Forged by Battle (WarVerse Book 1) Page 6

  ELE, all in block lettering, with a string of numbers beneath. Vincent pulled the blanket over to cover the lettering and any of the girl’s exposed skin.

  "What in the void were they doing on this planet?"

  Chapter 13

  The Exile

  Once the Shadow's energy ran out and it returned to the blade, it was simple for the Exile to finish her deception. Before she detonated the rear of the ship, she moved through and ensured that every passenger was secured against the sudden decompression, and as she did, she touched each of them and erased their memories of her. The ones who had been injured during her fight were still alive, and with a little basic first aid, she was able to keep them stable. Once finished, she slipped into one of the cargo hatches and blew the charge.

  When the rescue crews arrived, they found a compartment full of unconscious but alive civilians, and with the damage to the shuttle's engines, there was no time to waste looking at blood trails or camera feeds. The Exile slipped past the rescue crews unnoticed, her Web causing them to forget about her if they looked. None of them were searching for someone hiding, though; they were too preoccupied with rescuing everyone aboard. She made it to one of the Fleet ships with no one even aware of her existence, and from there, she was just another body in a crew of hundreds.

  She was still an alien to them, however, and even if there were a thousand sailors aboard she would stand out as a blue-skinned “nymph.” But something was off, and when the rescue tug landed on the flight deck, her Web detected something she did not expect. Others—others of her kind. What were they doing on a human ship? They were allies to humans, yes, but her people kept to themselves, and the humans did the same. But there they were, as bright as spotlights in her Web. Her infiltration suddenly became that much more difficult. Humans she could trick, or hide from, but not one of her own.

  Enemy mistakes are allied opportunities. The mantra sprang unbidden to her thoughts. A lifetime of training took more than banishment to remove. The ship was a mixed compliment, and that meant she would go unnoticed among the humans while hiding herself in the Web from the others. As long as none of them spotted her and saw the mark of the Exile on her, then she would have time to plan.

  The first step was to gather intel, to find out what she could about the “Condemned.” Where they were located, and what their mission was. The next step was to find them. A platoon of special ops soldiers would be a powerful tool in her mission.

  Although… she did not really have a mission anymore. She was banished from her path, and the ideals she had trained for her entire life had been stripped from her. She was a completely free agent, stripped of her rank, her influence, and even her name. She had no obligation to continue.

  She could steal a ship, take as many supplies as she needed, and leave human-controlled space. Everything she had done was for her people, and they had taken everything from her. The Exile ran her hand over the hilt of the dagger she lost everything for. She knew she needed power to combat power, and if she was to prevent what was coming, she needed every advantage. The Shadow and his ilk from beyond the portals were nothing compared to what destroyed her homeworld.

  No, she had to continue.

  The Exile found herself on a large hangar deck hidden from view by the numerous boxes and machinery that littered the space. She held her Web as close as she could, not wanting to draw her Shell, but knowing that any active pulse would alert other Psykin of her location. The Exile slinked across the bay, moving between shadows to keep out of sight, all the while watching the various crew members as they came and went, mentally mapping out the different routes in and out of the bay.

  Intel gathering was simple: watch everyone, memorize patterns. An unsecured computer would allow her to find out more about the Condemned. If that man from the shuttle was moving from Bastogne to the fleet, then they must be either stationed on one of the ships or within a jump of the system. Before she found them, however, she would find resources. Weapons, uniforms, equipment. She was going to impersonate a Special Forces lieutenant, and she would need to look the part.

  The Exile felt the analytical calm that took over whenever she set herself to a goal. The constant undercurrent of anger and betrayal was pushed aside for the details she needed to take in.

  She could continue her search for the project Rebirth.

  Chapter 14

  Johnston

  A headache had wormed its way into Johnston's skull. It sat right between his eyes, and throbbed whenever he tried to look at his console or even turn on the lights. All the enemy fighters had been recovered, the civilians in the disabled shuttle rescued, and Lieutenant Barkhorn had been found on the planet alive, and had managed to save someone himself. So why was his head splitting open? The ship was hardly damaged, and while the lost pilots were distressing, it was not enough to create such incapacitating pain.

  He had experienced these kinds of headaches in the academy, after nights of no sleep and constant study, as though his body were rebelling against him. It had to be stress, only Johnston couldn't figure out what was causing it.

  A chime sounded outside his door, and his AMI informed him that it was Commander Belford.

  Just what I need. The admiral sighed, a heavy sound in the dark room, and then he pulled a pain reliever from the drawer. He pressed the applicator into his upper arm, and barely felt the pinch of the needle with the pain lancing between his eyes. Thankfully, humanity's allies, the shogoths, were masters of chemical manipulation. His painkiller didn't addle him or cause the euphoria most painkillers did; the shot he took simply blocked the nerves from screaming.

  He would need to be careful not to do anything to hurt himself, as he wouldn't even feel a broken bone. The rest of his crew was forbidden from having such powerful medication on hand, but he was the captain, and he couldn't afford to be anything other than one hundred percent.

  He keyed the mental command to open the door.

  "Enter."

  Belford blustered in, and Johnston was immediately thankful he had taken the pain suppressor. He was not going to enjoy this conversation.

  "William, I need to, uh..." Belford started, but Johnston nipped that in the bud.

  "Captain will be fine," he interrupted.

  "Uh, right, Captain, sir." Belford's train had been derailed. Johnston hoped he would make it short.

  "The article fifteen I submitted for Barkhorn was pushed back." It seemed he had found his track again. "I have submitted it twice. Why are you, uh, pushing back? Sir?"

  Johnston rubbed at the spot behind his eyes. He could have sworn he still felt the pressure. Perhaps he had discovered the cause of his stress.

  "Commander, your pilot’s actions not only saved the lives of every civilian aboard that shuttle, but exposed a dangerous weapon without taking casualties. He then managed to land a heavily damaged fighter and rescue another civilian, and you want permission to discipline him?" Johnston had long ago mastered the technique of monotone delivery. He would let Belford string out his own rope.

  "He left his post. He disobeyed orders!"

  "The com recordings show you ordering him not to protect the civilians or intercept the enemy bombers?" The captain was swiftly regretting his decision to open the door, and he gave Belford a disapproving look while he activated his AMI and contacted McKinley.

  he sent.

  "That flyboy is going to get someone killed. He didn't even destroy any of the enemy, okay?"

  "Lieutenant Barkhorn is the only squadron leader who brought back all his pilots and ships. And their flight logs clearly show they had several confirmed kills. I fail to see how that is criteria for discipline."

  "They must have altered the logs. He's always toying with the ships."

  "Assisting the overworked repair crews with the complicated prototype fighters?" Johnston corrected.

  "You don't understand, um, he's a dangerous..."

  "Commander, th
at is enough. We will not diminish this ship’s morale with an investigation or discipline. Am I clear on this?"

  "Sir, he is already ruining the morale of the troops. His squadron is full of wildcard pilots who don't follow orders. He used a, uh, command override during the battle."

  Now that was interesting. Johnston knew the lieutenant was against tech reliance. He was the only officer aboard the ship who wore an actual cloth uniform, not just the more convenient holocammies like the rest of the fleet. Not to mention his “dog,” which the admiral had turned a blind eye to.

  He would have to look into that; it was out of character for the lieutenant. Still, Johnston wondered why McKinley hadn't summoned him yet and broken up the unwanted conversation. His XO was the only person on the ship he could lean on, and he knew all too well the problems Belford created.

  "Captain to the bridge, captain to the bridge."

  Finally, Johnston thought. "This conversation is over,” he said to Belford. “You will take no action against the lieutenant." Johnston stood, forcing the commander to do the same, and left his ready room. The bridge was a short walk down the corridor and had an emergency bulkhead door that would only permit one person through at a time, thus preventing the commander from continuing his conversation without talking to the captain’s back.

  Johnston stepped through the hatch onto his bridge, and was pleased to see none of the chaos he had walked into hours before. Though he had not expected more difficulties, it was always a relief to see the calm and conserved bridge crew going about their tasks to keep the ship operational.

  McKinley was standing at his own command console, his brow creased. With everyone engaged in their tasks, it took a few moments for the captain to be noticed, and he was able to step up to his XO without the bridge coming to attention.

  "Thank you for the assist," he said.

  The XO jumped, twisting around to see the nearly seven-foot captain standing behind him. "Jesus, sir!" Then he took a deep breath and shouted, "Captain on deck."

  "At ease," Johnston called before most of the crew could take to their feet.

  "How do you manage that?" McKinley asked him.

  "A captain knows his ship," Johnston said conspiratorially. "Still, though, it took you a little longer than usual to pull me out."

  "Sir?"

  "Belford cornered me in his office. You found a reason to call me to the bridge?"

  "Negative, sir, we had a pigeon from our recon unit on Aberdeen. The research colony there is under attack. They are requesting reinforcements."

  Johnston's mood went from jovial to serious in a heartbeat. "Gather the officers. Download all the data to my com unit."

  "Already done."

  "When it rains it pours."

  Chapter 15

  Ele

  She woke in an unfamiliar room, in a bed with white sheets. A machine was bleating behind her, a rhythmic chime that made her feel sick inside, though she did not know why. Above her was a dull gray metal ceiling crisscrossed with beams and wiring. She pushed herself up on the bed.

  "You're awake," a voice beside her said. She turned, fearful that it would be one of the men in white. Then the memory was gone, and only the fear remained.

  The man who had spoken was handsome, with piercing blue eyes and brown hair cut close around his ears. He wore a military uniform, and had a chest full of medals. He was smiling. The fear evaporated.

  "We were worried about you, Ele," he said.

  "Ele? Is that my name?"

  "You don't know your name? It said E-L-E on the uniform you were wearing."

  "I... I don't remember anything," she admitted. "Do I know you?"

  "My name is Lieutenant Vincent Barkhorn. You can call me Vincent. I found you on the planet."

  "Vincent," she whispered. "I remember seeing you. I recognized you though.”

  Vincent scowled. “You probably saw the posters. They put them up everywhere.”

  “Oh.” She couldn’t remember if that was the case. “I was afraid I would hurt you."

  "Hurt me? How would you hurt me?"

  "The fire, the lake, it boiled away when I touched it. I caused the fire."

  Vincent raised an eyebrow. "Caused the fire? How? The lake boiled because my ship crashed into it."

  Could that be true? She was convinced that she had made the heat, but another part of her knew that was insane. Could she have imagined it all?

  "I couldn't feel anything. I wasn't burnt."

  He smiled again. It was a kind smile, though—a trustworthy smile. He reached over, slowly, as if she would pull away, and moved the sheet from her shoulder. She looked down and her eyes widened. Her skin was pink beneath the sheet, and as soon as the sheet passed over, she felt the sting of the burn. She really had imagined it.

  "How bad is it?" she asked.

  "You were very lucky, it's like a bad sunburn." He lifted a mirror off the table beside him and showed it to her. The face in the reflection was a stranger’s. Long brown hair framed her face, with brown eyes to match. That's me? What did they do to me? Why can't I remember?

  "You don't remember anything?"

  "No."

  "You're probably just in shock. You must have had a terrible time down there."

  "You saved me?" she asked.

  Vincent rubbed his hand across his neck. "It was more luck than anything. I was sort of crashing."

  Chapter 16

  Vincent

  Vincent found himself feeling out of place. He had been forced to come to med bay, and been prodded and scanned in every way possible before the blasted corpsman had admitted that nothing was wrong. He seemed surprised by it, but Vincent wasn't. His ship was mostly intact; you could barely tell he had crashed. When he saw that the girl he had saved was waking up, he wandered over, and hadn't really thought any further than that.

  So he found himself in a conversation he felt like he maybe shouldn't have been in, and thought maybe that corpsman should be examining her. The poor girl was probably in shock, spouting off all sorts of wild ideas, like that she had started a fire that could be seen from space. She seemed genuinely concerned about it.

  Weirdest thing was, he remembered rescuing a red head down on the planet. But this was definitely a brunette lying on the cot, and there weren’t any other pretty civilians lying in the sick bay. The fires and the “emergency landing” must have thrown him off.

  "Where are we?" she asked.

  "On a ship called Inferno. Like that poem," he explained, then wondered if that was supposed to be classified. She was an experimental new ship, but they’d also painted the name in forty-foot letters along the side.

  "A ship? So we left that planet?"

  "Yeah, I found you at a lake. You must have been running from the fire. I'm sure your memory will come back to you."

  "Why don't I remember anything?"

  "I think I can field that question." The corpsman had finally arrived. Vincent stood up from the seat beside the bed and moved back.

  "I'll come check on you later, okay?" Vincent said without thinking. She smiled at him. Slag, she's pretty.

  "I have it from here, flyboy." The corpsman pushed him towards the door. Anyone else and Vincent would have said something, but corpsmen could get away with talking to an officer like that. They were arrogant, but completely necessary, and untouchable. Vincent barely heard him as he was ushered out of the med bay.

  He was halfway back to the hangar before he even thought about where he was going. He shook his head. Why was he so distracted? Then he felt a wave of guilt; it had been a long time since he thought of his father or Rodrom. He still hadn't written that eulogy.

  He didn't have the luxury of time to grieve, though; he needed to get back to his fighter and start repairs. Otherwise the mechanics would start on it, and who knew what sort of damage they could cause in the short time he was away. He picked up the pace, nearly running as he hopped through the emergency bulkhead doors. Hopefully Rover had kept the mechanics
away. He would try and sort out the stuff in his head when everything else settled down.

  Chapter 17

  The Exile

  The Exile had no trouble hiding in the vast ship named Inferno. The crew stayed in the main corridors, or in the rooms they connected, never straying into the maze of subcorridors that led everywhere, where wires and ducts connected the various systems. These engineering crawlspaces were used almost exclusively by droids, and they didn't notice her.

  Crawling with only one arm proved a challenge. And though it would have been far easier to draw her Shell for support, the Exile steadfastly refused to be limited by her disfigurement.

  Her Shell looked more and more promising as she continued, as the ship was absolutely filled with unsecured AMI units, and it felt as though she were hiding in a concert hall full of people screaming.

  Each presence, each unimportant passing thought was like a gunshot through her mind. An overbearing cacophony that caused her to become disoriented. So many people on the ship so woefully unaware of what they were doing. She tried to hold her Web tighter, but the pressure was too strong, and the crawlspace was oppressively small. The tiny space seemed to close in on her as she lost herself to the Web.

  The duct she was in opened further ahead into one of the human waste rooms. A momentary release of her tightly held Web to probe inside revealed no one was beyond the vent, and she kicked out the metal between her and the room and slipped inside. Once she was through the hatch, she locked the door and concentrated on drawing in her sense of self once more. With so many errant thoughts crowding into her mind, it was difficult to know which were hers.