The Gravity Keyper 65

Chapter 65 Magic Carpet

Copyright© 2025 by Lynn Patterson All rights reserved.

Chapter 65 Magic Carpet

I awoke with nervous anticipation and went to the cargo deck to await Borrabi and the others. Had Ambiyon obtained permission to take Borrabi’s fleet to Vittra? Had his great-grandmother accepted his submission to her will? Would Borrabi’s bold plan for Vittra be put into effect?

Except for a few Beldan shipping containers and the hibernating robo-haulers, the cargo deck was empty. I rubbed my bleary eyes, fiddled with the safety of my new pistol, and leaned against a container to wait for my companions.

At 0600 hours, Borrabi, trailed by Yorpel and Jrol, strode up the grotto steps. Borrabi’s thick white mane was knotted behind his head, his regal chin whiskers clipped down to stubble. White armor, bright as a supernova and embossed with a Beldan crane, encased his lean body.

He paused in front of me. I saluted and we exchanged a silent stare. My time on Rykona Station came to this moment, with my future in the grip of this relentless old Beldan. He sniffed me and considered the information my body odor provided.

I looked away and kept silent. This was not the moment to insult him.

After satisfying himself that I wasn’t planning massive subterfuge, he walked to the far end of the deck near a docking pylon with his two companions. The admiral, fiercely determined to save his family, would use every person at his disposal to do so, and I was just one of his pawns.

The admiral usually gets what he wants, Ambiyon had said while we were on our way to Lera.

Did Borrabi know how much I hated our “deal”? I clenched my gloved fist.

The heavy tread of boots snapped me out of my reverie. Alexda, Descani, and Howell dropped their packs on the floor and stretched. These somber and hardened warriors betrayed none of my anxiety.

Snow and angry Soans waited on the other side of a portal jump. Perspiration soaked the inside of my armored suit, and the environmental controls cycled on and off to keep pace with my sweating.

How long until Borrabi’s Crane fleet reached Vittra? When would they crush the Soans’ ships in orbit around the planet, destroy their communication buoys, and signal us? I checked the status of the Beldan communications satellite relays. All were operational.

Using a Gravity Portal, we would jump in and take the surface-to-space cannons offline. Beldan special forces would join us, liberate the prisoners, and extract the survivors.

Survivors? Would there be any? This plan depended on me to get our strike team to Vittra and provide most of the hacking needed to disable the weapons. The night Valdor and I were in the caves of Malta, I was charged by a live Soan. Had any of my companions had that experience? Certainly not Howell.

Bjork, fully armed and suited, jogged onto the deck with Rankin just a step behind him. He dropped his pack next to Howell and lit a cigarette. Blue, acrid smoke wafted into the air from his nose. The Beldans glared at him.

Rankin waved me over and scowled. “I don’t like it,” she whispered. “This is Borrabi’s problem. You, Howell, and Bjork shouldn’t help. Why do this? It’s risky and uncalled for.”

I rubbed the back of my sweating neck and twirled the damp hair there between trembling fingers. Too much was riding on this, on me.

“It’s complicated, Karin,” I murmured. “I need a favor from Borrabi. That’s all I can say.”

“Wilder, I don’t understand any of this.” Rankin looked across the cargo deck and watched Borrabi and Jrol talk. “What is Borrabi really planning? I mean, he must have something better than ‘barge in and fight Soans.’ Doesn’t he know he’s leaving himself open for a backstab from his commanders? What’s his real plan? And how the hell are you guys going to Vittra? What’s Borrabi’s angle? A faster-than-light ship? Theoretically, that’s possible, but no one has ever built one, as far as I know.”

The answer to her question came from the admiral’s mouth. He stood at the center of the group with a resolute gaze.

“Now that everyone is here, we should go over a few things,” Borrabi barked. He pointed at Bjork. “Whatever that foul thing in your mouth is, drop it.”

A surly smirk filled Bjork’s face. He chuckled and crushed his cigarette under his boot.

“First, your armor is fully functional and a little different from the training model,” Borrabi said. “Your dominant arm contains a point-and-shoot weapon. It is programmed to identify Soans and target them with a kill shot to the head. Aim, clench your fingers to your palm, and a photonic round will lock on and cook their brains.”

Jrol stepped forward and reinforced the admiral’s recommendations. “Humans, I suggest you rely on your standard issue as your primary defense. Know that these additional systems are present if required. Other than that, the armor is top-of-the-line cold-weather gear, impervious except for the visor across your eyes, which is only vulnerable at close range.”

“Don’t let the Soans get that close,” Borrabi admonished. “We will deploy when I receive word from Captain Sern. The Crane fleet will have our backs on this mission.”

Time slowed. Two hours later, Ambiyon Sern’s voice crackled over a static-filled communications link.