War Fleet: Resistance

his scaly and clawed hands folded neatly in front of him. Olsen walked in, dismissed the Marine, and then sat down opposite the Arstan. Olsen indicated for Novak to sit down to his right, and Rob to his left.
Before Olsen said a word, he stared hard at the Arstan’s side-loaded bulbous eyes to try and read him, to find out if he’d have to torture him, or if the retired fleet admiral would cooperate.
But instead of getting intimidated, Frega spoke in a calm, chittering voice. “Captain Olsen. It’s an honor.”
Olsen shook his head. “Let’s skip the dance,” he said. “We have reason to believe you have information we need.”
“What kind of information could I possibly have that’s up to date? Like most military officials anywhere in the galaxy, I was phased out slowly as they replaced me with someone younger and more capable.” He glanced at the stars and stripes on Novak’s shoulder. “Much as, I can see, might be happening to you, Olsen.”
Olsen fought the urge to slam his hands down on the table. He glared at Frega. It really had been a long day, and he didn’t have time for any meandering. “We need to know the location of the spatial detonator, Frega. Create any bullshit, and I will cause you pain.”
“The what?”
Olsen took a deep breath. It didn’t help his mood that klaxons were still sounding outside.
“Just hours ago, we uncovered an unknown weapon in the Hardy-Myers sector. We were apprehended by an alien that called itself a Tauian, from another galaxy. It claimed the weapon was a bomb capable of turning a star into a supernova and destroying a system. Then, the Okranti — one of your ships — FTL-warped and stole the weapon from us. I’ve been assigned the task of getting it back.”
“Well, well,” Frega said. “I can see why that would be quite unnerving. I know nothing of such a weapon. You know, I left the military to be done of such stuff. But the Okranti, I know of that.”
“Tell me.”
“My niece works there. She contacted her parents a while back, told me they were going to the Ripley sector. I guess that with such a weapon, they aim to destroy it.”
Olsen’s heart skipped a beat. “Ripley.”
Thirty billion colonists.
This was bigger than he’d feared. Everyone knew that the super-dreadnoughts currently under construction in that sector could turn the tides of the war, so it made sense to destroy them. The Arstans had little chance of successfully attacking the URSA Providence shipyard station directly, but a need had never arisen to defend the sun. The Okranti could easily turn up, assemble a warhead, launch it into the sun, and cause it to go supernova. The whole solar system would get wiped out before anyone knew what was happening.
Frega watched him for a moment. Despite being an Arstan, he looked like he somehow experienced empathy for the captain’s pain. “For the record,” he said, “I don’t subscribe to the views of most Arstans. But I said the wrong things at the wrong times, and my retirement quickly became a lavish house arrest. And it seems something has changed recently, and they decided they wanted to move me somewhere else. But I do feel that this galaxy would be better if the three civilizations that inhabit it try to work together. It took me a long time to realize that, and admittedly, my views aren’t favorable amongst those in power.”
Olsen never thought he’d meet an Arstan so calm and so agreeable. “I feel much the same way, Frega.” He stood up. “Novak, Rob, let’s give the Arstan some peace.”
As soon as he was out of the room, he got on the comms channel to the CIC. “Santiago,” he said. “As soon as the ship is in decent shape, plot a course to the Ripley sector, but not to the Providence. We’re going straight to the sun.”
There was a pause, and Olsen could just imagine the surprise painted on Santiago’s face. “Yes, sir,” she said after a moment.
Olsen suddenly realized how drained he felt. He turned to his XO, and decided it was the first time that she could come in useful. “Novak,” he said. “Look after the repairs for a while, make sure everything’s running smoothly. I’m going to have an hour’s nap.”

26
The shuttle bay reeked of rocket fuel, making Olsen feel slightly nauseous. He stood next to Frega and Novak, just outside the starboard escape hatch. The nose of the Extractor rose above them, the whole shuttle even more charred and beaten than the Tapper from afterburner use.
Riley had just shifted one of the eight escape pods over on rails, and it produced the sound of metal grating against metal as he pushed it into the hatch. He was the only Marine who hadn’t engaged in battle, and moving one of those pods required quite some muscle. Chang stood a little back from the Marine, overseeing the operation to ensure the warp pod was in working order and could survive passage through a thick atmosphere.
The screen, above the open airlock doors leading to the ship, displayed the desert planet of Gastor: a trading post for scumbags and scoundrels, but also an easy place for a retired Arstan fleet admiral to hide. This was the only livable planet in the vicinity — a hard place, but workable for a man with connections. Both Olsen and Frega knew that the Arstan official would be under much more risk onboard a human military vessel, where the Admiralty could order him handed over at any moment, than he would on such a planet.
“Are you sure that you can handle it?” Olsen asked. “We could always attempt to drop you off in another sector.”
Frega shrugged his huge shoulders. “It’s not as if I have a choice,” he replied. “You need to get straight to the Ripley sector and stop Captain Kraic in his tracks.” They’d already both discussed at length how they thought no race in the galaxy should