Baldwin's Legacy: The Complete Series Read online

  Reeve peered over at him, her eyebrows raised. “Sorry.”

  “Sorry,” he muttered, his heart racing fiercely. “If you’re done messing around, can you find the hangar access for me?”

  The hangars were in the center of the warships, underneath the main arms that stretched in all directions from the central post of the ship, but Brax had no idea how to open them, and also doubted he had the subtle skills needed to gently land a Tuber inside.

  Reeve fiddled with the screen, which had the appearance of something the Concord would have used eight hundred years ago. It had pixelated orange icons on it, and they slowly blinked to life as she tapped it. Once she was in, Brax saw how fast she scrolled through it. Reeve’s mind didn’t need languages to decipher things, not when it came to computers. She had a bond with mathematics that Brax would never appreciate.

  The warship lingered in the distance, nearly forty kilometers away. The Tubers had broken formation and were heading in different directions. That had to mean they were going for the Bacal slave groups. Brax made a silent prayer to the Vastness for their safety. The people had never intended to become caught up in this mess. He’d only been around them a short time, but he’d already made friends and respected what a resilient race they were.

  All they’d wanted was to join the power of the Concord, allowing technological growth, opportunity for their people, and trade. Instead, they were targeted and attacked, many ripped away from their home and brought here, most killed. Anger pulsed through Brax as he flew toward the warship. He was going to help rescue these people. He had no choice.

  ____________

  Voices carried toward Tarlen and the ever-growing group of Bacal from all directions. He smiled and opened doors from the attaching passageways. They were near the warship, and his legs were exhausted. So many of his people were almost on the ground, many being carried by anyone with enough strength remaining to assist.

  “This way!” Tarlen shouted. He was wearing a Concord uniform, and even though he was one of the Bacal and only a youth, everyone was deferring to his lead.

  The people passed by, and he smiled at them, feeding them encouragement. There was a long way to go before Tarlen considered anyone safe, but at least they were doing something. When he’d heard they were going to withdraw before helping free the slaves, he was heartbroken. But the Concord would never do that to the Bacal, not after what was promised them. No, these were great people. Officers of legend, like Captain Baldwin.

  Abbil was beside him, and Tarlen instantly felt her strength. He’d never met her before; actually, he only recognized a few people out of the growing group, but recalled none by name. So far, there was no sign of his parents or Belna, but he wasn’t giving up hope. He couldn’t.

  “This makes five thousand. Can you believe it?” Abbil asked, and Tarlen found he was surprised. She’d been counting.

  “Amazing. We’re going to make it,” Tarlen told her as the last person emerged through the corridor entrance. They were filtered into a huge city courtyard, the ceiling domed high above them. It was dark, and their few lights from the Concord crew offered nothing more than minor comfort and shadows.

  “What’s the plan?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Ephi, are you here? Has anyone seen Ephi?”

  Tarlen cringed as the entire room became a cacophony of shouts and fearful mutterings. He squirmed through the press of musky bodies and climbed onto a dais near the next exit.

  “People of Greblok!” he shouted and repeated it when no one stopped talking. Soon they were turning to stare toward him, and he raised his hand in the air, hoping they’d eventually quiet. After a few minutes, the room grew silent, with the exception of coughing and the odd sob.

  “We are Bacal. We’ve been torn from our homes, but the great Concord saw fit to send an envoy to assist,” Tarlen said.

  “Where are they?”

  “I don’t see any Concord.”

  “We’re doomed.”

  Tarlen raised his hand again, shaking his head. “Stop this. I know you’ve seen a lot, been through more than you ever should have, but we’re going to survive this. We’re going to go home, rebuild Malin and Greblok, and we’re going to do so under the wing and tutelage of the Concord.

  “We will only survive if we work together, and stop letting fear persuade us. Are we Bacal?” he asked, his hands trembling.

  A few people called out, “We are Bacal,” but not enough.

  “I said, are we Bacal? Are we resilient? Are we strong? Are we worthy of a partnership with the Concord?” he shouted.

  “We are Bacal!” the group shouted as one, and a few people began to cheer. He worried the Statu would be able to hear them from above, and he raised his arm, lowering his hand, and they stopped.

  “Then wait here as the rest gather, and when you see someone faltering, help them. When we have to run, you will run. If we have to fight, you will fight,” Tarlen said, standing tall.

  Abbil nodded at him from beside the platform, and Tarlen scanned the crowd, wishing to see his family among the freed Bacal.

  Twenty-Three

  There were thirty Statu outside of the cryo chambers, and Doctor Nee was making his rounds as Tom stood near the hangar bay exit.

  “Captain,” the doctor said, waving him over.

  “Status?” Tom asked him, looking around the room and seeing so many of their long-time enemies, he didn’t know how to feel.

  Nee was more disheveled than Tom had ever seen him. His normally perfect hair was in disarray, his smooth skin lined with exhaustion. “They’re coming around, sir. Yephion and his partner have been a great help.”

  “Where are the wormhole experts?” Tom asked.

  Nee rubbed his chin with a gloved hand. “According to our new friend, the leading expert isn’t here. He must have died in the Tuber attack. But those three have passing knowledge.” The doctor pointed to the left side, where Yephion crouched near them.

  “Good work, Doctor. I appreciate your efforts,” Tom told him, and Nee walked off, heading to a makeshift patient bed where one of the Statu was connected to beeping machinery.

  “Constantine,” Tom called, and the AI appeared.

  “Yes, Captain,” he said. Tom glanced at him, still uncomfortable with the fact that his grandfather’s essence was inside this projection.

  “Translate,” he said, stepping toward Yephion. The Statu was wearing a Concord maintenance jumpsuit, and he looked odd in the attire. “I see everyone is up. I know they’re tired and trying to recover, but we require them in Engineering.”

  He waited as the AI clicked the message, and the three Statu started to rise from their beds on the ground. Constantine relayed their reply. “It will be done.”

  Tom stared hard at them, leaning forward. “It has to destroy the wormhole. Destabilize it. The detonation cannot fail. Do you understand?”

  “They understand, sir. It will not fail, they say,” Constantine echoed.

  “Good. See to it.” Tom stalked away from them, leaving the AI beside Yephion. He had another stop to make.

  Tom saw the planet displayed in the corridor’s computer screens as he walked toward the elevator lift, which he took to Deck Three.

  A few minutes later, he was at the entrance he’d sought out, and Lieutenant Basker was there, as he’d ordered. The Callalay man was standing straight-backed, his uniform crisp and pressed.

  “Sir, I apologize for the lack of fighters on Constantine,” Basker told him. He entered his clearance, and Tom followed him into the hangar bay where the five fighters sat parked.

  “It isn’t your fault, Lieutenant. It was a diplomatic mission. In and out. No one counted on any of this.” Tom’s gaze settled on his own fighter, last in line, and felt a tug on his heart.

  Three pilots stood beside their own ships, helmets under arms. Tom nodded to each of them. He hadn’t met them yet and wished this all hadn’t happened so fast. He was behind, not fully caught up
with his crew or his ship.

  “Captain,” Ven said, his communicator buzzing.

  “Go ahead, bridge,” Tom stated, turning from the waiting pilots.

  “We’re arriving at orbit. The warships are three and a half hours away from the world, and we see that there are active Tubers in the atmosphere. Two have broken free and are hovering around the planet,” Ven said.

  “How many below?” Tom asked.

  “Ten, sir,” Ven replied.

  Tom stared at Basker and his small regiment of fighters. There were only four – five, with his ship – but there was no one there to pilot it. “Get me Starling,” he said.

  “Starling here.” Treena’s voice was a welcome sound.

  “Status update,” Tom barked.

  “We’ve had to pause the rescue. The Tubers are activated. We have sixty percent of the camps underground at this point, and we’re funneling the rest there since the Tubers attacked one of our platforms. We lost a couple hundred, sir.” Tom could hear the pain in her voice.

  “Stay the course. We’re heading to the planet. Our fighters will pick them off. Be ready for the last rescues. We have to make this quick,” Tom said.

  “We, sir?” Basker asked.

  Tom glanced to his old fighter and grinned. “I’ve been meaning to shake the dust off.” He moved to the edge of the bay and began suiting up.

  ____________

  The opening appeared immense from the viewscreen, but the closer Brax pulled toward the bay, the less confident he was about his flying skills. There were no other Tubers near the warship, and it wouldn’t have gone unnoticed that he wasn’t following directives. There would be opposition inside the warship, but from the looks of their operation, he didn’t expect a vast company of soldiers.

  “Brax, are you sure you can do this?” Reeve asked, causing even more doubt.

  “It’s either this or we land and try to climb on somewhere. I don’t think it’ll have the same impact,” he said, slowing the ship and tugging on the yoke. The cylindrical tube shuddered and shook as he spun it around, heading toward the landing zone.

  Reeve had already hopped off her seat, and Brax was about to suggest she stay buckled in, when he bumped the edge of the warship, sending his sister sprawling. A moment later, he was inside the enormous vessel, and he turned to grin at Reeve, who was still on the cockpit floor frowning at him.

  “Nice touch.” She rubbed her hip and clambered to her feet, loading up on weapons. She placed her helmet on and tossed his over.

  “We don’t know what to expect,” Brax said. “Be cautious.”

  “Great advice. And here I was about to walk on and ask if they wanted to share a Pilo pie.” Reeve brushed past him, heading to the exit.

  “If you don’t mind, I think I should take the lead. It’s what I’m trained in,” he said, grabbing her arm.

  “Be my guest,” Reeve said from behind the helmet. Brax couldn’t see her eyes, but he imagined she was rolling them as she waited for him to climb down the rungs. Soon he was at the exit, holding the crude blaster in his hands, ready for anything. He turned a lever, the door hissing steam as it unlatched. He tried to keep his cool, not wanting to seem like he was there to assault anyone. He had to pretend to be with them.

  As it turned out, there was no welcoming committee. The bay was silent. A broken-down Tuber was parked half a hangar away, parts stripped from the exterior. Otherwise, they were alone.

  “This is so odd. Where are they all?” Reeve asked.

  “I think they did the mission on a skeleton crew.” Brax walked forward, his heavy steps clanging loudly inside the open hangar. They entered the ship from a wide doorway that he had to manually open, and he took a look around. There were wires hanging loosely in the central corridor, lights flickering, and the surfaces of the walls were grimy. It didn’t appear as though the Statu were concerned with cleanliness.

  Something tripped his peripheral vision, and he spun his head, ready to attack, when he saw it was only a rodent of some kind. The animal raced along the wall in the shadows, its red eyes glowing in the dimly lit corridor. A few more ran by, and he cringed, thinking about rodents being on board one of the Concord ships. That wasn’t a problem they had to deal with. There were too many things to prevent it.

  “We have to find the bridge,” Reeve told him.

  She was always better at that kind of thing. The records on warships weren’t great, and they were going to be guessing where to find it. “That’s your area of expertise. I’ll be here to ensure we make it there.”

  Reeve started forward and paused before turning around and jogging away from Brax. He followed closely before heading to an elevator lift. It had railings but no walls, and was surrounded by a glass tube ten yards wide.

  “This is a start,” his sister said while fumbling with the controls. They were a series of thick black buttons and switches, and after a few false starts, it began to rise. “Let’s begin from the top.”

  They didn’t have much time, and he hoped that Starling had finished gathering the Bacal. The plan was only going to work if he and Reeve gained control of the warship.

  Brax saw each level through the glass tube as they lifted, and even spotted a couple Statu soldiers walking about as they passed. None of them seemed to care that there were two more on a lift on their ship. He was grateful for the fact that he was disguised in their own armor.

  It stopped eventually, presumably at the top of the vessel as Reeve had indicated, and he walked off first, pressing through the single-direction railing. It snapped into place as Reeve stepped behind him. The lift lowered, leaving them on the top floor without an exit.

  They were no longer in a corridor. This was a huge room with seating along the walls, clunky computer screens lining the circumference. Brax was startled when he saw a solo Statu watching one of the screens. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, revealing a hard head and clicking mandibles Brax could spot from his angle behind the soldier.

  Brax lifted a finger to the front of his mask and slowly moved toward the sitting enemy. Reeve stayed put, raising her weapon. The guard stared at the screen, and Brax stopped in his tracks when he saw what was playing on the monitor. It showed a room in grayscale, likely on board the warship. There were hundreds of Bacal people lined up, and they were being ushered into a separate room one at a time. Brax watched with horror as a young woman was forced away from the crowd, a gun pressed into her back.

  She walked into the compact room, no larger than his private shower on board Constantine, and stood shaking. Her posture was poor, her head tilting toward the ground, her shoulders slumped. She was alone in the room, and the lights began to increase in intensity until Brax had to avert his gaze from the screen.

  When it lowered again, the woman was no longer slouching. She was standing firm as a plank. The camera caught her eyes, and Brax finally understood what he was seeing. Her eyes were white, the irises wiped away, and she stepped away unaided.

  This was where the Statu brainwashed their army. This was why they were meeting such little resistance out in the field. The next computer screen showed the woman robotically moving into another room, where she began putting on armor. Soon she was fully suited, the helmet the last piece to finish the outfit off.

  The Statu was slowly nodding his head as he oversaw the process from his position on the bridge. The next camera angle showed a fourth room, another huge pen where at least a hundred armored slaves stood waiting for instruction.

  Brax hardly thought about his actions as the horror of what he’d witnessed hit him. The gun aimed at the Statu’s head, and the guard turned just as Brax pulled the trigger. The effect was instantaneous. He slumped to the ground with a thump, and Brax fought the urge to look away as pieces of his enemy splattered onto the computer screens.

  Reeve was there, staring at the processing of the Bacal slaves. “We have to stop this,” she said.

  Brax nodded. “Is this the bridge?” He looked around, trying to unders
tand where the pilot would sit.

  “I don’t think so. This appears to be where they watch over the slaves. Maybe a surveillance room. If you were in one of those pens, there would have been a solider spying on you the entire time,” she said.

  “Then we keep moving. Is there anything that tells us what level this is happening on?” He pointed at the screen as another slave went from a scarred husk of a Bacal to a mind-numbed Statu slave.

  Reeve went to work, using the console beside them. “This seems to indicate the deck.” She tapped the screen with her hard glove, and he saw the unfamiliar icon.

  “I wish I understood their language,” she said. “It looks like there are roughly a hundred icons, which indicates that many decks.” Her hands flew quickly over the controls, and Brax watched as information shifted over the screens. He had a difficult time following.

  “There!” Brax could hear the smile in his sister’s voice. “This is it! Using this level’s icon as a baseline…” Brax saw what she meant. The symbol was etched on the glass of the lift. “I can determine that the slaves are on Deck Ten.”

  “Can we find the bridge from here using the surveillance, then?” Brax asked.

  “Brother, I don’t say it often, but you’re a genius.” Reeve began flicking through the channels of each deck, most of them seeming empty. Every now and then, they’d spot a couple of armed soldiers wandering about, and it took another several minutes to find what they were seeking. “That’s it.”

  There were three of the enemies on the bridge, two sitting at consoles and one pacing the perimeter. Brax gripped his gun tighter, confident he could kill them with ease. The only thing he’d have to be careful about was damaging something integral to flying the vessel.

  “It’s Deck Fifty-five. Twelve under the bay we docked in,” Reeve said. “Remember these symbols.”