Scrapyard Ship 7: Call to Battle by Mark Wayne McGinnis Page A

Commander. All fleets stand ready for your command.”
    “Still no more desertions?”
    Nervously, Admiral Too took in a breath before answering, “There have been … several ships. We dispatched four heavy cruisers in quick pursuit.”
    “Let me guess—no sign of the deserters, or the four heavy cruisers in pursuit?”
    “Unfortunately … that is correct, sir.”
    Ot-Mul was tempted to make an example of Admiral Too’s ineptitude. Perhaps he’d let his battle droids loose into that old admiral’s dreadnaught, currently sitting less than two hundred miles off the Assailant ’s bow. He stared at the old idiot, someone who’d risen far beyond his true capabilities. But then again, Too had demonstrated loyalty over the past year. Something Ot-Mul valued more than intelligence, at least at this particular moment in time.
    “What is the measure of your assets?”
    The admiral looked relieved the subject matter had changed. “One hundred and sixty-two thousand warships, Supreme Commander.”
    That number was somewhat less than Ot-Mul had figured it would be. Still … formidable. And, added to the two hundred and twenty separate fleet assets he’d just arrived with—approximately one hundred and ten thousand warships—they had now amassed the entirety of the Craing forces in space: Two hundred and seventy-two thousand battle-ready ships.
    Ot-Mul stood and took in the other active visual feeds around him. At first glance, they looked more like distant star systems than the twinkling lights of thousands upon thousands of warships. His plan was wonderfully simple. Bring back every Craing vessel—those from the farthest reaches of the universe—into a convergence of the most powerful phalanx ever assembled. Moving forward, there would be no more defeats. No more surprises. Tomorrow, when his combined forces moved out, they would clear a swath of destruction that would, finally, end all resistance. He’d start with the biggest thorn in his side, the Allied worlds. And, of course, Earth. He’d destroy their insignificant fleet, along with their two Caldurian vessels. Once and for all, he’d quell the Allied influences that had recently plagued his people. Then, he’d return home to the Craing worlds where, without influences from the outside, their pathetic quest for independence would wither and die.
    “Be ready, Admiral Too … we move out first thing in the morning.”
    “Yes, Supreme Commander. I will alert the fleet captains.”
    The visual feed disappeared. Ot-Mul left the bridge, still feeling uneasy. Why? He should be elated at what he’d accomplished. Everything was coming together. Ot-Mul headed in the direction of the battle droids’ holding berth. Their small compartment had become his refuge … his sanctuary. He tried in earnest to avert his thoughts from Captain Reynolds. But soon the hatred he felt seethed and slithered up from the darkest recesses of his mind. The face of the repulsive human soon dominated his consciousness. I’m coming for you, Captain Reynolds. First I will destroy all you care about, and then … only then … I will watch you die.

Chapter 15
     
     
     
    Ricket could barely make out what was happening in the adjoining cell. The quasi-transparent, cube-like observation compartment distorted his view. He saw movement. More like wavering shapes than anything having real detail. He was sure that was no accident … it was all part of the intended psychological imprint this place made on its inhabitants.
    Ricket sat cross-legged in his cell and stared at what was happening, he surmised, within an enclosure identical to his own. He was quite certain who was who. There were two shapes, one small and one large—Gaddy and the guardian. Although he hadn’t actually seen a shape other than Gaddy’s moving about within the cell, her voice—and later, her screams—were unmistakable. As for the guardian, Ricket had endured, first-hand, experiences with that most unpleasant alien