Before Jess could answer they were targeted by a low power transmission. Jess quickly tracked it back to the wreckage of a ship not far from their path. He let the message play for everyone to hear.
“Please… you must help my daughter. She’s only five. Don’t let her die. Our ship isn’t going to hold together much longer so I’ve overridden the escape pod’s distress beacon with this message. Shola is in the escape pod. Please save her. Don’t leave her out here in the cold all alone.”
The message started to repeat. Jess paused it.
“Jess, we have to help,” Sal insisted. It was the first time she’d spoken in some time. Jess was surprised to hear from her. “We can’t leave a five-year old girl to die when we could have done something.”
“Does it matter if we save one person when millions are dead or dying?” Jess asked bitterly.
“Yes!” Dash said firmly, surprising Jess. “You can’t save everyone. We can’t save everyone. But we can damn well try to save this one kid.”
“Jess,” Sal pleaded. “Please. I’ll look after her. You won’t even know she’s here.”
Jess checked his displays. They were safe for the moment, as far as he could tell. None of the nearby wrecks showed any signs of power.
“Ali, did you hear that?” he asked.
“Yes.” Her answer was a little sidetracked. Jess suspected she was doing more than just keeping an eye on the prisoners.
“All right. We can draw the escape capsule into the docking airlock.”
“Thank you, Jess!” Sal said. “Thank you!”
Jess worked out the approach. The escape capsule hadn’t gone far, only a few hundred metres from the wreckage where the emergency beacon was blaring out its message.
Jess wasn’t happy. The Wanderer would have to get far closer to the wreckage than he liked. Ideally he’d have used a shuttle while keeping the Wanderer safe, but there just wasn’t time. At any moment a portion of the battle could find its way to them.
He took the Wanderer in hard and fast. At the last moment he threw power into the thrusters to slow the ship. The escape capsule was only twenty feet away from the hatch as it passed. Jess had the Wanderer’s fields extend to guide it in. It wasn’t the smoothest of movements, but the capsule would already have survived far worse.
As soon as the capsule was through the airlock Jess had the Wanderer clamp it down and start to scan it. It was immediately obvious the capsule had sustained damage. It still had power… the question was whether it had enough.
“Sal!” Dash cried.
Jess looked up. Sal had unbuckled herself and was racing through the corridor. He followed her on the Wanderer’s sensors as she shot through the living area and into the shuttle area where the escape pod lay. Jess had the pod open just as Sal reached it. She leaned over, staring at the young girl within the escape pod for several long seconds.
* * *
Sal’s heart fluttered as she ran through the living area towards the escape pod. She grabbed a blanket as she ran past. The little girl would be terrified and alone. Shola. Her name was Shola.
Sal reached the escape pod. Its lid finished hinging open as she reached it. Excitement poured through Sal as she leaned over the capsule, ready to comfort the little girl. After the recent turmoil she finally had one thing to concentrate on. One thing she had made happen. Shola had been rescued and would have a life because of her actions. That felt good.
The little girl’s face was hidden behind a mask designed to supply oxygen directly. It didn’t matter. Sal didn’t need to see her face. The blood covered chest punctured in a dozen places by large wounds told its own tale. Shola was dead.
Sal’s legs trembled, then gave way. She sank to the floor beside the capsule, tears flowing. Shola had died, and with her died Sal’s new found feelings of value. She found herself crying as much for the loss she felt as for what the little girl had been through.
* * *
“No…” Jess said quietly as he saw the state of the girl’s chest wounds. “What did that? Did something attack her?”
He quickly checked the ship’s scanners. No sign of any danger. Not nearby, at least.
“No,” Dash said solemnly. “Something probably pierced the escape capsule. It would have been small but moving very fast. It must have hit a weak point in the structure. Once it got inside it couldn’t punch out again, so it ricocheted around in there until it ran out of energy.”
“I can’t see any hole.”
“You won’t. Escape Capsules have a limited ability to self seal in those situations. I’ve seen it happen before.”
“Are you sure? It looks more like something ripped its way out of her. Or several somethings.”
Jess shivered at the image in his mind.
“If that happened then where did whatever it was go?”
“That’s what worries me.”
Jess checked the internal sensors. Nothing was visible and Dash seemed certain. He couldn’t stop worrying, though. Alarms flared in his mind as the Wanderer came under attack. A corvette which had looked dead turned out to have at least its weapons powered. No other ships were powering up, so it wasn’t an ambush. The ship wasn’t powering up thrusters or shields.
Jess quickly came to a decision. He diverted power to the weapons for the first time since they’d left jump space. Moments later the Wanderer was lashing out at the damaged corvette. First he targeted the larger ship’s weapons, removing its ability to cause damage. Then he turned his attention to the engines.
“This one upset you?” Dash asked.
“Not really, but if they did that to us they might do it to others looking to help any survivors.”
“You know anyone visiting these ships is much more likely to be intent on looting? Removing that corvette might make that more likely.”
“I can’t do anything about that. If looters turn up then it makes no difference to anyone being rescued whether the looters get through or not. They’ll be dead either way. If a rescue ship does turn up, no matter how unlikely that is, then that corvette could prevent it from saving anyone.”
Dash didn’t answer. Jess focused on pounding the corvette. It was already so badly damaged that picking good targets was difficult. None of the engines seemed to be active but he wanted to ensure they were destroyed.
He slowed the Wanderer so he could pound the corvette for longer. The engines were definitely destroyed now, as were all the weapons the ship had fired. Jess turned his attention to hammering the ship, driving several holes deeper and deeper into its structure. Finally they were deep enough for his purposes. He launched several heavy missiles, one for each hole. They twisted and turned to avoid being targeted by point defences but there was no need. No defensive fire materialised.
Each missile dived down its assigned hole. Jess allowed his hands to unclench. Whatever happened now those missiles would cause heavy damage to the corvette. He still hoped they would reach the end of their shafts.
Every one did, each arriving within milliseconds of the others. It looked more like a single huge explosion rather than several smaller, but still powerful, individual explosions. The corvette was ripped into pieces. Jess had carefully drilled the holes and launched the missiles towards weak points in the ship.
He kept firing at the wrecked sections with the laser and plasma weapons. There didn’t seem to be any need, but he wanted to be sure. And the destruction was easing some of his recent frustration.
* * *
As the initial shock faded Sal’s tears dried up. She didn’t feel better, quite the opposite, but a numbness grew in her chest and spread throughout her body. She couldn’t get the image of Shola’s smashed body from her mind. Desperate to focus on something, anything, else she stood up and looked into the capsule again. After a few moments she spread the blanket out over the shattered remains of the little girl’s body.
It helped, but not much. Covering Shola’s body didn’t erase the image in Sal’s mind. She reached into t
he capsule and began to release the face mask. Her hands brushed against the skin of Shola’s neck. It was stone cold. Sal shivered. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to touch a dead body. Slaves died. When they did their fellow slaves had to deal with the body. Seeing someone dead who was so young was still difficult.
The mask came clear. Sal stared sadly at the little girl. Shola was a beautiful girl, even in death. Short, curly auburn hair framed dark olive skin. She looked surprisingly calm considering what had happened to her. Perhaps she’d been sedated when the capsule had been punctured. Possibly she had already been dead.
“I’m sorry,” Sal whispered. “We were too late to save you.”
She reached out and gently caressed the dead girl’s cheek. It, too, was stone cold. Sal began to pull her hand away. As she did, Shola’s eyes opened and focused on Sal’s face.
Sal froze, unable to move as panic flowed through her. This wasn’t possible! The girl was dead. She must be! There was no way she could have survived the damage done to her body. And she was icy cold. A scream was building inside Sal’s chest, fighting against fear driven paralysis. She could feel that it would break through at any moment.
Shola’s eyes remained locked on Sal’s. Stunning eyes. Green with a tinge of grey. The eyes seemed to grow, filling Sal’s vision and driving away all thoughts and emotions. The urge to scream faded too. The only thing that mattered in the universe was those eyes.
Part IV
The Taint
Chapter 34
Vorn stared at the display. His fleet was drawing past another large defensive layer, the fifth so far. And every one had him more convinced the Empire was doomed. Each fleet had warned him of the dangers he faced. Each had insisted he should wait for commandant generals to accompany his fleet. And each had ordered him to leave the Banshees behind.
Yet with each layer it had become easier to ignore the demands. Easier to claim to be operating with special approval from senior command, to have been granted permission to travel as they were, and with the Banshees. It must be true, otherwise how would his fleet have gotten through the previous blockades?
Vorn was disgusted by the weakness he saw. The fleets he slipped past so easily should be the best the Empire had. They were the one remaining chance of keeping at least half the Empire free from the Tainted, and they were doing the job abysmally.
He didn’t let his opinions show. The last thing he needed to do was undermine his own troops belief in the Empire. In fact, he stepped things up. Punishments for transgressions were increased and new patrols swept his ships randomly to ensure everything was in place. Those under his command did everything they could to prove their loyalty and efficiency, exactly as Vorn had intended.
The state of the Empire didn’t matter, not yet at least. He had to focus on capturing the Wanderer. Then he would return a hero, a saviour. From that position he could highlight the deficiencies he had seen and start to fix them.
First, though, he had to catch the Wanderer. And he would! Whether it took eight hours, eight days or even eight months the time would come when he and his fleet would emerge from jump space surrounding the Wanderer, forcing it into submission.
* * *
Clay lay in his new bunk, staring into the darkness as sleep eluded him. The day’s events kept playing through his mind, especially the destruction of the Purple Cloud and the loss of almost everyone he knew well.
The loss of the ship had stunned most of his fellow pilots. Many had fallen to enemy fire in the immediate aftermath. Clay and several others survived the initial assault but the tables had been turned. Now they were outnumbered by the enemy.
For Clay anger drove all other feelings away. He fought like a demon, destroying enemy after enemy. None of the others faired so well. Clay had reviewed the recordings. Some still seemed stunned by events. Others fought well, but without Clay’s skill and anger, and so were overwhelmed.
In the end only Clay remained, but the attackers couldn’t finish him. No matter how they tried to box him in or overwhelm him with fire he found a way to escape, often destroying enemy ships on the way. They simply couldn’t match him. He had known it couldn’t last. Sooner or later the sheer weight of numbers would tell.
And then, during one particularly aggressive manoeuvre, the enemy ships around him started to explode. After a moment of confusion he checked his displays and saw nearby space covered in friendly fighters. They had finally arrived.
It wasn’t over. The friendly ships formed up around him. Providing an escort, they called it, but they were clearly targeting him. For ten long minutes he sat there, waiting for them to fire, but in the end most of them drifted away again. Apparently he had been declared free of the Taint.
Even so, he didn’t get to choose his new ship. He’d hoped to go to the battleship, but that suggestion was immediately rejected. After some time, and he suspected significant political manoeuvring, he was assigned to a destroyer named Clanar’s Sword.
The crew on his new ship had been polite, if guarded. Between leaving his fighter and being shown to his bunk he learnt little, other than that the ship was a dumping ground for people like him. That meant the chances of the Taint making it on to the ship were much higher than for most other ships, and explained why the crew were less than pleased to be welcoming Clay.
As he lay on his bunk in the darkness he felt exceptionally vulnerable. The door was locked, but that wouldn’t stop anyone serious about getting in. He had the small two-bunk room to himself for the moment, but that was unlikely to last. The thought of sharing his room with someone unknown, another stray the fleet had picked up, sent ice down his veins. What if they carried the Taint? He would be their first victim.
What would it feel like? Would he feel the Taint burning through his veins? Would his soul be swept away by the corruption? Or would he even know anything had happened? Would he carry on, believing everything was normal while carrying out horrific acts? No one knew. That was one of the worst things about the Taint. No one knew how it worked. What it felt like. How it spread.
It was going to be a long night. Terrifying as thinking about the Taint was, it at least kept the rest of his thoughts at bay, especially the voice that reminded him of how he’d failed. He couldn’t have saved the Purple Cloud. Nothing short of a frigate or destroyer could have.
But he had failed afterwards. In his rage he had focused on attacking the enemy when he should have been helping his fellow pilots. When he reviewed the recordings he’d been left in no doubt. If he had helped the other pilots, protected them and led by example, then at least some would have survived. Probably quite a few.
But he hadn’t. He’d left them to fight alone, to die alone. He’d as good as killed them. Compared to those thoughts fear of the Tainted was almost comforting.
* * *
Clay must have slept because he woke up, but he certainly wasn't rested. Breakfast, coffee and several stimulants perked him up a little, but he still felt as if a black cloud had settled into his mind.
Now he was in a briefing room with seventy or so other pilots, waiting for the meeting to start. Half seemed to know each other well, laughing and joking in a group which clearly excluded the rest. The other half were formed of a few small groups and several pilots sitting alone, as Clay was.
Despite their apparent happiness the large group kept shooting glances at the rest of the room’s occupants. Not a good situation. In combat you had to depend on your comrades. If this distrust continued when they flew then the force would be seriously weakened. Clay found himself wondering what sin the destroyer’s captain had committed to be stuck with the misfits and the potentially Tainted. It must have been something major.
An officer appeared at the front of the room, entering through a hidden door. All the pilots shot to attention.
“At ease,” she said. “Sit down. This won’t take long.”
She stood at the front, looking at each pilot in turn. Clay was impressed by the aura of comman
d. He sat near the back of the room so he could see the mixture of reactions from the other pilots. Some seemed reassured by the officer. Some remained indifferent, sunk within themselves. The body language of a few was aggressive, spoiling for a fight.
Clay kept his reactions neutral. He had no more reason to distrust or fear the officer than anyone else on the ship. Not a strong recommendation, but there was no point in antagonising her. She completed her survey then nodded slightly to herself. She pointed at one of those with the aggressive, challenging attitude.
“You. Stand up.”
The pilot stared insolently for a few seconds, then slowly stood. The officer didn’t react. Instead she pointed at two more of the potential trouble makers, telling them to stand. They did, both of them smirking. She carried on until seven were standing; five men, two women.
Clay wondered what the officer thought she was doing. If she’d isolated a single individual she would have had the advantage. Instead she had reinforced their behaviour, knit them into a group. Now they were each feeding off the attitude of the others.
The officer paused, casting her eyes over the group again. She met Clay’s gaze and paused for several seconds, weighing something up. Clay felt an unexplainable chill. Finally she shook her head slightly and moved on. Clay realised he’d been sweating. Why, though? Did he really care if he was grouped with the trouble makers? Apparently he did.
Finally the officer finished her sweep of the room. She nodded again once, then barked out an order.
“Do it!”
Clay sensed movement behind him. A false wall at the back of the room crashed down and troopers in combat armour charged into the main part of the room. They were past Clay before he could react, homing in on the standing pilots. Those singled out had only just started to react when the troopers hit them with shock gloves, forcing massive electrical discharges through their bodies.
Wanderer's Odyssey - Books 1 to 3: The Epic Space Opera Series Begins Page 74
