure out how this would affect Earth. Would a ceasefire get everything back to the way it was before the Coalition invaded, or would the Coalition continue to exploit his home-world? Too many questions.

  “The Princess is not in control of affairs on Mechcharga. Anyone who has been to a meeting with her and her councillors and Elders will tell you that they hold considerable sway over her, and for some reason do not want this war to end.” He
walked almost all the way up to the front row. “It is up to us to stop this war before we wake up and discover that there is nothing worth fighting for anymore!”

  Joe slid down into his chair as the room erupted into dozens of shouting matches. Shaking his head, he looked down at the small datapad in his hand that he had used to prepare for his briefing, then put it away. No need for that anymore. Looking over to the Admiral, Joe leaned in. “This doesn’t look good.”

  Taark looked at Joe and nodded. “I agree.”

  Four hours later Joe was on the shuttle heading back to Commodore Smid’s flagship. Joe was looking at Val-Lar in the darkness of the passenger compartment. Her blue eyes were almost electric as she stared off into nothingness. The Admiral was engrossed in the datapad that he and everyone else in the room had received after the yelling and shouting had died down. It contained orders from the Grand Marshall for a short-term hold on all offensive operations and a focus on presence patrols in systems that each fleet commander felt was the most susceptible to declaring independence. He had ordered fleet intelligence to conduct internal security checks on all systems that had declared for independence and look for trends and commonalities.

  Other departments were given instructions of different nature. The objective was simple: stop the purge of systems, planets and ships. Do whatever it takes to hold onto what we had.

  The Grand Marshall had scheduled a trip to Mechcharga to seek the Princess’s council, at which time he would make his recommendations for an immediate cease-fire with the Coalition and start steps to win back the systems that the Etelainen had recently lost to independence.

  “So where does this leave us?” Joe asked the admiral. They were still a few minutes from reaching their ride back to Traxis.

  The Admiral looked up from his datapad and rubbed his chin. “Not in a good place. If the Grand Marshall is able to convince the powers that be on Mechcharga that peace needs to be obtained at all costs, then any peace negotiations will take some time. In that time, not much will change, which means your home world will be under the yolk of the Coalition for the foreseeable future. And there is always the chance that a peace treaty won’t release Terra from the control of the powers that already have it.”

  Joe nodded. “It sounds pretty clear to me that we’re not going to get a green light from Fleet command for a rescue, which leaves us with two options.” He looked at Val-Lar, then the admiral. “We do nothing, or we carry out our own rescue attempt.”

  Val-Lar let out a laugh. “And where are you going to get the assets for a counter-attack. You said they have fifteen ships. We’d need at least that number to have any chance.”

  Joe nodded, then looked at the Admiral. “Where do you stand, sir?”

  The admiral leaned his head back slightly, looking at Joe, and then a smile came onto his face. “Risk my career, the lives of my men? To save your planet from the Coalition.”

  “What if there was a way to do it without risking the lives of your men.” Joe smiled. “But, if you do this, your career is probably fucked.”

  The admiral nodded. “What do you propose?”

  Joe inched forward to the edge of his seat. “What ships could we get our hands on and rely on the AI?”

  “The Seven has that capability.” Val-Lar interjected.

  “What?” The admiral shot his eyes towards his subordinate. “A fleet command ship hasn’t been used in combat in decades. The Grand Marshall will have us all executed if we risk that ship.”

  Joe leaned back. “What is that ship worth, against a standard warship?”

  “Alone it could retake the system.” Val-Lar said with confidence.

  The admiral shook his head. “Oh, my.”

  Before another word could be spoken, the shuttle landed inside the hangar bay on board Smid’s reconnaissance command ship. The hatch opened to show a concerned looking Smid with a datapad in his hand.

  “We have news from the Epsilon and Doctor Stokes.” He handed the pad to the admiral.

  Taark read the first page, then gave it to Joe, who quickly had it converted into English. “Admiral Lex is dead?” He said, looking at Taark. “And they’ve gone back to Mechcharga to continue their investigation.” He said.

  Taark nodded and started walking behind Smid towards the bridge. “But,” he put his finger into the air to make his point. “They have the Five.”

  Joe looked back down at the datapad. “That means we, theoretically have control over two of the three operational fleet command ships.”

  Taark nodded. “Very true. Perhaps this assault on Terra is looking up.”

  Joe continued reading the rest of the message from Ranix. “What’s our next move?”

  “If we’re going to make a move against Terra ourselves, we’ll need more allies.” Taark said. “We should go visit your Terran Strike Group. They could be a potent tool for this mission.”

  46

  Earth Orbit

  18 April

  As Imperator Casix had promised, the slaver ship arrived into Terran orbit and contacted Sajoba on a private channel. The ship had a unique signature that had raised the alarm of the bridge crew who immediately alerted the rapid reaction forces in the system who swarmed the large slaver ship and waited for Sajoba to give them the all clear.

  Sajoba didn’t want the stench of the slavers aboard his ship, so he took a small shuttle and docked at their long ship which had large square-shaped sections evenly spaced along the hull. Once the umbilical was secured, and a seal was established, Sajoba crossed into the slaver ship and was met by the captain, a cyborg name Dunda.

  “Greets.” Dunda said in a metallic growl. “Casix told me you had some product for me.”

  They started walking away from the airlock, and into the bowels of the ship.

  “I might.” Sajoba replied. “How does the process work?”

  “That depends. Is the product wild or secured?”

  “Wild.” Sajoba replied. The interior of the ship smelled horrible. It was dark and rust coloured and looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in ages.

  “How many units are you selling?” Dunda asked.

  Sajboa hadn’t thought about that, but he replied with the first number that came to find. “A million.” He looked at the dishevelled slaver. “Is that too many?”

  “How large is the product?”

  “Our size.”

  “A million is fine.” Dunda said with a smile. Half his face was machine, and the organic half looked to have received numerous cosmetic operations. “I send down snatch units. They operate in a number of ways, but given enough time, they will collect the million units.”

  “And then?”

  “And then they are brought here. I have a buyer who always needs stock, but for a million units I might need to spread the order around.”

  “And payment?”

  “You receive a set amount per unit on delivery to the client, minus my fee. After a trial date to test survivability of the product, the final payment instalment is made.” Dunda replied.

  They finally reached the bridge, and Sajoba noticed that it was empty with the exception of the flight stations and necessary systems to fly the ship. Thinking back, he realised that he hadn’t seen another organic on the ship.

  “Do you pilot this by yourself?” He asked.

  “Yes. You can’t trust anyone in the slaving business. Off books and black-market and all. My entire ship is run by the AI and the handling of all stock is automated. I only need some droids to handle repairs on the ship, and my snatch droids to collect the product if it’s wild, like in this case.” Dunda brought up a display of the planet that they were floating above and looked at Sajoba. “Is there a particular target area that I can collect from?”

  Sajoba nodded. He pointed to a spot on the globe. “Enlarge this area here.”

  Dunda did as he was told. “Isolated continent. Looks dry.”

  “Focus on this section here, along the western coast.”

  Th
e image zoomed into focus on a city that was on the coast.

  “You can take your cargo from anywhere in this sector.”

  Dunda nodded and then tapped a few keys at the station. “Looks like there are only two-point-five million units in the entire region.” He took a step back and twisted his back from side to side. “Defences?”

  “They will possess some weaponry. How much heat can you handle?” Sajoba asked.

  “It’s fine. I’ll send down my assault drones with the snatch ships.”

  Sajoba looked at the area on the screen. “How long will it take to get this done?”

  “Large area. They’ll resist.” Dunda scratched the side of his head. “I’d hate to make a bad guess.”

  “When can you start?” Sajoba stepped away from the terminal and looked around the cramped interior of the command bridge.

  “Six hours.” Dunda replied. “I want to spend some more time examining the target area, once I’m satisfied, I’ll send down two gunships along with four snatch ships. While they’re on the surface, I will contact my buyers, and see where the interest is.”

  “Where are your buyers located? I don’t need specific worlds, but are they all inside the Pohjois?”

  “Most are in systems that are off the grid and no longer monitored by the Coalition. I have customers inside the Core, also.” He replied.

  Sajoba nodded to himself. “Well then, I wish you a good hunt.”

  “I’ll see you back to your ship.” Dunda said, leading Sajoba off the bridge.

  As they made their way towards the docking collar where Sajoba’s shuttle awaited, he asked one final question. “How do you store your cargo?”

  “Depends on the species and their tolerances. Once I get my first samples, I’ll run them through a full medical screen to see what will kill them. Most likely I’ll put them in a basic cryo-sleep. Fill up a holding chamber then gas them. When they wake up, they’ll be with the customer.”