Ep.#10 - Retaliation (The Frontiers Saga - Part 2: Rogue Castes)

by Ryk Brown

“Thank you,” Vema said to himself, relieved that the Manamu’s deck boss’s anger would be aimed at the captain, and not him.

  “Final jump in one minute,” Garland announced over the all-call.

  Captain Madrid bounded up the gangway, two steps at a time, reaching the next level in seconds. She made a one-eighty and bounded up the next set of steep stairs, reaching the flight deck a few seconds later. From there, it was exactly fifty-seven steps to the Manamu’s bridge.

  Sheba walked down the corridor and stepped through the open hatch into the bridge. “How much jump charge are we going to have left after this?” she inquired as she stepped up to her command console. Unlike most ships, the Manamu had no command chair on its bridge. Sheba preferred to stand as much as possible. The life of a cargo ship captain involved much more sitting than she liked, and it seemed as if her ventral parts had widened a bit more with each promotion. She also preferred to be able to monitor her ship without depending on reports from her bridge staff. Hence, the installation of her command pedestal. The idea had actually been inspired by a visit to the Aurora, where the tactical officer’s station was tall enough to stand, and the operator’s chair could be swung away and tucked under the console when not in use. Since a cargo vessel did very little hard maneuvering, the elevated chair had seemed unnecessary.

  “About ten light years’ worth,” Garland replied from the helm. “Not much, but enough to algo to the rally point, if needed.” He turned around to look at his captain. “You sure you don’t want to wait and charge the banks up a bit?”

  “Would you want me to wait if you were trapped inside that wreckage?” she asked as she checked over her console.

  “Preparing for final jump,” the pilot stated as he turned around to face his console again.

  “Not too close, Garland,” the captain warned. “We don’t know what we’re jumping into.”

  “We should come out of the jump a few hundred thousand kilometers from the rescue point,” the pilot assured him. “That should give us more than enough room to maneuver safely.”

  Captain Madrid pressed a button on the communications section of her command pedestal. “Nilah, are your teams ready?”

  “We’re all suited up and ready to go,” her medical officer confirmed.

  “Twenty seconds,” the pilot announced.

  “Vema?”

  “We’re ready down here, Captain,” her first officer replied. “The rescue team from the Aurora is in position. We can begin depress at any time.”

  “Go ahead and start the depress cycle,” Sheba instructed.

  “Understood.”

  “Jump in five seconds,” Garland reported. “Three……two……one……jumping.”

  Sheba looked away from the Manamu’s forward windows as the jump flash filled the bridge, cursing the owners for not installing the opacity filters on their windows. Of course, they had probably cursed her, as well, for taking their ship and joining the Karuzari rebellion. At the time, she had felt guilty for doing so, but the truth was that the Dusahn would have confiscated the ship anyway. Either way, the owners would have lost the asset.

  The jump flash cleared, and she immediately watched her navigation display. It repainted a moment later and multiple icons representing Striker One and various Reapers, along with a single, unidentified contact less than half the size of a Cobra gunship. “Striker One, Manamu. Three hundred kilometers off your port side, twenty up. Where would you like us?”

  “Manamu, Striker One,” Robert replied. “Come in fast. Probability of unwanted guests is high. This may turn into a hot rescue.”

  “Understood. We’ll come in hot and do a max-thrust decel,” Captain Madrid replied.

  “They know we don’t have any defenses, right?” her sensor officer asked.

  “They know, Tobi. Just keep your eyes on those sensors.”

  “All hands prepare for max-decel burn,” the captain warned over comms. “How’s the depress, Jenna?”

  “Depress is complete,” Jenna replied.

  “Open forward bay overheads,” the captain ordered.

  “During a max burn?” Jenna questioned.

  “You heard me.”

  Jenna looked at Vemados who was standing next to her, also in a full pressure suit. He nodded. “Rolling the roof open,” she replied, pressing the open button on the control console.

  The ceiling and upper side walls of the Manamu’s forward cargo bay began to slowly slide forward, creating an ever-widening gap between the aft edge and the midship bulkhead.

  “You know, the roof provides thirty percent of the ship’s structural integrity…when closed,” Jenna reminded the Manamu’s first officer.

  “She knows,” he assured her.

  “How is the pressure inside?” Vladimir asked over comms as he and Renny clung to the outside of the wreckage that was once Striker Three.

  “It’s……rising,” Aiden replied, relief in his voice. A moment later he added, “I can feel air……coming out of the vent……over the sensor station.”

  “How is the reactor?” Vladimir asked Renny.

  “No problems here,” Renny assured him. “More than enough power.”

  “Lash the reactor to something and then return to your ship,” Vladimir instructed.

  “I can ride it down with you,” Renny offered.

  “That will not be necessary,” Vladimir insisted, “and your ship is without its engineer. Besides, there is no reason to risk both our lives.”

  “I should be the one to ride it down, Commander. I know the Cobra systems better than…”

  “That wasn’t a request, Mister Hake,” Vladimir stated.

  “And the Aurora is without hers,” Renny objected.

  “I will not tell you twice,” Vladimir warned.

  “Follow the commander’s orders, Renny,” Robert chimed in.

  Renny hesitated for a moment and then replied. “Yes, sir.” He quickly checked that the portable fusion reactor was secured to the side of the wreckage, along with the power transfer cable. “Everything is secure,” he reported. He turned to look at Vladimir. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Da,” Vladimir replied. “Thank you for your help, Mister Hake.”

  “You’re welcome,” Renny replied. He hesitated again and then added, “Good luck, Commander.”

  “To all of us,” Vladimir replied. He turned to look at Renny as the young engineer pushed himself away from the wreckage, then fired the maneuvering thrusters on his EVA suit to spin around and head back to Striker One, fifty meters away.

  “What are you doing……Commander?” Aiden asked.

  “The internal environmental sensors in your ship are not functioning. You will need to monitor pressure and temperature, and tell me when they reach normal levels so I can then balance the system from here.”

  “We only need enough life support……to get through an hour or two…… Just warm us up……fill us up……and shut it down.”

  “If I overpressurize your compartment, any number of seals could rupture, requiring additional adjustments from out here,” Vladimir explained.

  “So you’re going to ride us……all the way down?” Aiden surmised. “That’s insane! You can’t……do that!”

  “I know you cannot see them, Ensign, but I am wearing commander’s bars on my uniform…if you get my meaning.”

  “Yes……sir.”

  “Didn’t Captain Scott tell you not to be a hero, Commander?” the pilot of Reaper One asked.

  “Did he?” Vladimir replied jokingly. “I must have missed that.”

  “You’re setting a fine example for your junior officers, Commander,” Robert joked.

  “I do what I can,” Vladimir replied.

  “Deceleration thrusters are at maximum,” Garland reported from the Manamu’s helm. “Two minutes to cut off.”

  “We’re putting a hell of a load on the main fore-aft trusses with the overhead open,” her engineer warned.

  “It’s okay, Ewan
,” the captain assured him, “I’ve done this before.”

  “When?” Ewan wondered.

  “Before you came aboard.”

  “I came aboard the same day as you,” Ewan reminded her.

  “Really,” she replied, an impish grin on her face. “Must’ve been on a different ship.”

  “Uh-huh,” Ewan grunted, turning back to his console.

  “The Manamu is about a minute out, coming in fast with her decel thrusters at max,” Robert informed Vladimir over comms as he maneuvered his gunship away from Striker Three’s wreckage. “You might want to attach yourself to that thing in more than one place, Commander.”

  “I’m afraid there isn’t much to attach to,” Vladimir replied.

  “Well, find something,” Robert urged. “How are you doing, Aiden?”

  “Better, sir,” Aiden replied. “Air is still……a little thin, but……breathing is getting……easier.”

  “Good to hear.”

  “I’m a little worried about……touchdown, sir,” Aiden admitted. “This thing is……barely holding together. If the inner hull ruptures……when we make contact……with the Manamu’s deck……they won’t be able to close her doors……and repressurize their bay fast enough. We’ll be dead……in seconds.”

  “That’s not going to happen, Ensign,” Robert insisted.

  “I hope you’re right……sir.”

  Robert looked at Sasha. “Me, too,” he said to his copilot.

  “Contacts!” Kasma reported from Striker One’s sensor station in the next compartment. “Four octos! Five hundred thousand clicks at one five seven, eighteen down relative! Just jumped in!”

  “Reapers Five and Six, Striker One,” Robert called without hesitation, “try to keep them away from us for a few minutes.”

  “On our way,” Lieutenant Haddix replied.

  “Vlad, you need to get back to Reaper One, pronto!” Robert suggested sternly.

  “I’m staying here,” Vladimir replied.

  “Commander, don’t make me pull rank,” Robert threatened.

  Vladimir laughed. “You won’t be the first captain I’ve ignored.”

  Robert stopped his separation maneuver and pushed his flight control stick in the opposite direction, moving his gunship back toward the wreckage of Striker Three.

  “What are you doing?” Sasha asked.

  Robert keyed his mic. “I’m moving in as close as possible,” he explained. “We’ll extend our shields around you.”

  “Striker One, Manamu,” Captain Madrid called. “That’s going to make recovery a problem.”

  “I’ll peel away at the last moment,” Robert replied. “Your course is perpendicular to that of the incoming octos. Roll onto your side and position yourself, so that you’re protecting Striker Three from incoming fire, before I drop shields.”

  “We don’t have shields, Captain,” Sheba reminded him.

  “I know,” Robert assured her, “but you can take a few hits much better than they can.”

  “Not much better,” Sheba argued.

  “When I peel off, I’ll maneuver up and over you, and turn into them. We can handle four octos.”

  “We can?” Sasha wondered.

  “Once we open up on them with our plasma torpedoes, I promise you, they’ll scatter,” Robert continued. “That should give you just enough time to recover Striker Three and jump clear.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Captain Madrid agreed.

  “This should be fun,” Vladimir commented over comms.

  “Not from where I’m sitting,” Aiden added.

  Lieutenant Haddix pressed the jump button on his flight control stick and a second later, four Dusahn octo fighters appeared on his tactical display a few thousand kilometers directly ahead of him, closing at an alarming rate.

  “Good lock!” Ensign Weston announced. “Launching two!”

  “Good locks on the two to the right!” Ensign Jayson added. “Two missiles away!”

  Four tiny, blue-white flashes appeared ahead of them, barely visible against the backdrop of stars. Lieutenant Haddix glanced at his tactical display just as all four icons vanished. “Shit!” he exclaimed as he yanked his flight control stick to the left and went to full power. “They jumped past us!”

  “Coming about!” Lieutenant Taren reported as he turned hard in the opposite direction.

  “They’re going to jump straight in and go for the Manamu first,” Lieutenant Haddix warned. “One and Two!”

  “They’re inbound!” the pilot from Reaper Two reported excitedly. “Two hundred clicks…”

  “I’ve got them!” Ensign Weston said. “They’re launching missiles!”

  “Moving to intercept!” the pilot of Reaper One reported.

  “Taren!” Lieutenant Haddix barked as he finished his one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn and adjusted his jump distance. “We jump in right on their ass and open up. We’ve gotta make them scramble!”

  “Let’s do it!”

  “You sure you want to do this?” Robert asked over comms as his gunship pulled up next to Striker Three’s wreckage.

  “I’ve got the four missiles on the left!” one of the Reaper pilots reported.

  “I’ve got the ones to the right!” the other pilot replied.

  “Inbounds are twenty seconds out!” Striker One’s sensor officer warned.

  Vladimir’s eyes widened as the gunship slid sideways toward him, tiny bursts of thrust spewing from maneuvering thrusters located all about its hull. For a moment, Vladimir feared the gunship would collide with them, but it slowed and came to rest no more than five meters away. “Honestly?” he admitted.

  “That’s what I thought,” Robert chuckled. “Get ready, Commander, this might tickle a bit.”

  “You’re a very funny guy,” Vladimir said.

  “Extending shields.”

  A pale, nearly invisible, oblong bubble formed around Striker One and the wreckage of Striker Three. As if they weren’t already wide enough, Vladimir’s eyes became as big as saucers at the sight of the barely visible, shimmering, bluish veil of protective energy only a meter away. To his surprise, he could literally feel the energy, like a million ants crawling all over him. “Chort!” he cursed.

  “What’s wrong?” Robert asked, recognizing the curse word.

  “I should’ve brought an emitter net!”

  Reaper Six came out of the jump, and four Dusahn octo fighters appeared ahead of them, less than one hundred meters ahead.

  “Shit!” Ensign Weston exclaimed. “That’s fucking close!”

  Lieutenant Haddix didn’t respond, instead opening up on the octos directly ahead of them with his plasma cannons. The rear shields of the nearest octo lit up as plasma rounds dumped their energy into them, threatening to overload the enemy fighter’s emitters.

  A split second later, Reaper Five jumped in to their right and slightly behind them, also opening up with their plasma cannons.

  As expected, the four octos broke off their attack, two peeling off to the left, the other two to the right.

  “Following the left two!” Lieutenant Haddix announced, turning to follow the targets. “Stay on my wing, Taren!”

  “Where you go, I go!” Taren replied.

  “One and Two are taking the pair going to our left, your right!” the pilot of Reaper One reported.

  “Fuck!” Ensign Weston cursed. “Four more octos! Same original vector and distance as the first four!”

  The two octos that Reaper Six was following suddenly disappeared in a blue-white flash. “Damn it! Did you get their range?”

  “Two light minutes!” Ensign Weston replied.

  Lieutenant Haddix spun his jump distance selector to two light minutes. “You get that, Taren?”

  “I got it! Go!”

  The lieutenant pressed his jump button, but when he came out of the jump, the octos were not there. “Son of a bitch!” He glanced down at his tactical display, taking note of the position of the second group of f
our octos that had just arrived. Four pairs of smaller icons appeared, speeding ahead of the icons representing the four octos.

  “Second group has launched missiles!” Ensign Weston warned. “Eight more inbound!”

  “All Reapers go defensive!” Lieutenant Haddix ordered. “Defend against the missiles, only!”

  “This is not good,” Lieutenant Taren said.

  “No shit,” Lieutenant Haddix agreed.

  “Manamu! Manamu!” Robert called over comms. “Veer off and prepare escape jump! Missiles are inbound!”

  “Fuck!” Garland cursed.

  “I’ve got the missile tracks!” Tobi announced from the Manamu’s sensor station. “Four of them are locked onto us!”

  “If you can take care of those missiles, we can still do this,” Captain Madrid announced over comms, her tone confident.

  “We’ve gotta jump!” Garland insisted.

  “Hold your course!” the captain barked sternly. “Prepare an escape jump but do not execute until I give the word.”

  “Well, shit, can I at least alter course slightly so we have a clear jump line?” Garland replied sarcastically.

  “A single degree, no more,” Sheba snapped.

  “Two down! Six still inbound!”

  Aiden stood in the middle of the compartment, his crew still lying around him, unconscious.

  “Six has the two bearing on the Manamu!”

  “One and Two are on the other four!”

  “Fuck,” Aiden exclaimed, frustrated that he was unable to do anything to defend himself or his crew.

  “Gunners! Target the incoming missiles!” Robert ordered over comms. “Watch out for friendlies!”

  “Fuck!” Aiden exclaimed again, his eyes closing for a moment as the word left his mouth.

  “Hang in there, Aiden!” Robert encouraged him. “Our shields are protecting you!”

  “I know!” Aiden cried out. But for how long? He knew that Striker One couldn’t maintain extended shields for very long, especially if they had to absorb the energy from one or more missile detonations.

  “Manamu is clear!”

  “Two still inbound on us,” Striker One’s sensor officer warned. “Ten seconds to impact.”