Citation Series 1: Naero's War: The Annexation War Page 4

  Aunt Sleak smiled. “Glad to give it, glad to hear you say it. Starting this moment, you and your people are off the line for one, perhaps two weeks. Use your time well–while your have it.”

  Naero hesitated.

  Her aunt looked her right in the eye.

  “We’ve never really asked you if you are up for all of this, Naero. So I’m asking now. Are you? I know you’re young. I know that you’ve been through a lot within the past year. The death of your parents. The loss of your best friend, Gallan. You brother Jan’s abduction by Triax. The Kexxian Data Matrix trapped inside you; your strange powers that came and went, your battle with your insane brother Danner–Janner’s twin.”

  Even Aunt Sleak had to take a breath. “Now you’re a nud again, devoid of all Cosmic or psyonic abilities. All of that insanity and loss, and then we throw you into a vicious war, and make you command a strike fleet. We know that’s a lot of pressure to place on one so young, however gifted you may be. The strain and the demands of fleet command alone are daunting.

  “So I ask again. Are you up to these tasks? Can you do what is required of you? It is not going to get any easier from this point on, not until Triax is finally defeated.”

  Naero thought about it for a long few moments before taking in a deep breath, squaring her shoulders, and giving a full answer.

  “Until this war is over, what is past in my life is past. I fully believe in our cause. For the duration, I am a strike fleet captain. Nothing else. This is my war as much as it is our war, the war of the entire Alliance, against evil and blood-soaked tyrants, completely devoid of all honor and decency. Even if we all perish in the deed–it will be worth it in the end–if Triax falls from power and is no more.

  She held up her hands and conceded. “Yes, my strange powers are gone; I’m a nud again. I’ve come to accept that fact. Jan is still missing. I am tormented by that, and I will never stop searching for him until he is free again.”

  Naero clenched both fists. “Yet my duty at this moment in time is as clear as the clearest sky. My command and my crews are all that matter, and I am fully committed to them. I will see this mission through to the end, for my parents, for Gallan, for the sake of my Clans, whom I love more than my own life. For all of our family, friends, and Allies, who deserve the right to peace and freedom.”

  Naero snapped to attention. “Triax, must be completely and utterly destroyed. At the very least, I shall draw breath long enough to see it done.”

  “Very well, then, strike captain. Know that we fully share your commitment to these goals. You are hereby dismissed.”

  Naero still hesitated.

  Zalvano asked her.

  “Something else troubling you, captain?”

  “You still have me questioning myself and my abilities, now. I wonder what my people really think of me. I wish there was a way that I could find out.”

  “Try this trick of your mother’s then,” Aunt Sleak suggested. “Take some of your off-duty time and disguise yourself. I know with your Intel training that you’re good at that. It won’t take much. Then go around to your crews and work among them. You know very well how Spacers gab freely all the time among their mates. You’ll hear all you want to hear, and then some. So, be careful of what you ask for, and don’t be surprised at what you find.”

  Naero nodded. “My mom really used to do stuff like that?”

  Aunt Sleak rolled her eyes. “All the time. You never knew? Your mom was a master of disguise, and a drama queen to boot. She’d make up whole personas and backgrounds for her aliases. Sometimes, even I couldn’t even tell it was her. She loved tricking people…a lot like someone else I know.”

  Naero blinked. “All right then. Sounds workable. I’ll give that a try.”

  Zalvano grinned ear to ear and jerked his thumb at the door panel. “Then get the hell out of here, Captain Maeris. Don’t you realize you’re on leave?”

  5

  Strike Fleet Six held their wakes and funerals for their recent dead. These were always somber affairs.

  Two days later, after a fleet-wide survey, Naero helped organize a gigantic shore leave party on Telandar-4, well-behind the frontlines, in the rear areas of the conflict.

  Huge troop dropships–on loan from the Marines–ferried her crews back and forth by the thousands.

  They chose a large temperate zone grassland and forested valley, set in an isolated region of a wide extent of foothills, leading to some spectacular silver-blue mountains capped with snow. The chosen area included some equally impressive waterfalls and river systems cutting through the valleys, vibrant and green in that continent’s early summer.

  The local Triaxian human population was for the most part grateful and sympathetic to their liberators.

  But there was still a definite chance of revenge strikes and terrorism by small, fanatical Corps elements on that world, hence the isolation of the shore leave party. This also called for the deliberate absence of any native landers, despite the open willingness of many Telandarians to reward their liberators with…blatant fraternization.

  Unfortunately, the overall risk of various problems and sabotage were just too great in the end.

  Naero’s trading and merchant suppliers purchased and shipped in all goods, tents, pop-up nanocabins, supplies, and equipment.

  Spacer bands and entertainers arrived in droves to keep the troops happy.

  Chefs and cooks from all the ships volunteered to prepare the food and get everyone drunk in rotating shifts, whenever Spacers were ready.

  Those looking for a little romance snuck off with their partners as needed, or paired up on the fly.

  Others chose quieter pursuits.

  Some went camping or hiking, boating and fishing along the scenic waterways. Some merely slept in tents, read quietly, or got lazy on lakeshore beaches.

  Many just want to be alone somewhere peaceful and quiet with or away from their thoughts and troubles.

  Naero made fleet counselors available to anyone who wanted or needed to talk to someone. She basically allowed her people to work out their issues however they chose to.

  Only in certain instances did ship captains make therapy mandatory.

  And a select few among them were at times deemed too troubled to continue serving at the front. Such individuals were quietly re-assigned to serve out the rest of the war in the rear areas, while other replacements were moved up.

  A weird situation.

  Replacements who came to them, however, were trained hard, night and day by veteran trainers. Every attempt was made to get them up to speed and keep them alive for when the fleet did go back to war.

  In battle, the learning curve remained steep and unforgiving.

  Nor had the replacements earned any shore leave yet.

  Naero had to admit, Aunt Sleak and Zalvano were more than right about many things.

  Time off the line had many advantages.

  Namely, all the cold, frosty Jett she could suck down.

  For the second day in a row, Naero had a seven millimeter thick, fresh steak of some local variety cattle, pink and medium rare, for brunch. These mouth-watering steaks were as big as the plate the chef served them on, rubbed with salt, and marinated to perfection.

  She received a sudden call from her mysterious, outcast uncle–Baeven–without any warning, as usual. The man was steeped in intrigue, and moved through deep circles of espionage–the way normal people passed through the very air.

  Although a pariah among her people, and wanted by Spacer Intel, his skill sets made him the perfect choice to search for any signs of her missing brother, Jan, and his deranged twin, Dan.

  Naero quickly scrambled back to her pop-up nanocabin to take that secret call in private.

  Her outcast uncle came and went as he pleased, but he had promised her that he would continue a concerted search for Janner and Danner, her missing twin brothers.

  Perhaps this time, he finally had a lead.

  “Hey, Baeven. Have you
found Jan yet?”

  “Good to hear the sound of your voice too, Naero.”

  “Sorry. I’m glad you called me, but every time you do, I just keep hoping for good news.”

  “I’m afraid I must disappoint you once more, Naero. No valid leads currently on the location of either of your brothers. It is truly as if they have both completely vanished. I hear you are doing well with your command. Congratulations.”

  Naero fidgeted. “What about any invalid leads?”

  Baeven sighed. “Mostly just stupid, routine traps that I don’t tell you about. Triax keeps hoping you’ll be dumb enough and desperate enough to fall for one of them. They still want the Kexxian Data Matrix that you carry on you DNA, very badly.”

  The KDM was another piece of th puzzle leading to the current war, but thus far, no one on either side had been able to decode any part of it. So it remained useless. Yet it’s data still promised the possibility of access to the tek secrets of an ancient, godlike alien race.

  Naero persisted. “What if one of those traps could lead us to Jan?”

  Baeven sighed. “Which of course is the exact reason why I don’t tell you about them. Don’t worry. I diligently follow up on each of them when I have the time, expose them for what they are, and then make certain that those involved do not set such stupid traps…ever again.”

  Naero paused. “You mean...you wipe them out.”

  “Yes, Naero. I kill every one of them. They are our enemies. You should know this fact by now. They will show no mercy or quarter to us. They murdered your parents, murdered your best friend. They tortured Danner for years and drove him insane. They could be doing the very same thing to Jan as we speak. When I find them, I make them all pay…severely.”

  Naero shuddered at the basic menace in her uncle’s voice. She never forgot how deadly Baeven was. Perhaps one of the most dangerous champions she had ever met–a terrifying warrior, trained by their Mystics–with no equal that she knew of in battle.

  They spoke briefly for a few moments longer. Then, as usual, he needed to go. Baeven always had things to do, somewhere else to be.

  Naero left her nanocabin, and returned to the grilling areas.

  All the rest of that morning and part of the afternoon, Naero sat at her table with friends and other captains and officers who came and went. They talked and joked, exchanged stories and problems, offering suggestions and solutions as the day went on.

  Her new pilot, Enel Maeris–a distant cousin from her own blood and Clan–stopped by and humbly attempted to apologize for his actions during the battle.

  Enel was two years older than Naero herself. She instinctively liked him, and he came to her highly recommended.

  At twenty-one, Enel was a stocky, muscular young man of medium height and build, with short curly black hair, piercing gray eyes, and a slight hawk nose. His hands and feet looked slightly larger than the rest of him in his basic black uniform.

  Naero laughed and shook hands with him. She warned Enel how grumpy she could get, and told him not to give the matter any further thought. They were blood; they were family.

  Naero watched her pilot walk away, hoping he felt better. She was glad to have him on her staff.

  Lots of female crew in Six already had their eye on Enel. Word traveled quickly, especially among Spacer women. Rumors abounded about the young ensign.

  The Intel dossier on him said that that Enel had been a big hit among the ladies, both at the Spacer Naval Academy, and during his brief, sterling service with the navy. He’d had his pick of several, pretty young Spacer gals, swooning and chasing after him for his attention.

  Naero could see why. Enel was the real deal. A young warrior-poet-lover. One of the brightest young pilots of his generation. He played the thiolin off duty. Enel was also an excellent fighter, and he had excelled on one of the naval WebBall teams.

  And what’s more, the few lovers he did choose to take–claimed and even bragged openly–that he sang to them privately. In fine voice, too, they said. Enel sang his lovers to sleep in his strong embrace, with soft love songs. Most of his lovers sounded as if they would be glad to have him back.

  Yet since joining Naero’s bridge crew on Six’s flagship, the only woman Enel seemed to even glance at was stunning Surina Marshall, Naero’s communications officer.

  But Surina was all career, battle, and business. She seemed generally unimpressed by most guys–including Enel.

  Surina had medium length, strawberry-blond hair that she always wore in a long, efficient ponytail, and huge green eyes, like bright, verdant gems. A light spray of freckles made her pretty face just that much more stunning. She was tall, athletic, and high-breasted. Over half of her seemed to be all shapely legs.

  Surina just turned twenty-one.

  If she had a lover, she kept that fact a close secret.

  Many had tried and failed to woo her. Surina shot cute guys down repeatedly in flames–including Enel.

  At noon, Naero spotted her good friend, Wing Commander Saemar Maeris, in white shorts and an orange tank top and sandals, scooting by on the arm of a tall, darkly handsome Marine. An elite starfighter pilot, Saemar was a dish and then some–cute, short, and buxom, with curly auburn hair and dazzling sapphire-blue eyes.

  After the tragic death of her fiancé at the hands of the enemy, something had snapped in Saemar. Since that time, she had led a decidedly, polyamorous lifestyle.

  Shortly after one, Saemar bounced back the other way in a voluptuous, blood red bikini and barefoot–with a stocky blond fighter pilot chasing her, trying to tickle her. Both of them laughed and ran, their eyes twinkling.

  At two-thirty, Saemar came by again, slipping behind the table to the wooded vales toward the south. She wore a shirt too big for her and maybe the red bikini bottoms.

  Maybe not.

  A cute, lanky tek with long red hair in a braided pony tail held her hand in his.

  At four o’clock. Saemar again.

  Not one, but two handsome guys this time.

  Naero recognized them, elite gunners from The Highlander.

  All three of them in soft bathrobes, laughing like old friends.

  Heading for the hot tub cabins.

  Naero let out a heavy sigh.

  Saemar sure wasn’t wasting any time, as usual.

  It turned into a very beautiful late afternoon.

  After her second huge steak, and another short, food coma nap, Naero got up from her nanocot and mattress and went looking for her other fighter jock galpal, Wing Commander Chaela Maeris.

  She found Chae, her Viking-like friend, snoring in her and Remy’s popup nanocabin. Remy was Chae’s long-term beau, who worked with fleet accounting. For once, Chae’s long, golden hair was unbraided and undone. Her gold tresses starfished all around Chaela’s tall, buff, alabaster body.

  Remy wasn’t around. Probably back on a duty shift somewhere.

  Knowing how much Chae relished her sleep…

  And got incredibly angry with anyone who woke her prematurely, Naero did not disturb her tall friend’s well-earned slumber.

  She did notice that Chae had fresh paint-on vidscreens on her finger and toenails. Images and vidshows flashing and panning on them.

  Most likely the gift and handiwork of her fiancé. Remy loved doting on his beloved Chae–his precious Valkyrie.

  Naero left Chae a note to join her that night at the WebBall matches. Chae was their resident WebBall fanatic.

  She still had some time on her hands, so she followed the patter of gunfire over to the target ranges.

  7

  Naero stopped by at the shooting ranges to locate their lander friend, Tarim Martan. He wasn’t a Spacer, but had lived and worked among them as a friend and equal, ever since Naero had rescued and freed him from being a Triaxian mining slave.

  He also served as Naero’s Security officer and personal bodyguard, when necessary. Since he became a phenomenal marksman, Tarim held various gun matches and shooting contests with other Spa
cers, snipers, shootists, and Marines.

  Third Division was famous for its sharpshooters.

  Tarim’s face brightened when he spotted her. “Good to see you, N!”

  They shook hands, up to the elbow. “You seem at home here, Tarim.”

  He grinned. “I’m in my element. Will you challenge us with punching some targets? I’ve been bragging about what a shot you are.”

  “Gladly. You, bragging about me?”

  Tarim laughed. “Here’s one of our new friends from the Spacer Marines, Sergeant Jeremiah Hayden, one of their best pistol shots.”

  Naero smiled at the sergeant, him medium height and athletic. Short, sandy-blond hair. Soft, intelligent brown eyes–handsome, rugged features. Despite his young age, this was a man, not some untried boy.

  This man was a proven warrior, she could tell. She could tell by the precise, easy way he observed everything–his bearing–just the way he moved.

  Hayden saluted her. “Captain Maeris. A high honor to meet you, sir.”

  She smiled and waved him off. “Stand down, Marine. No rank here. Just friends. Let’s get some shootin’ in, guys.”

  She competed with them for over an hour, using various rigs. Some of them new and experimental.

  Tarim kept specialized fixers handy to modify and fine-tune various weapon systems. The little, advanced tek orbs were the only thing Naero had been able to pull out of the KDM. They had an infinite number of tek uses.

  All of the shooters joked, laughed, and talked shooting tek, methods, and match grade equipment–ammunition types, optics, and targeting.

  They used various robotic and holo targets, some in full combat mode.

  They competed until the sun began to set.

  The highest overall score went to Tarim, of course.

  Tarim was like a savant or something when it came to marksmanship. Second place went to Sergeant Hayden, and a close third to Naero.

  Naero looked at Hayden’s 3rd Marine Division patch on his fatigues–narrowed green eyes on either side of a black number three, and their trademark lightning bolt.