Witch Of The Federation III (Federal Histories Book 3) Read online

  Cameron gave him a slightly horrified look and Jonathan grinned. “And I have a map.”

  The engineer grinned. “You know, sir. There’s nothing more dangerous...”

  “...than an officer with a map. I know,” he finished for him. “But I’d like to take myself through and get an unbiased view.”

  “Do you have comms?”

  He sighed and retrieved the headset from his pocket, slipped it over his head, and smiled. “You know I don’t leave home without them.”

  “And now I know you can call if you get lost. She’s a big boat.”

  Jonathan smiled. “I can see that.”

  “And you’re smitten,” the engineer noted, and the pilot raised an eyebrow.

  “Maybe...” he admitted.

  “Then I’ll let you get on with it, sir.”

  “Thank you, Chief.”

  He worked his way through the ship, wishing he’d thought to bring a HUD—or at least thought to ask for one. Having decided to leave the command center until last, he took a tour through the top decks and down into the weapons arrays, where the outfitters were still hard at work.

  “Officer on deck!” rang loud and clear and he stifled a sigh. He’d wanted to walk the ship quietly, but there it was.

  “As you were,” he told them and moved through the compartment.

  One of the hands gestured to the weapon he was installing. “Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, but this is some heavy shit for a civilian boat. Do we know who’s getting it?”

  “Why? Are you thinking of transferring?”

  The man eyed the weaponry. “I love this system, sir. There’s not much call for it elsewhere.”

  Around him, other technicians nodded while they wrangled pieces into place or swore sotto voce at a particularly recalcitrant part.

  “It’s not for me to say,” he told them and cursed mentally as every eye turned to him. “But make everything twice as hard and tied down.”

  They went back to work and he walked through the section, admiring the way they managed to fit everything so quickly. He was about to leave when the technician screwed up enough courage to ask, “Why? Are they fuck-ups?”

  That stopped him cold and silence settled behind him.

  “Now, you’ve done it,” someone murmured, but Jonathan ignored him.

  He eyed the technician. “No, you need to tie it down real tight because she and her team get in, get the job done, and get out—no matter how hard it is, and they need a ship that can stand up to them. Is that understood?”

  “Sir, yes, sir!”

  “Then strap it down good,” he ordered, turned on his heel, and left.

  The work crew waited until the hatch had closed behind him and looked at each other.

  “There’s only one team I can think of that does that, and it ain’t no special forces team.”

  “You are fucking shitting me...” Another dragged in a rough breath. “Do you think this is for the Witch?”

  “Ssshhh! We don’t know that and I want to get to go home sometime this century.”

  “Well, we’d better tie it down tight, then, exactly like the man said.”

  “Yeah. We need to get this shit done right and tight.”

  One man straightened and glared at the mount he worked on. “This is never gonna work.”

  “It was okay a minute ago.”

  “Well, that was when I thought it was a ship for simply another dumb civilian, but if this array is gonna get a workout, it needs to be tighter than a gnat’s ass, and I don’t think it’s there yet.”

  Someone snatched up a length of plating and some pipe. “What about this?”

  The team leader stepped in. “We’re gonna need brackets...”

  They moved the pieces around and ran mini-simulations on their tablets.

  “So, this is how it’s supposed to be attached, and if we do that it’ll do okay. But if we take one of these and weld it here...and maybe here...it’s now four times less likely to be a problem.”

  “Good work, Tone.” The team leader slapped him on the back and looked around. “Shit.”

  “What, boss?”

  “We’re gonna need a few pallets of those.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Stephanie and her team were at the Fortress of Fire and Respect before dawn. The tower stood in the center of a mountain meadow and its dark-gray sides towered above them. Red streaks ran through the stone and light-gray lines gave it a cobwebbed appearance.

  The stones framing its gates were a flawless black. V’ritan signaled the pilot to take off again. The meadow was not large enough for more than one shuttle to land at a time and they were not the only ones arriving.

  Stephanie looked up at the walls and a frisson of nerves tingled. Zeekat flattened his ears and hissed, and Bumblebee lashed his tail while he looked askance at his furry friend.

  “The cats don’t like it,” Brilgus observed and V’ritan shrugged.

  “No one likes it, but we’ll go in anyway.”

  She turned to him. “You don’t have to.”

  He shook his head. “Of course I do. We’re providing medical support.” He glanced at the walls. “And you’ll need it.”

  A short while later, she was glad he’d insisted. She looked out across the arena at where the first seven families stood and noted the size of their champions—and they’d only sent one apiece.

  They were the largest Dreth she had ever seen. Most were around the same size as Vishlog, but two of them dwarfed him. All wore the customary battle armor, and she was relieved that both V’ritan and Jaleck had advised them to do the same.

  “It might look like a training test,” the ambassador told her, “but they play for keeps and you will need to be armored for a true fight, rather than a mock battle.”

  Stephanie studied the crests emblazoned on the Dreth’s chest pieces and recognized the symbols of at least two of the family representatives who’d saluted her at the Council the night before.

  “And they’re on our side,” she murmured.

  “We need to show them respect,” Vishlog told her. “That means I must fight.”

  V’ritan stepped forward. “You should all go,” he said. “Show them you respect them enough to field all your people but refrain from using magic or weapons where possible. If they fight one at a time, order your people to stay back or join in as needed.”

  Jaleck nodded and looked a little surprised. “That is sound strategy. That way, you can show disrespect later by not fielding as many. It works very well.”

  “And the cats?”

  “Yes.” Both her advisors nodded. “There is not a member in the audience that does not want to see the cats at play.”

  She signaled her team forward and they waited. The families looked at them and a spokesperson stepped forward. “We have a request,” they called and turned to the stand where the judges stood.

  “Speak.”

  “We would like our champions to fight as one team. It would save time.”

  “And it will mean a single fight as opposed to seven,” Lars observed, “meaning we can reserve our strength for the harder battles.”

  Frog looked at Stephanie. “See? They really do like us.”

  “If Morgana’s team has no objections,” the judges responded. “Then neither do we.”

  Stephanie stepped forward.

  “I have no objections.”

  “And do you speak for the team?”

  Lars came to stand beside her. “She is the head of our family and speaks for us all.”

  The judge’s speaker nodded. “Then you will face seven champions at once instead of one at a time. Let the match begin.”

  The Dreth clans left the arena and took their places in the stands, and the champions strode to the center of the Fortress. Stephanie and her team saluted their opposition and spread out.

  The champions smirked in the second before, without warning, they charged.

  It was instinctive for Stephani
e to raise her hands and prepare to throw a shield, but Vishlog charged past her and roared a battle cry and Johnny came up alongside. “No magic,” he whispered. “Think of it as a training session against Vishlog. That’s what the cats are doing.”

  They certainly were. The two of them raced forward and vaulted high before they descended to wrap themselves around the champions’ heads. The warriors were too busy focusing on what they perceived to be the greatest threat on two legs to bother to take note of them. They regretted the error when the felines entered the fray.

  Zeekat succeeded in attaching himself to his target’s face and dug his claws into the back of the Dreth’s head while he bit his forehead.

  “Don’t. Eat.” Stephanie used a little magic to augment her voice and the cat released him.

  He timed it perfectly as the Dreth punched at his own head in an attempt to dislodge him. The impact when his fist pounded into his own face knocked him sideways and he stumbled.

  Bumblebee hadn’t been so lucky. His target had seen him at the last moment and ducked under his attack. Instead of wrapping around the Dreth’s face, Bee had soared over his target’s head and careened into the chest of another champion.

  That one had missed him coming in but was quick to react. As Bee prepared to sink his claws into the Dreth’s back, the warrior reached around and dragged the feline free. He moved too quickly for Bee to get a good grip and managed to hurl his furry attacker to one side.

  Bee twisted, landed on all four feet, and bounded out of the way of an enormous boot to join Zee. After that, the two worked together to provide a distraction so their teammates could attack effectively.

  Without her magic, Stephanie knew she had to get in close. The object was to beat the other team, which meant taking them out of the fight. Not only that, these guys were showing her respect so she didn’t want to kill them.

  Fortunately, the Dreth made that easy. Confident in their size and strength, they closed with her team and displayed a blatant disregard for their fighting skills. One of them stopped directly in front of Frog.

  “I’m gonna crush you, little man.”

  The guard rolled easily under his first attempted blow. “Who you callin’ little, you heaping pile of tark turd?”

  The champion roared, and the audience laughed. Frog turned his roll into an upward strike and drove his armored fist into his opponent’s groin and activated a powered surge as he did so.

  The armor the Dreth wore protected his more vulnerable parts from the impact, but the surge penetrated with ease. The crowd drew a sharp breath of sympathy and the warrior howled as he fell to his knees. The human dived to the side and came up beside another who traded blows with Lars.

  “Huh. It looks like I’m the dirty pool man today.” Frog snickered and used his momentum to drive his fist into the side of the Dreth’s armored knee.

  He expended another charge and the metal gave. The flanges snapped sideways and shifted the knee joint with them. As that warrior roared with pain, a shadow fell over Frog and he automatically launched himself into another sideways dive.

  Bumblebee thumped into the side of the Dreth who had cast the shadow, but another adversary waited at the end of Frog’s trajectory. He sidestepped and drove his boot into the man’s side.

  “Shiiiit!” he cried as he as tumbled helplessly.

  “Tark shit!” the champion roared and the audience applauded.

  Zeekat had taken it upon himself to disable the first warrior Frog had struck, landed on his back, and smacked his un-helmeted head with a padded paw. He sat on the Dreth’s back, cuffed him every time he moved, or leapt into the air to land hard on his back every time he tried to stand.

  The other alien combatants had their own problems and left the feline to it. Vishlog had engaged two. He had chosen one and the other had chosen him. The Dreth was hard-pressed until Stephanie came to his side.

  “Greedy,” she told him, slapped his armor, and pointed to the one at his side. “I’ll take this one.”

  She pivoted so her teammate was at her back and slapped the champion she’d chosen. “You’re not afraid of a little girl, are you?”

  As she spoke, she stepped so there was clear space behind her, lowered her shoulder, and lunged her body forward and up. The Dreth let her come, braced himself for the impact, and laughed when she drove into what amounted to a solid wall of flesh.

  He stopped laughing when Johnny tackled him from behind and took his legs out from under him. She followed him down, clamped her hand around his trachea, and squeezed.

  “Your death would do your clan dishonor,” she told him, released him, and punched him in the side of the head. He groaned and his arms twitched as he tried to regain control.

  “Not today, my friend.” She caught the collar of his armor and dragged him to where the rest of the team were bringing their fallen opponents.

  Of the seven champions, only the one Vishlog faced was still fighting. Her Dreth had the upper hand but his opponent would not yield. Their teammate jerked his head out of the way of a vicious punch and countered with two hard blows of his own.

  His adversary fell, rolled, and clasped his hands around the other fighter’s legs to yank them out from under him. Vishlog pulled one free as he went over and kicked the determined champion in the head. It bought him enough time to yank his other leg free as he landed.

  The warrior tried to struggle to his feet and Vishlog tackled him and landed on top of him. This time, he pinned him to the ground, but he still would not give up. His hand slid down to the blaster at his side, but Vishlog beat him to it.

  He ripped it out of its holster and threw it toward Zee. The cat hopped off his Dreth long enough to grab it, bounded to his previous position, and landed hard enough that the crowd winced. Vishlog lifted his opponent’s head and thumped it into the arena floor.

  “Stay down!” he roared and punched the warrior when he wouldn’t comply.

  The crowd winced again but the valiant Dreth went limp.

  “The Morgana’s Team is victorious,” the judges called as Vishlog added his opponent to the pile.

  “He’s from House Xagroth,” he explained when he caught the team’s looks. “They are great warriors but poor tacticians.”

  Leaving the families to collect their champions, Stephanie’s team retired to where V’ritan waited with the healers. The damage was surprisingly light.

  “That was well-mannered for a champion fight,” Jaleck observed, “but you did not draw weapons or use magic, so they did not use theirs. That is a powerful show of respect.”

  “I used a coupla power surges,” Frog admitted and looked sheepish.

  The ambassador gave him a toothy smile. “They merely counted that as evening up the odds—and another show of respect. Had you insisted on beating them without a little augmentation, they might have counted it as you saying they weren’t worthy enough opponents for the power. The next set will be more difficult.”

  She looked at the witch.

  “Not using your magic in the early fights is a good thing, although it can be taken two ways.”

  Stephanie nodded and felt for the MU she knew had to be in the world around her. It worried her when she didn’t find any.

  “I can’t feel any energy,” she told Jaleck and the Dreth ambassador frowned.

  “Then it is wise to conserve your power for you will need it later on.”

  The next fight was against a single family, but it had sent five champions.

  “They’re okay with following you,” Jaleck told her, “but they will be happier with that decision if you defeat them well.”

  Stephanie stood. “Vishlog, Lars, Johnny, Frog, Avery, Brenden.”

  She glanced at the ambassador and she nodded. “It is slightly more and shows sufficient respect. I would draw weapons in this one, though.”

  “Gotcha.” She moved forward and the guards she’d called moved with her.

  Jaleck cleared her throat and she looked back. The two
cats had started to follow.

  “Not this time, boys,” Stephanie told them. “Stay.”

  Surprisingly, the crowd responded with a disappointed rumble and she looked around. “Do you want the cats?”

  The crowd roared approval.

  “Are you sure?” The crowd roared again.

  She glanced at Jaleck and caught the single digit she raised.

  “Zeekat, come,” Stephanie called. “Bumblebee, stay.”

  The feline trotted forward, his head and tail held high as the watching Dreth applauded. Bumblebee slunk back to flop beside Marcus and rested his head on the guard’s lap. “I know, boy. She doesn’t love me, either.”

  That comment stung unexpectedly, and Stephanie frowned. What was wrong with her? She knew Marcus had only been joking. That remark shouldn’t have bothered her, but it did.

  As soon as the judges signaled the start of the match, she charged forward. “Vishlog! Give me air. The rest of you, get in there fast.”

  In front of her, the Dreth dropped on one knee, his back to the enemy and his hand cupped. It reminded her of the battle in the Navy sim, and she felt the magic rise to her hands. With only a single cast, she could melt these guys from the battlefield.

  Shocked, she squashed the thought, thrust her foot into Vishlog’s hand, and vaulted up as he lifted her. The Dreth champions saw her rise and their eyes tracked her for a few seconds while she drew her blaster and fired three shots in quick succession.

  Her team took full advantage of the distraction and drew their blades as they ran through the line of Dreth and left carnage in their wake. Sparks flew and metal screeched as the team separated and circled the five adversaries, leaving the center space clear for her landing.

  She came in hard, holstered her blaster before she hit, and rose slowly to her feet. The champions had turned so their backs were to each other and not their opponents.

  Vishlog had recovered from launching her and stalked in, mirroring her every move. Two of the champions swayed unsteadily, and the arm of a third hung limply at his side.

  It would probably be a wise decision to dial the stun settings up. These guys were much tougher than they looked. The Dreth facing her let her get two steps in, then drew his blaster and fired.