by Nick Webb
Titus motioned at the tactical station to execute the order.
It wouldn’t be long now before he’d get his bridge back.
***
Gavin turned to Quadri. They’d orbited the barren planet below for several days, shifting back every eight hours to piss and grab a quick bite, but never seeing even a hint of the Caligula. But his sensors had finally picked up a gravitic signature.
“I think we’ve finally got it,” he said excitedly.
Sure enough, the passive sensors determined that the giant mass ahead of them was indeed the Caligula. Gavin focused the fighter’s optical scanner on the other ship and brought it up on his viewscreen.
“What’s she doing?” asked Quadri. “Just orbiting? Looking for us?”
“Looks like it. But wait,” he paused, peering at the grainy, pixelated image on his screen. “It looks like there’s another ship there. It was docked with the Caligula, but now it’s leaving.” He stared harder, then tapped a few buttons.
“Read their transponder,” Quadri suggested.
“Doing that now. Hmm. Looks like a merchant freighter. And now the Caligula is changing course to match the freighter.” He glanced up at Quadri, unsure of what it might mean.
Quadri on the other hand, leaped into action. “We’re getting out of here. Prepare for gravitic shift back to the Phoenix.”
“Why? Have they found us?”
“Of course they have. That merchant ship must have seen us go down into the atmosphere, and has now sold that information to the Imperials. Remember the communication that they broadcast to the whole system? Asking for help, and that whoever brought info would be highly paid?”
Gavin shook his head. “They didn’t say highly paid.”
“Yeah, well, we can’t take chances with this.” Quadri tapped a button, and within a second the view of the stars and the brown planet below was replaced by the fighter deck. Gavin forgot to flinch—he’d half expected to just materialize right inside a bulkhead or a technician by doing a blind shift like that. Collecting himself, he watched as the pilot lowered the fighter down to the deck, hitting the ground with a clang.
“Commander Po, this is Lieutenant Quadri. Sir, we’re about to have company.”
***
Willow sprinted down the corridor, skirting around piles of debris, fallen girders, and ceiling panels that had come loose in the battles of the previous week, jostling into other crew members who were walking at a more sensible pace, and pounded down the stairs to the next deck.
Best to be back on the bridge before the XO returns. Po was generous, and good-natured, but Willow didn’t want to test the woman’s boundaries. She wasn’t the XO because she was a nice mom figure. The XO’s fighter piloting skills were legendary. Second only to the Captain’s, and perhaps Lieutenant Grace’s as well.
By the time she reached deck four, her heart pounded, and she slowed to a jog, wiping the first bead of sweat from her tattooed brow. Two more decks. At the bottom of each stairwell, one had to run a short length of hallway to the next stairwell leading down to the deck below. It annoyed her, now that she was in a hurry, but knew that otherwise the gravitic fields generated within the deckplates wouldn’t reach all the way to the top of a multi-floored stairwell.
And wouldn’t that be convenient, she thought. One could jump off the top few stairs, float down, and not worry about landing until the last few stairs at the bottom. But wait too long before arresting the fall, and the landing would get painful. She supposed that was why each deck’s stairs led to only one floor above and below it, to prevent stupid crew members from trying their luck at jumping down ten floors at once.
And with a gasp of breath, she brushed through the sliding door onto deck six, where her quarters were. Hers, and half the other ensigns on the ship, though a quarter of them were dead and another quarter never even assigned to the Phoenix in the first place. As it was, deck six tended to be quiet.
She burst into her quarters, and looked around.
He was gone.
Swearing—something she never did—she reached over to the bed and squeezed the rumpled covers, just to make sure he wasn’t buried under them, fast asleep. Then she rose up on the tips of her toes and peered up onto the top bunk, just in case he were hiding up there.
“Looking for me?”
She half jumped, and spun around, only to find him standing in her bathroom, dressed only in one of her robes. Water dripped off his chest hair, and he grinned at her, toothbrush in hand.
“Harrison!” Her voice suggested anger, but she blew out a puff of air in exasperation, and then let a smile tug at her cheek. “What are you doing?”
“Freshening up. I had to borrow your toothbrush. Do you mind?” He held it up to her, and she shook her head.
“Yeah, sure.” She stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. “Look, we’ve got to talk. Things have been happening. Maybe you’ve heard—“
He interrupted. “Yes, we do have to talk. I’ve been out and about for short periods of time, you know, just to stretch the old legs, and I’ve discovered something you should probably know.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Really?” Leaning back against the towel rail, she folded her arms and inclined her head, trying hard to look him in the eye and not at his hairy chest. Gods, she loved that hair. Every Belenite she’d ever met was slippery as a dolphin. “Go on.”
He set the toothbrush down and took a step closer. “You do know that there are Imperial marines on board?”
“Yes, I know that. The Captain made an arrangement with them during the battle to spare their lives. And many of ours.”
He nodded. “Sure. Very noble of him. But little does he know that there are true believers among them. Imperial die-hards. Men that are waiting until just the right moment to strike. When the Phoenix is at her most vulnerable.” He held up his hands, suggesting ignorance. “Who knows? Maybe one of them has already struck. Why, what were you going to tell me, my love? Has something happened?”
She squinted at him, unsure of whether this was an act, whether he was trying to deflect her suspicions. “Interesting you should mention it. I was about to tell you of two separate incidents, possibly involving sabotage. One was a runaway coolant buildup. The other was a very inopportune power surge that has crippled our gravitic thrusters. Both very suspicious. Are you suggesting one of the Fifty-First Brigade is responsible? Have you talked to any of them?”
Galba looked down, as if studying his feet, then nodded slowly, as if coming to some sort of decision. “Yes. I had hoped not to betray confidence, as I didn’t think the young man was actually going to do anything. I thought he was just venting. Complaining about being held hostage here—in his words, mind you.”
“Who? Tell me,” she said, letting her voice rise.
“Now, before I do, promise me no harm will come to the boy. I promised him I wouldn’t tell a soul.”
She took a step forward, coming up close to his body, but not quite touching. Not yet. She would give herself to him, but only for a price. Only for knowledge. Knowledge led to power. And in this instance, safety.
“Harrison, people have died already. Two people died in that first explosion. Nine more in the next. I promise nothing. Tell me who it is, and what he did. Now.” She pointed a stiff finger at his face.
He sighed. “Very well. Private Ling. You’d recognize him if you’d seen him already. His face looks something awful. Seems to have gotten into a fistfight with one of your boys a few days ago. I was walking the lower decks yesterday, and I saw something funny going on in one of the utility rooms. Near deck fifteen, where I understand the Fifty-First Brigade is being held. I entered, and there he was, opening up the back of a computer terminal. I asked him what was going on, and he claimed he just wanted to hack into the libraries and check for porn. Said he and his buddies were going crazy without any … relief. We talked for a while. Seemed like a fine young marine. Gregarious. Gritty and bold, like any marin
e I’ve ever met. But something struck me as … off. He seemed nervous. Kept glancing at the door during our conversation. Finally, he said he had to go, and so I left with him, and came back straight here. You see—“
Galba trailed off. He’d sounded more and more agitated during the speech, and now he hesitated. Senator Galba? Hesitate?
“Go on, Harrison. What is it?”
The Senator swallowed. “I think he may have recognized me. Willow, if he talks, and Mercer finds out I’m here, I’m as good as dead. Out the airlock with old Senator Galba. There’s no way I’ll be able to convince him I had nothing to do with what I’m sure he thinks is Trajan’s devious scheme.”
“Did you?” She kept her arms folded and dropped her chin.
He held up his hands, as if feigning innocence. “Would I do something like that? I’ve worked for reconciliation for years. It was supposed to be my crowning achievement. Instead, I’m locked away on some renegade starship. Doomed to hide in the shadows until you help me escape.”
She laughed and finally uncrossed her arms, letting a hand drift lazily down his chest. “Oh, is that what you think I’m going to do? I’m afraid you’re all mine, Harrison. Now get on that bed.”
A greedy smile passed his lips and he allowed her to lead him back into the cramped bedroom and onto the bunk where he sprawled out on his back, naked and excited front exposed, grinning from ear to ear.
“Just promise me one thing, my love.”
“Anything,” she said, crawling on top of him.
“Promise me you’ll be generous with Ling. Not too harsh.”
She kissed him. Violently. Not too violently. Belenites must not draw blood, after all. But she kissed with passion. With teeth. With tongue.
“I promise,” she breathed into his ear.
And she meant it. She’d be very generous with the boy. He’d get nothing he did not deserve.
***
“Company?” Po gripped the armrests of the captain’s chair.
“Yes, sir. The Caligula is bearing down on our position—they’re being led by a merchant freighter.”
Po leaned forward in her chair. “Did you monitor any communications between the ships?”
“No, sir, but it seemed odd that the Caligula would be trailing a freighter so closely, aimed directly at our position. I assumed the worst. They should be here in ten minutes or so. Unless they’ve sped up.…” He trailed off.
“Thank you, Lieutenant Quadri, you made the right call. Po out.” She jumped out of her seat and continued talking. “Commander Po to Sergeant Jayce. Sergeant, you’ve got five minutes. Are you ready?”
“What the hell, Commander, five minutes?” came Jayce’s harried reply.
“You heard me, Sergeant.” We’ve been spotted and we’ve got to get out of here. I want your team gone in five minutes or this mission ain’t happening. Understood?”
Po could hear the man grumble under his breath, but he managed to find some intelligible words. “Yes, sir. Five minutes.”
“Po out.” She strode over to the helm. “Ensign Roshenko, take us up.”
“Up, sir?”
“You heard me. Through the ice. Our cover is blown.”
“Yes, sir. Engaging gravitic drive.” The Ensign’s voice trembled slightly as she keyed in the commands, and with good reason. Under the water they were sitting ducks. One tactical nuke would be enough to finish them off. Even a few conventional torpedoes would cause severe damage—the water would propagate the shock wave from the blasts far more efficiently than empty space or even air.
“Quickly, Ensign, but not too quickly.”
“Yes, sir. Engaging at .1 percent.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Po saw Ayala rush onto the bridge and take her position at tactical, but her attention was drawn to the horrendous sounds screaming out from the walls. The deckplates groaned as they protested the sudden changes in pressure and stress on the hull. “This ought to look pretty impressive for anyone watching,” she said to herself. Someone at tactical must have heard her, as the front viewscreen suddenly displayed the feed from one of the cameras on the front of the ship.
A maelstrom of swirling, bubbling water, ice, and air danced across the screen, accompanied by the giant cracking sounds of the ice sheet breaking into thousands of chunks which slid off the top of the hull and into the raging water left behind the Phoenix.
“The phoenix is supposed to rise from the ashes, not the water,” said Ayala, whose voice had taken on a sing-song, mystical quality.
“We may yet get the opportunity to rise from ashes, Ensign, but let’s hope that day is much farther off than today,” replied Po, who monitored the progress of the ship over the shoulder of the helmsman.
“We’re out, sir,” said Ensign Roshenko.
“Sensors?” Po spun around to the tactical octagon.
“Coming online now, sir.” Ayala studied her board. “Quadri was right. The Caligula is bearing down on our position in low orbit. They’ll be here in two minutes.” Ayala’s head snapped up. “And sir! A torpedo! It’s right on top of us, impact in four seconds!”
Po slapped the helmsman’s shoulder. “Go, Ensign. Full speed, up and opposite the direction the Caligula is approaching from.”
The raging ice field below dropped far behind them as the Phoenix darted away and upward, and the viewscreen showed the torpedo impact the water, detonating with tremendous force, right where they had been just moments before.
“That blast would have propagated through the water and collapsed every bulkhead,” said Ensign Szabo, with a low whistle.
Temperature alarms began to go off as the atmospheric compression along the leading edges of the ship made parts of the hull glow a dull orange.
“Sergeant Jayce, are you ready?” said Po into her comm.
Jayce’s voice boomed over the bridge’s speakers. “Nearly. Team is loading onto the shuttles now. We’ll be gone in two.”
“Thank you, Sergeant Jayce. Good hunting.”
“Sir!” said Ensign Ayala, sounding agitated. “The Caligula has sped up. They’re nearly on top of us.”
“Are we clear of the atmosphere yet?”
“Almost,” the helmsman replied.
Po grit her teeth. “We’re cutting this one pretty close.” She paused, lost in thought for a moment. “Helm, turn us directly towards them. Collision course.”
Every head on the bridge turned towards her. Silence reigned for a scant few seconds, punctuated by the regular beeps of the stations and the groan of the ship’s trusses and internal structure as it accelerated upward, a fiery comet racing through the atmosphere. She read the incredulous looks in their eyes—the shock, the fear. Clearly they all remembered the last time their Commander had ordered such a tactic. “Sir?” said Roshenko.
“Just do it. No, we are not committing suicide again, but our Captain’s tactic last week is no doubt still fresh on their minds. They might actually think we’ll do it again. When they swerve away, gun the engines to the opposite direction they swerve and accelerate to maximum. And tactical,” she turned back to the octagon, “rain hell on them when they do.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
SERGEANT JAYCE GLANCED OUT THE window to the busy fighter deck. Technicians and flight deck team members scurried like a hive of ants around the giant bay, struggling to get everything in order for the imminent takeoff. Luckily, he’d already been assembling his team in the bay before the Commander called with her impossible request to be out of there in five minutes, but ordering his team to the shuttles was the easy part. The hard part was goading the deck crew to get the shuttles ready for launch in far less time than they were used to.
Softies, he thought, as he checked his packs of ammunition on his belt for the fifteenth time. Never seen a day of real combat in their lives, most of them. Not like Jayce. Not like his people, and from what he could tell, most of Sergeant Tomaga’s too. In the few days he’d had to train with them, he’d learned they were elite shock
troops, specially trained for urban combat situations. They weren’t the cream of the crop, by any means, that honor belonged to the fabled Imperial T-corps—battle hardened soldiers called upon by the Emperor for the most sensitive of missions—but the Fifty-First Brigade held their own during the training sessions, and they’d come to a wary sort of detente with Jayce’s men.
The deck beneath them shuddered. An explosion? Maybe the Caligula had resorted straight to nukes. But that wasn’t his battle. His battle lay on the surface, with his Captain. Rescue the Captain and the team, said Commander Po. At any cost.
Well, not quite at any cost. Safeguard the other slaves. They were too valuable, especially as propaganda for the Empire, should any of them get killed. Screw that, he thought. He’d not point his rifle at any of them, of course, but if they got in the way, or interfered, his first priority was his Captain, and his men.
“Why aren’t we gone yet!” he yelled at the navigator, a slight older thin man from the small team of shuttle operators on board. Washed out fighter pilots, most likely. Couldn’t make the cut to be a jock, and doomed to spend the rest of his career ferrying passengers with real jobs.
“We’ve not been cleared, Sergeant.”
“Get us the hell out of here! We’re late,” said Jayce.
The rail of a man shook his head. “Sorry, sir. Can’t do it. Not until I’ve got—“ he peered out the viewport at a woman running towards the shuttle, flashing some sort of hand signal. “Oh. We’re good to go now, sir. Hold on.”
Captain Volaski leaned over the pilot’s shoulder. “You entered the coordinates I gave you?”
“I did. Engaging gravitic thrusters—“ Jayce felt the faintest bump as the shuttle pulled away from the deckplate. “And preparing to shift in ten. Nine. Eight.” The pilot counted down, flipping the comm open to the other two shuttles to allow them to synchronize their departure. The shuttle to their left held Sergeant Tomaga and his men. To their right floated the shuttle containing Volaski’s people. Jayce had convinced the pirate to ride with him, ostensibly to make navigation to Velar’s base easier, but more for the fact that Jayce didn’t trust the man in the slightest. The old pirate looked shifty and dour. Like a man who acted as if he was being watched and was thus on his best behavior.
