Battlegroup Vega

by Anders Raynor

  He raised the nose of his craft and adjusted its course at the last moment to avoid crashing on the landing pad. Then he touched down. “I just need an hour for repairs, then I’m gone, I promise,” he added.

  His heart pounded in his chest as he waited for the reply.

  “Permission granted,” came the answer.

  He sighed with relief.

  “We’re sending a medic and a technician to assist you,” the controller added.

  “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” Jason replied with haste. “I’m unharmed and I can do the repairs myself.”

  “It’s standard procedure.”

  Jason pondered for a few seconds. He could still take off and bolt, but then he would have to flee from the cops and from the ASF. He enjoyed a good challenge, but he wasn’t suicidal.

  He shut down the engine, grabbed a repair kit, and started rigging the controls of his craft to make it look like they were malfunctioning.

  When two people in orange ASF uniforms approached the airlock, he extended the access ramp and opened the doors. He knew that only maintenance personnel wore orange uniforms in the ASF.

  The medic was a female about his age, in her late teens or early twenties, with blond hair and blue eyes. Jason felt his pulse speed up when their eyes met. He suddenly felt hot, as if he had fever, although he didn’t find the sensation unpleasant.

  She gave him a reserved, tight-lipped smile and pulled a medical scanner. “Stand still, please. What’s your name?”

  “Jack Burns,” he replied, giving her his alias. “And what’s yours?”

  “Riley Lance,” she said.

  “Nice to meet you, Riley, if I may call you by your first name.”

  She scanned him quickly, put the device away, drew a blaster and shot him in stun mode. Her tight-lipped smile never left her pretty face.

  She’s way too fast with a blaster for a medic. That was his last thought before he collapsed.

  * * *

  Jason regained consciousness in a cell. The door whooshed open, and an ASF officer walked through. His appearance was closer to that of a Taar’kuun than a human. He’d lost his cephalic appendages, and he had four fingers plus a thumb, like all humans, but the rest of his morphology was Taar’kuun.

  “Captain Hunt, ASF,” the officer introduced himself.

  Jason turned away. “Go suck eggs,” he snapped. “I’m telling you zilch. I wanna lawyer.”

  The captain gave out a raspy sound that could pass for a snicker. “A lawyer, really? What else can I get for you? A flashy car, a dozen exotic dancers? You gave up your rights when you broke into a military base.”

  “I didn’t break into anything. As I said, I lost control—”

  “Save the bloody crap for the cops,” Hunt snapped. “I can have you executed. I’ve been serving in the space forces for two centuries; I forgot more about spacecraft than you’ll ever learn in your miserable life. We spared you for one reason only—you’re obviously a hell of a pilot. So here’s the deal. You give your employer to the police on a silver platter, and you get immunity. After that, you join the ASF.”

  “I’m not a rat,” Jason spit. “I told you—I’m givin’ you zilch. I want a lawyer.”

  The captain sighed. “Well, at least I’ve tried. I’ll never understand scumbags like you. Mankind is fighting for survival, and you’re wasting your talent on trafficking dope. Rot in jail, where you belong.”

  He turned around and walked out of the cell.

  17

  Second chance

  The police transported Jason from the ASF base to the city prison in the morning. His lawyer was already there, a short middle-aged male in a gray suit. Jason knew the lawyer worked for Varez. A police officer escorted them to a meeting room and left them alone.

  “I’m afraid it’s not looking good for you, Mr. Blaze,” the lawyer said. “The charges are resisting arrest, dangerous driving in a residential area, trespassing on a military base, and—the most serious—possession of narcotics with intent to sell.”

  “But you’re gonna get me out of here, right?” Jason asked.

  “I’ll do everything I can. Now, remember rule number one—” the lawyer started.

  “Don’t talk,” Jason finished in his stead. “I know. Don’t talk to anyone without your lawyer present.”

  “Excellent. The good news is that a high-level administrator took interest in your case. Call him Mr. Ansgaard. He’ll ask you a few questions. Don’t say anything incriminating, and don’t confess to anything, understood?”

  The door whooshed open, and a heavily built male entered the room. Judging by his near-Taar’kuun appearance, he was older than two centuries in chronological age. He wore a dark-brown suit and a tie of matching color. His badge indicated he was a level-eight administrator, which placed him only one level below the mayor of the capital.

  “Mr. Burns, or is it Mr. Blaze?” Ansgaard greeted the prisoner.

  Jason shrugged. “Whatever.”

  “Whatever, sir,” Ansgaard boomed. “I don’t have the habit of talking to lowlifes like you. I’m here only because my old friend Captain Hunt asked me to handle this personally. I looked at your dossier. Do you have anything to say in your defense, young man?”

  “Nothing,” Jason replied. “It’s all a misunderstanding. My business associate Rico Varez will explain everything.”

  Ansgaard nodded. “Ah yes, the owner of the infamous Moonas Nightclub. I’m not surprised he’s the one who dragged you into this.”

  “Mr. Ansgaard, if I may,” the lawyer said, “Mr. Varez should arrive shortly. Maybe we should wait for him?”

  “I want to talk to this young man, if you don’t mind,” Ansgaard told him coldly, and turned to Jason. “Look, kid, I don’t know your story, but if Captain Hunt saw something in you, you must have talent. Don’t throw your life away. Testify against Varez, and I’ll grant you immunity.”

  Jason crossed his arms on his chest in a gesture of defiance and stared at the wall behind Ansgaard.

  “That scumbag doesn’t care about you,” Ansgaard continued. “There is no honor among thieves. He’ll throw you out an airlock, figuratively speaking.”

  Jason persisted in his silence.

  The door opened again, and the corners of Jason’s lips lifted as he saw his accomplice Rico.

  “Gentlemen, how can I be of service?” Varez asked with his usual charming smile.

  Ansgaard turned to him. “Do you know Mr. Blaze here?”

  Varez barely looked at Jason. “He’s a regular customer of the establishment I own, but I can’t say I know him well.”

  Jason’s smirk vanished. He tensed and sat straight in his chair. “Rico, tell them this is all a misunderstanding…”

  “Are you business associates, Mr. Varez?” Ansgaard asked, pointing at Jason.

  Varez raised his eyebrows. “Certainly not. I came to the police station only to declare that one of my transport craft was stolen yesterday. The person who stole it filed a flight plan under the name Jack Burns.”

  “What?” Jason cried. “You, son of a—”

  “Please stay calm,” the lawyer told him, raising his hand.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Ansgaard, but that’s all I can tell you,” Varez said. “Now I’ll take my leave. I promise to make a generous contribution to the mayor’s election campaign. Good day, gentlemen.”

  With those words, Varez sailed out of the room, leaving Jason gaping at his back.

  “What did I tell you, kiddo?” Ansgaard said, leaning toward Jason. “You’re on your own. Don’t you think I know that your lawyer here works for Varez? You want another one? We can provide you one pro bono.”

  Jason lowered his eyes, feeling like the walls were closing in on him. “Yep...”

  “I protest,” the lawyer snapped at Ansgaard. “You have no right—”

  “Get the hell out of here, filthy egg eater,” Jason roared. “And tell that snake who pretended to be my friend that I’m gonna b
ury him.”

  The lawyer frowned, pressed his lips tight, and scuttled out.

  Ansgaard looked Jason in the eyes. “It’s sad what happened to you, son. You made some bad choices, but I don’t blame you.”

  Jason shrugged, having nothing to say.

  “I’m willing to give you a second chance,” Ansgaard continued. “I’m not asking you to testify against Varez. It’s pointless; he’s got too many friends in high places. I offer you another deal—amnesty for all your past crimes in exchange for three years of service in the ASF.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  * * *

  Once the formalities were complete, Jason was transported to the ASF base where he underwent basic training. He passed the exam in the simulator with such a high score that the instructor was embarrassed to give him the lowest rank: second-class airman.

  “If you’re as good in a fight as in a sim, you won’t stay second class for long,” the instructor told him with a knowing smile.

  Jason’s first assignment brought him to Arcturus, a dark and cold world at the edge of Alliance space. The ASF battled the never-ending waves of Biozi ships that tried to break the planetary defenses. The base where Jason was stationed lived in a permanent state of alert.

  “Condition red,” the voice of the CO would announce. “Scramble all fighters.”

  Jason would yank on his flight suit and sprint to the nearest autopod that would take him directly to his bird, a TH-B2 Tomahawk-class fighter-bomber. His squadron would take off, reach high orbit, and engage its targets, usually destroyer-class bioships, sometimes cruisers. The starfighters would maneuver as close as possible to the target before firing missiles. Their payload released, they would fly to an orbital station to rearm, then get back into the fight.

  The pilots nicknamed the TH-B2 model the “flying coffin.” Slow and clumsy compared with Biozi craft, this early human-made model suffered from number of drawbacks. The most serious was its dodgy ejection system. Many pilots died because their seat failed to eject in emergency.

  Jason found combat missions repetitive and exhausting. The pilots had barely enough time to eat and sleep between sorties. Combat fatigue was taking its toll, and they made mistakes, sometimes fatal ones.

  War can be the most brutal form of natural selection. Pilots who were just average had low life expectancy, while the good ones had higher chances of survival. As a result, Jason’s squadron was getting better and better with each mission. At first, Jason tried to keep to himself and not to get attached to the other pilots, but that proved difficult.

  Before he knew it, he made three friends. The golden finger-four, the other pilots called them. Everyone in the quartet had at least a dozen missions under their belt. When they charged the enemy, they were merciless. They broke formation just before the hostile ships started shooting, and while two of them drew fire, the other two slipped through the nets and hit the target where it hurt the most.

  Jason received two promotions, to first-class airman, then to senior airman. When the squadron commander died in combat, Jason knew he was the next in line to take command. That’s when he made a mistake he would regret for the rest of his existence. He took excessive risks during a sensitive op, and his three friends paid for it with their lives.

  He sank into depression and requested to be reassigned. He didn’t have to wait for long, as Captain Hunt offered him the position of second navigation officer on the Remembrance, with the rank of ensign.

  Jason accepted, but after a few days on Captain Hunt’s ship, he thought this promotion was in fact a punishment. The captain was eccentric, talking to his ship as if she were sentient. Riley Lance, who was also serving on the ship, treated Jason with poorly concealed hostility. Thanks to her, everyone on board knew he used to be a smuggler, and he had to work hard to improve his image.

  However, after a few months of service, Jason realized he was born for this job. Despite his flaws, he earned the respect of his fellow crewmates, Riley being the only exception. When the Remembrance returned to Vega-IV after a long mission and he was given shore leave, he contacted Ansgaard.

  “Do you remember me, Mr. Ansgaard?” he asked. “I’m Jason Blaze. A year ago you offered me a deal—”

  “Of course I remember,” Ansgaard replied. “Captain Hunt told me he was impressed with your piloting skills. Coming from him, it’s high praise. I heard he promoted you to navigation officer, second lieutenant?”

  “That’s right, sir.”

  “You’ve come a long way since the last time we met.”

  “I wanted to thank you for giving me a second chance. I just… I just wanted you to know you were right about me.”

  “Thank your captain. He’s the one who saw potential in you. I’m glad I could play my part. However, never forget it’s your achievement. You turned your life around, and I’m proud of you.”

  Jason froze, feeling an unknown emotion welling in him.

  Ansgaard broke the silence, “Aren’t you tired of military rations? Why don’t we go out for lunch? I know an excellent restaurant in the administrative district. My treat.”

  “Is it…appropriate?” Jason asked with caution.

  “I don’t see why not. You’re a promising young officer, and what you’ve done in the past is forgiven. How about 12:00?”

  “Thank you, sir; 12:00 it is.”

  18

  Wing commander

  A lot happened during Jason’s years of service. He made friends and lost some to war. During rare periods of shore leave, he met with Ansgaard, and the bond between them grew stronger as the years passed.

  When Ansgaard died on Tethys, Jason was devastated. When Admiral Winsley ordered him to fire on civilian ships, his faith in the ASF values was tested. He decided to resign, although this reaction was emotional rather than logical.

  A few weeks passed since the invasion of Vega. For Jason, the job of a civilian pilot was hardly fulfilling. He missed the thrill of the fight, the feeling of walking on the razor’s edge. More importantly, he felt the emptiness, the meaninglessness of his life. He wanted to make a difference, especially during such a crucial moment in human history.

  Yet he had no clue what to do.

  Sitting at the bar on the Capitol, he stared into his glass of synthetic whiskey, feeling hollow and broken.

  “I wanted to give my life to the ASF,” he told his drinking buddy, a balding, middle-aged pilot. “I thought I was made for this job. I believed we could win, and I would contribute to that victory. And now…”

  “Yeah,” the other pilot slurred. “Everything’s goin’ to hell.”

  “So that’s it?”

  Jason turned sharply to the woman who’d said that. It was Riley.

  “You’re going to sit here, get drunk, and feel sorry for yourself?” she added.

  “Whatta you doing here?” Jason asked.

  “I’m here to say hello to a friend,” she replied.

  Jason looked around, then his eyes returned to Riley. “I don’t see any other ASF officers here. You must be mistaken, ma’am.”

  She hopped on a stool next to Jason and ordered a beer. “I’m on shore leave today. And I’m not mistaken. I’m still convinced you shouldn’t have been promoted to officer, and certainly not XO, but I always considered you a friend.”

  Jason sniggered. “You surely had a peculiar way of showing your friendship. Like the time you pulled a blaster on me and relieved me of command.”

  “You’ve been a lousy officer, and I’ve been a lousy friend,” Riley said with a little laugh.

  Her unusually casual attitude surprised Jason. He was discovering a new side of her.

  “Let’s both make amends, and start anew,” she added. “I’m very sorry for your loss. I don’t pretend to know how you feel, because I never lost anyone close to me. In fact, I never had anyone in my life. Nothing but my career.”

  Jason emptied his glass of whiskey and ordered a refill. “That’s right, you don’t have friend
s ‘cuz you always push people away. I was always there for you, and you…”

  “That’s harsh, Jason. You know the ASF rules on fraternization.”

  Jason rolled his eyes. “C’mon, stop hiding behind the rules, Riley. They weren’t applied that strictly. Some people we served with even got married, and the captain was fine with that.”

  She sipped her beer in silence for a moment, then said, “You’re right. I was hiding behind the rules, but I don’t want to do that anymore. I’m tired of being a coward.”

  He glanced at her, surprised by her choice of words. “You? You’re probably the bravest person I’ve met in my entire goddamn life.”

  “I never had the courage to tell you what I truly think of you, Jason. I admire you. There, I’ve said it. Maybe it’s coming too late, but at least you know the truth. I value your friendship, and I don’t want us to drift apart.”

  They locked gazes. Jason had dreamed of this moment for a long time, and had almost lost hope it would ever happen. “I—” he started, but didn’t have time to finish.

  “Commander Blaze?”

  Jason turned his eyes to an ASF captain who’d called him. The man was a redhead like him, with dark-brown eyes.

  “You must be mistaken. I’m Jason Blaze, but I’m no longer an officer.”

  The captain stepped toward him and gave him a salute. “I expect my subordinates to salute me,” he said. “Jason Ansgaard Blaze, you’re officially reinstated with the rank of wing commander on the Phenix, the Chronos-class carrier I’m commanding.”

  “What?” Jason almost dropped his glass of whiskey. “Reinstated? With a promotion? But I—”

  “You disobeyed a direct order from Admiral Winsley, I know,” the captain said. “Honestly, I would’ve done the same thing. My family was on one of the ships you were ordered to fire upon. When I found out that I owed you for their lives, I wrote to the admiral and told him I wanted you as my wing’com. I threatened to resign if he refused.”

  Jason gaped at the captain, lost for words. “But I don’t want to—”