Ep.#13 - Return of the Corinari (The Frontiers Saga - Part 2: Rogue Castes)

by Ryk Brown

  * * *

  Cameron had always considered the Aurora’s interior spaces to be reasonably sized; not too tight and not to spacious. She had seen a few ships in her time, but other than the interiors of shuttles, the Manamu’s interior spaces were probably the tightest she’d seen.

  Cameron stepped out of the cramped corridor and through the hatch leading to the cargo ship’s bridge. The first thing that hit her was the presence of real windows spread across the front of the compartment. After nine years aboard the Earth’s Explorer-class ships, she had grown accustomed to not having windows. In fact, now that she was faced with a whole row of them, she felt rather unsettled.

  “Welcome aboard, Captain,” Captain Madrid greeted, noticing Cameron standing at the hatch and staring out the windows. “Quite a view, isn’t it? Although, I’m sure it doesn’t compare to the Aurora’s spherical view screen. I hear it’s quite impressive.”

  “That’s a lot of windows,” Cameron stated.

  “Don’t worry,” Captain Madrid chuckled. “We’ll close the blast doors before we depart.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  “No windows aboard the Aurora, huh?”

  “No, there are not.” Cameron took a breath, getting back to business. “Everything ready?”

  “We’ve got your command pod set up in the forward cargo bay, and it’s tied into the ship’s communications and sensor arrays.”

  “How are your weapons and shields?” Cameron asked.

  “We’ve only got four mini-plasma turrets—two forward and two aft—so we won’t be staying put long enough to slug it out with anyone, even with the shield upgrades.”

  “And your jump drive?”

  “Upgraded, tested, and fully charged. We can jump you anywhere within five hundred light years in a single jump and a thousand light years in two jumps.”

  “And your bays?” Cameron wondered.

  “We’re loaded with supplies and propellant, and we’ve got three medical disaster pods lined up next to your command pod. The aft bays will be used for staging the wounded, and the forward bays for treatment. Every warm body who’s ever put on a bandage is gathered there, standing by to receive the wounded.”

  “Let’s hope they don’t have much to do,” Cameron said. “Might as well jump out to the rally point now.”

  “A little early, isn’t it?” Captain Madrid replied.

  “I’d rather have time to recharge before the show begins,” Cameron explained. “One thing I’ve learned is, there’s no such thing as too much jump juice.”

  * * *

  The gallery had once been one of the favorite places for fans to watch the Gunyoki arrive and depart. On any given race day, every tier of the massive deck would be packed with spectators, each vying to catch a glimpse of their favorite Gunyoki.

  Today, the gallery was empty. Try as they had, the Gunyoki had been unable to continue the contest schedule and had been forced to abandon it altogether, promising that it would someday return. After all, their world was now on a war footing, and had been for nearly two months. The pilots who had once raced for glory and fortune now flew to protect not only their own world, but also the worlds of their allies.

  Vol stood at the gallery window, squinting to more clearly see the departing fighters. One hundred fighters, led by four of his best pilots, had been committed to the liberation effort. Two thirds of their overall force, flying to an uncertain future. It saddened him that many would likely not return, even more so that he could not lead them into battle himself.

  Vol had done his part. He had trained them all, put them through countless exercises, challenged them to push themselves beyond their limits. He had gone over every detail of the upcoming mission with them, discussing every possible thing that could go wrong and how to best deal with it. He only hoped it would be enough.

  With heavy heart, Vol sighed and turned away from the window. His damaged sight had taken away his right to fly into combat. Now, all he could do was wait for them to return.

  Command was lonely that way.

  * * *

  General Telles stood on the cavernous cargo deck of the second ship in the Karuzari Alliance’s meager fleet to receive a long-range jump drive. The largest ship in the alliance, the Glendanon had served a multitude of roles over the last few months, all of them crucial.

  Today was no different.

  Before him, the last surviving ninety-seven Ghatazhak, clad in their new combat gear, lined up to board the specially lengthened cargo pods installed in the two Contra cargo ships they had been using on Orswella for the past month.

  The Contra ships were ill-designed for this task, almost to the point of being comical. Their only qualification was their robust design, an attribute that would serve them well in their upcoming mission to deliver his men to the surface of their homeworld. More importantly, this was not the first time the ships had flown into combat. The unattractive ships had proven themselves time and again. Now, with shields and ground suppression turrets installed, they were even more formidable. It was another example of the Karuzari philosophy of making anything you could into a weapon.

  It was times like these that made the general wonder. A mere decade earlier, he and his men were hunting the Karuzari and slaughtering them wherever they were found, for the good of the Takaran Empire. Now, he was leading those same men under the name of their former enemy, again for the good of their homeworld, Takara.

  “I do not envy you,” a familiar voice spoke from behind.

  General Telles turned to see Edom Gullen, captain of the Glendanon.

  “You will be outnumbered a hundred to one,” Captain Gullen continued.

  “More like a thousand to one,” Telles corrected.

  “Then I hope what they say about the Ghatazhak is true; that one is worth ten ordinary men.”

  “That estimate is low,” the general replied, a deadly serious expression on his face.

  Captain Gullen laughed. “You do not lack confidence, do you.”

  “It is all about knowing where to strike and how,” the general assured him.

  Captain Gullen looked out across the bay at the columns of black-clad soldiers. “I like your new gear,” he commented. “I’ve heard good things about it. I hope it is all true. A lot is riding on it.”

  “We shall see,” the general replied, turning his attention back to his men.

  “Good luck to you, General,” Captain Gullen said, patting the general on the shoulder as he departed.

  “To you, as well.”

  * * *

  “The last comm-drone has jumped in,” Ensign Hintz reported. “Bulldog One reports all Orochi are at their respective rally points.”

  Cameron stood, bent slightly over the plotting table in the middle of the command and control pod, reviewing the positions of all the elements in their strike force, as well as the last known locations and courses of all Dusahn forces, both in space and on the surfaces of Takara and Corinair. “Any changes in intel?”

  “Last recon showed no changes in position or course, or any irregular movement patterns,” Lieutenant Commander Shinoda assured her.

  Cameron sighed. “I wish we had something more recent. Two hours is a long time with so much on the line.”

  “There has been no change in their movement patterns for the last week,” the lieutenant commander reminded her. “There is no reason to suspect there would be some now.”

  “Have you forgotten what I taught you?” Cameron asked her intelligence officer.

  “Expect the unexpected, I know,” the lieutenant commander recited. “As an intelligence officer, I can only make predictions based on the most recent data, measured against past data, and extrapolate predictions from them. But they are only predictions. It is up to you to decide whether or not they should be acted upon.”

  “Nice
job of passing the buck,” Cameron commented, glancing at him as she stood upright.

  “Just making sure you don’t mistake me for a clairvoyant,” he joked.

  “Comms, send the green light to all units,” Cameron instructed her comms officer.

  * * *

  “Flash traffic from C and C,” Naralena reported. “Message reads: Marlene.”

  Nathan sat motionless in the command chair. It was more than just his deceased mother’s name; it was the signal to begin the final push to free the Pentaurus cluster from Dusahn rule. On two worlds in two systems, hundreds, if not thousands, were about to die. And for what?

  Nathan often pondered the question of whether or not he had any more right to use force to remove the Dusahn than the Dusahn had to take the cluster by force. In either case, many humans would die.

  Corinair was easy enough to justify. Those who had escaped had asked for help. They wanted their world liberated, and knowing the people of that world, he had no doubt that the few spoke the minds of the many.

  Takara, on the other hand, was a different story. Only a small fraction of his alliance hailed from Takara. The Ghatazhak and a few of the crew from various ships within their fleet. Takaran society had always been somewhat fractured, with the noble class building their wealth upon the backs of the commoners. Even after decades of oppression under Caius, and then under the Council of Nobles after the assassination of the very man who had freed them, Takarans still cared more about their safety and prosperity than their actual freedom. Despite the commonality of the theme, Nathan never could understand it. To him, freedom meant everything.

  Still, the question remained. Did he have the right to decide that freedom should be paramount for everyone else, as well?

  “Two minutes to mission zero,” Jessica warned, noticing her captain’s lack of reaction to the go signal.

  “General quarters,” Nathan replied calmly.

  The trim lighting around the Aurora’s bridge suddenly turned red as alert klaxons sounded throughout the ship. The sound of his communications officer’s voice echoed through every corridor and compartment as she called the crew to battle stations. Without looking, and without the least bit of monitoring of his crew, Nathan knew that every single one of them was moving without hesitation to their action stations.

  Thirty-two seconds after the alert was sounded, the last indicator light on the comms officer’s status board changed from green to red, signaling that all compartments were ready for action.

  “Ship is at general quarters,” Naralena reported. “Chief of the boat is in damage control.”

  The missing phrase struck Nathan as odd. There was no executive officer aboard the Aurora this day, nor was there a functioning combat command and control, the latter having been handed over to their AI. It was a huge leap of faith, but one that had to be taken. Humans suffered reaction time. AIs did not.

  “All weapons are charged and ready,” Jessica reported from the tactical station. “Shields are at maximum, AI is in the targeting loop.” Jessica glanced at the mission clock at the upper right corner of her console. “Forty seconds to first strike launch.”

  In a minute and a half, the Aurora would swing into action.

  “Flash traffic from command,” the Glendanon’s comms officer reported. “One word: Marlene.”

  Captain Gullen sighed. “The end begins,” he said to himself. “Spread the word throughout the ship and set general quarters.”

  The comms officer swallowed hard before replying, “Aye, sir.”

  “Why Marlene?” the Weatherly’s helmsman wondered aloud.

  “It’s Captain Scott’s mother’s name,” Captain Hunt explained. “She was killed during the Jung’s invasion of Earth.”

  “I thought she was killed with the rest of his family, by that bomb.”

  “Nope, she was killed years ago. Same with his brother.”

  “Damn, that guy has been through the ringer.”

  “You have no idea,” Captain Hunt assured his helmsman.

  “Relay from Bulldog One,” Delan reported from the back seat of their Gunyoki fighter.

  “Marlene?” Jenna assumed.

  “Marlene.”

  Jenna pressed her transmit button. “Tekka leader to all ships. We have a green light. The Orochi will be launching their missiles shortly and then jumping to their next launch point. Each of you knows who you’re escorting. Stay with them and protect them.”

  “I’d rather be going after some Dusahn gunships,” Dosne commented from Tekka Two.

  “Or frigates!” Rodai added from Tekka Four.

  “We’re escorts, people,” Jenna reminded them. “And by keeping the Orochi safe, we’re allowing them to take out the Dusahn’s defenses, thus making it easier for Dota and Maigo squadrons to take out those targets.”

  “Yeah, and those guys need all the help they can get,” Damus joked from Tekka Three.

  “Just keep your eyes open for bandits and be ready to jump when we get the signal,” Jenna reminded them, smiling.

  “Marlene,” Ensign Yamma reported from Orochi Three’s comm-station.

  “Here we go, people,” Aiden said. “Ledge?”

  “Target package Tango Five is loaded,” Commander Leger replied from the tactical station, doing his best to sound confident in his new position. “Twenty-eight missiles have confirmed their targets and show launch ready.”

  “Time to launch?” Aiden asked.

  “Twenty seconds.”

  “Missiles free,” Aiden instructed. “Auto-launch on zero.”

  “Missile free, launch on zero, aye,” Ledge replied. He quickly armed all twenty-eight missiles, one quarter of their entire compliment, readying them for launch. Everything had been calculated by the Aurora’s AI. The time it took for each missile to leave its rails; to reach their jump points; even the milliseconds the missile would spend in their jump across the five-light-year span between their current position and their targets; all had to be perfect.

  Ledge was glad he didn’t have to push the actual launch button. “Five seconds to auto-launch,” he reported. “All missiles are hot.”

  Aiden watched the left-most overhead view screen, the one displaying the external view of the left dorsal portion of his ship. In unison, seven missiles leapt from their launch rails. At half-second intervals, the process repeated three more times, sending all twenty-eight missiles racing forth into the blackness.

  Aiden cast his eyes downward slightly, taking in the view through the forward windows just as twenty-eight tiny flashes of blue-white light announced the departure of the weapons. “Jump us to the next launch point,” he instructed his helmsman.

  Commander Prechitt glanced at the mission time clock on his Nighthawk’s main console just as it reached zero. “Mission zero, boys and girls. We jump in thirty seconds.”

  “Three rapid sequence jumps over six light years, ending up in the atmosphere a thousand meters off the deck…what could go wrong?”

  “Just trust your AI, Arre,” Talisha insisted.

  “Easy for you to say,” Arre replied.

  “Can it, Arre,” Commander Prechitt chided. “Remember: fly your ships and let your AIs launch your weapons. And for the sake of your fellow Corinairans, don’t jump out until you’re certain your weapons are away.”

  “Piece of cake, boss,” another pilot chimed in.

  The commander glanced at his mission clock again as it passed twenty-five seconds into the mission. “See you at the other end of the jump. Good hunting,” he added as his Nighthawk was engulfed in blue-white light.

  “Target package Echo is loaded,” Commander Kadish reported from Orochi Sixteen’s tactical station. “All missiles show ready for launch. Auto-launch sequencer is activated.”

  “Let ‘em rip,” Captain Roselle agreed from the command chair.

&n
bsp; “Auto-launch in five seconds,” the commander reported.

  Gil punched up the camera view for the starboard missile deck on one of the view screens above the forward windows as his XO counted down the last few seconds to launch. Upon reaching zero, twenty-eight missiles left their launchers in near-simultaneous fashion. He brought his eyes downward to the forward windows as the missiles streaked ahead of them and then disappeared in an array of blue-white flashes of light. “That’s going to fuck up someone’s day,” he chuckled. “Mister Dorlon, jump us to the next launch point.”

  “Jump complete,” the helmsman of Bulldog One reported. “We are at launch point Kilo.

  “Missiles should be jumping now,” the Orochi’s tactical officer reported.

  “Load the next target package and prepare to launch another twenty-eight,” Captain Nash ordered from his command chair.

  “We are going to rain hell upon them,” Commander Kraska mumbled as he loaded the next target package into the system.

  “Thousands of people are going to die today, ,” Robert sternly reminded his XO. “Many of whom have no choice in the matter. Out of respect, you might want to be a little less happy about it.”

  “Sorry, sir,” the commander apologized. “It just feels good to get some payback.”

  “I understand,” Robert assured him. Deep down inside, he agreed with his friend. It did feel good to strike back in a major way. And with sixteen Orochi launching waves of twenty-eight missiles each, they truly were bringing hell to the Dusahn empire.

  The hour was late, and most of the residents of Corinair’s capital city, Aitkenna, were already fast asleep. As expected, the streets were relatively empty, except for Dusahn security patrols and the occasional automated service vehicle.

  Dozens of flashes of blue-white light, some far, some near, lit up the dark skies above the sleeping city. Their initial arrival was silent but was announced a second later by a cacophony of thunderous claps, as if the atmosphere itself was being torn open. The thunder was joined a few seconds later by dozens of explosions all over the city as the incoming weapons found their targets.