The commander checked the location of the big ship. The small ship’s rear hatch was open, and from the space beyond, wisps of atmosphere vented regularly, making the ship drift. Soon enough it would be on the other side of the support structure for the Gate, blocking it from the big ship’s direct view.
“Prepare to fire,” the commander said, leaning forward and counting the ticks of time until the beginning of the end.
“Something just brushed past me!” Bon Tap exclaimed, spinning out of control as he twisted away from the ghost. He stopped his awkward forward progress and curled protectively, his suit the only thing between him and the dark of space. He could hear his own quickening breath, and his suit’s HUD advised him to calm down. “Like that shit’s going to work,” he said to himself, but he was still broadcasting on the squad channel.
“It’s the ship. Which direction was it going?”
“I don’t know. Maybe coming from the Gate?”
“One can always tell from which way the wind blows,” B’Ichi said dismissively. “Continuing to the Gate to begin the search.”
“It’s the alien ship. He’s here,” Bundin replied, struggling with a handheld pack that released compressed air. It made him spin without getting him any farther from his ship. The only way it seemed to work was by holding it over his head and flying feet first, but with his shell in the way, he couldn’t see where he was going. He couldn’t see the alien ship, so flying blind seemed to be the best course of action. “I’m going to investigate.”
“Going where?” Bon Tap asked.
“Head to the Gate. I’ll join you shortly.” Bundin turned away from the ship’s cargo bay, held the canister directly over the mouth in the top of his head, and tapped the button. He straightened out and headed away from Ramses’ Chariot.
Bon Tap remained where he was, torn between heading to the Gate and returning to support his squad leader. At least he had a suit, but Bundin was holding his breath. He had a hard stop in a relatively short amount of time. He turned and activated the jets on his ankles to send him back toward his ship.
“By all that’s holy,” the Keome groused. “I’ll search the whole farking thong by myself.”
Thong? Bon Tap wondered briefly, seeing the humor even though his heart hammered in his chest and he felt like he was going to pass out from the stress he was putting on his body. Nothing like this ever happened on Malatia. Maybe that was why he left.
He found focus and the calm that it brought in the simple task of aiding another. I’m on my way, Bundin.
“There are two aliens in armored space suits outside the small ship. One is heading toward the Gate, and one is hanging in space,” the navigator noted. When his expertise wasn’t needed for navigation, he used those same sensors to keep the commander informed of everything he needed to conduct his mission.
“Irrelevant to the mission. They can’t have enough firepower to damage the Traxinstall.”
“I could target them with counterbattery missiles just in case. They may not lock without an active seeker, but at least they’ll hold their attention while we take their ship,” the weapons specialist suggested.
“Target them with counterbattery missiles,” the commander confirmed while wringing his three hands and waiting for the small ship to keep moving.
Tension ratcheted up significantly on the bridge. The pain in the commander’s hands told him to lighten up. He flexed his fingers. “What should we call our prize?”
“The Mantis!” someone shouted.
“Butt-snorkeler,” the pilot blurted without thinking, clasping his center hand over his mouth instantly afterward. The silence was instantaneous and profound until the commander started to laugh.
“I don’t think we’ll call it Butt Snorkeler,” he quipped. The bridge crew laughed with him, and the relief was palpable. “How about Gateway? That ship is the gateway to the universe.”
The weapons specialist was the first to speak. “That says it all, Lord Mantis.”
“So let it be dictated, so let it be done.” The commander looked from face to face. “It’s almost time. Damage control teams to stations. Boarding party, weapons hot. Targets locked?”
“Yes, Lord Mantis.”
“On my command...”
Chapter Twenty
“Contact!” Bundin ‘shouted.’ “I’m standing on it!”
“Say again?” Terry said, waving his arms for silence on the bridge. Micky started tapping the controls on the arm of his captain’s chair. Clifton tensed, his fingers hovering over the flight controls as he waited for the order, any order.
“Target my position. Fire all weapons. The enemy ship is here. KILL IT!”
TH hesitated, issuing his order through gritted teeth. “Bring us around. Ready the mains. Prepare to fire a barrage of close-in weapons in a pattern around Corporal Bundin. Target the mains on his position.”
“You can’t,” Char whispered, knowing not only that her husband could, but he had to.
“Fuck, no!” Bon Tap yelled. He called up the four missiles over the shoulders of his armor and sent them screaming into space. They missed the alien ship and disappeared into the void beyond.
“Not helping,” Slicker offered.
He accelerated as much as his suit would let him, turning himself into a Malatian torpedo and heading directly for his squad leader. B’Ichi watched helplessly from too far away, determined to find anything attached to the Gate. He flew at arm’s length along the curve, accelerating as well until he crashed into nothingness. He bounced off and spun away.
Slicker watched from the bridge. Everything was unfolding too quickly. “Dionysus, what do I do?”
“The enemy ship is right behind us. If we don’t raise our shields, we will be destroyed.”
“If we do, we condemn Bundin and Bon Tap.”
Dionysus didn’t reply. He was artificial and intelligent, but he had a soul and understood why it was a difficult decision. Was she less giving than her squad leader? Was he the only one who would sacrifice his life for the mission? She would, but her sacrifice would mean nothing.
The magnified image from the rear camera showed Bundin stomping his stump-like legs on something. The only thing he carried was the air canister that he held over his head, using it to hold himself against the hull. He stomped his feet and yelled, as much as the Podder could, for someone to fire at the alien.
“We can’t let the enemy win,” she said softly. “Raise the shields and prepare to fire.”
“Target sighted. Preparing to fire,” Yanmei reported as she redlined the engine of the Black Eagle, racing ahead of the War Axe.
“Whoa!” Bon Tap shouted when he was caught in the outward push which signaled that the gravitic shields had extended around Ramses’ Chariot. Like surfing, he accelerated forward well beyond the speed his suit could achieve on its own. He tilted his head back to see where he was going and targeted an empty point in space near Bundin’s side.
He approached far too quickly and held out his arms, closing his eyes.
This is gonna hurt...
“Fire,” the commander ordered. The Traxinstall’s cloaking dropped and the ship appeared. The plasma cannon spat its deadly ordnance at point-blank range. The plasma smeared around the small ship, sparkling as it dissipated.
The commander jumped from his seat. “Fire again. FIRE!”
“Lord Mantis,” Katamara confirmed as he hammered the button.
“What the hell?” The plasma missed Bon Tap so closely that it made his hair stand on end, filling the face shield of his helmet. He opened his eyes enough to see the ship filling the screen—and Bundin just to the side.
He turned toward his squad leader and kept his jets at maximum.
Bon Tap slammed into the ship, bounced off, and caught Bundin in his oversized armored arms.
Besides the hair, blood from his head bounced off the inside of his shield and clouded his vision.
The Malatian tried to see, but darkness closed in
around him.
“Fire the mains.” Terry choked as he delivered the order. The massive railguns engaged, energy surged, and tiny projectiles accelerated to near the speed of light.
“Shield and blow the mines!” the commander ordered when he saw the War Axe fill the aft viewscreen.
The weapons specialist tried to adjust, but there was no time.
The unshielded alien ship erupted upon the first impact and split into multiple pieces, internal ordnance detonating. The War Axe continued to pour fire from its primary weapons into it, ensuring that the enemy and his ship were scattered in a billion directions.
“Black Eagles, search for survivors. Ramses’ Chariot, please come in,” Terry requested, his eyes closed as he listened for voices to deliver the casualty count.
“Dionysus here, Colonel. Ramses’ Chariot is alive and well, but we must install restraint systems for our four-legged crew.”
“Roger,” Yanmei confirmed, swerving her Black Eagle back on course. She and Aaron had stayed wide, out of the War Axe’s line of fire.
“Colonel Lowell here. Recommend my warriors continue to the Gate and search it for ordnance.”
“Roger. Make sure it’s clean. Be careful, and thanks, Christina.” Terry still hadn’t opened his eyes.
“Can someone get Boner off me?” Bundin’s mechanical voice sounded throughout the bridge.
“Good to hear your voice,” Terry said, a smile creeping across his face. Char clutched his arm and watched the main screen. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but we’re going to replay those words from now until forever at every Bad Company party we ever hold. Ever.”
“He’s out cold. I can’t see inside his faceplate, so can’t be sure. I think we’re rocketing into deep space.”
“I have them. I’ll bring them in,” Yanmei said.
“Continuing the search for any alien survivors,” Aaron said evenly. He didn’t sound hopeful. The alien ship was a cloud of debris that had washed past Ramses’ Chariot and was expanding on its way into the void. In a million years, it would be sucked into a star.
One Black Eagle raced into the distance, and the other circled past the War Axe. Yanmei gathered the two errant warriors on the front of her ship and carefully headed back to the hangar. Ramses’ Chariot slowly turned and limped after her.
“We’ve found Private B’Ichi. He was out cold inside his suit as well. Said he ran head-first into one of those invisible things. His words, not mine,” Christina reported.
“Bundin. First chance you get, remedial suit training for your squad. And you’ll keep training until your people can move around without knocking themselves out.”
“Yes, Colonel. Be back in a minute.” Bundin’s voice sounded different. Mechanical, but maybe more human. He added, “I could use some fresh air.”
“Come on home, Corporal. We have everything you need right here.” Terry pulled Char to him and hugged her tightly, holding her for as long as she let him, which was a very long time indeed. Then he remembered he had other people counting on him.
“Colonel Walton to the fleet. Stand down from combat and begin rescue and repair operations at Keeg Station. Sue, Timmons, Shonna, and Merrit, get with Felicity and bring our station back up to speed. And don’t tell me what shape my bar is in.”
“This is really weird shit,” Christina said, placing her armored hand on a solid object through which she could see. “It’s there, but it’s not there.”
“Don’t destroy it!” Ted interrupted the conversation between the Bad Company’s two colonels. “I won’t allow you lumberjacks to fell this tree!”
“Isn’t that what lumberjacks do?” Terry countered.
“Exactly!” Ted was excited. The alien ship had defeated his attempts to find it by technological means. It chafed him that it had taken a warrior to literally bump into it in the vastness of the void for them to finally finish the battle. “I want that equipment intact.”
“It’s a live thermonuclear warhead, Ted. Where do you think it’s safe to put?”
“Give me my ship, which is all fucked up now because of non-people taking it for a joyride!”
“Non-people?” Terry asked, scrunching his face at Ted’s clamoring but finding it humorous nonetheless. “You mean like Dionysus, one of Plato’s stepchildren...”
Terry let the thought hang in the air.
“Those people of yours, I mean.”
“I thought they were non-people. Warriors of the apocalypse kind of non-people,” Terry joked. Ted’s face started to turn red. “I’m sorry, Ted. Yes, of course, you should take your ship and the live A-bomb somewhere far away so you can study it to find how that cloak works. You’ll make us invincible if you can reverse-engineer the cloak and make sure we can still use our shields. We’d win fights without fighting. You’d save a lot of lives, Ted.”
Ted waved his hand in annoyance. “When will I get my ship?”
“Don’t you want to see Felicity first?” Terry countered. The darkness of the Combat Information Center did nothing to hide Ted’s face. He sat down and his expression softened.
“I’ll leave as soon as we’ve seen to the station. I’ll put the mine out here with a marker on it to keep everyone away. And you make sure they stay away, Terry Henry Walton!”
“I will. We’ll put a Harborian battleship out here to make sure until you get back.”
Ted nodded tersely. Terry turned to leave but stopped at the door of the CIC. “I don’t know why, but I miss Ankh.”
“I want my ship,” Ted reiterated weakly.
“I know,” Terry said, and walked face-first into Captain San Marino.
“I was looking for you,” Micky said after bouncing back.
“Found me, you did,” Terry said in his best Yoda imitation.
The skipper didn’t know what to make of that, so he shook it off. “Rivka called. She needs our help. They’re under fire.”
“Do we have the coordinates?”
Micky nodded.
“Smedley! Battle stations. We’ve got to go save my lawyer!”
When Terry and an out-of-breath skipper arrived on the bridge, the Gate had already formed and was waiting for the order. Micky jumped into the captain’s seat and ordered the ship through.
The War Axe appeared in the middle of a ragtag fleet of warships. The Magistrate’s corvette was fighting and ducking, doing all it could to survive just one more moment.
“Fire the mains,” Micky barked. On rapid fire at close range, it was like getting hit by so many nuclear weapons. The enemy carrier shattered as if it were made of glass. Minor explosions disappeared quickly as the air became one with the vastness of space. Three frigates were vaporized before they realized a new enemy had appeared. Two more died when they turned to fight, and another died when it tried to run. The last one skipped off the upper atmosphere, using maximum acceleration to slingshot around the planet and head into deep space.
Without an on-board Gate drive, that ship was years from reappearing, if it reappeared at all. The physical Gate in the system would have to be monitored to prevent the pirate frigate from using it. Or Ankh and Ted could turn it off, only to be reactivated by use of a Federation code.
It would be years before any last holdouts from Mandolin reared their ugly heads.
“Nice shooting,” Micky told his ship. “Get me that corvette, Smedley.”
“My compliments on your timing, Captain,” Rivka replied to the call.
Terry Henry pumped his fist. “Two wins in one day. You’re going to spoil me, Skipper.”
“Let’s not do too much more of that.” Micky’s words were harsh, but he nodded and smiled.
“We’ve lost our Gate drive and one of our power supplies, and we left two people on the planet we need to pick up.”
“Your final message has been transmitted.” Erasmus’ voice came over Rivka’s open microphone.
“What? That was only if we died. We didn’t die. You have to get it back!”
“Ankh!” she yelled.
“Do you need an escort to the planet’s surface, Magistrate?”
“Oh, shit. You heard that? Never mind. Yes, we would like a ride if you can swing it. Open those big-ass doors of yours. Our ship needs a little work, and probably a new coat of paint, too.”
Terry spoke loudly to make sure that Rivka could hear. “How is this lawyer thing working out for you, Barrister?” Char punched him in the arm.
“Ignore him,” she told the Magistrate. “We appreciate the job you do. Micky’s giving me the thumbs-up. The hangar bay is available. Please, relinquish thruster control to Smedley.”
“What happened with the phantom destroyer and Keeg Station?” Rivka asked while docking procedures were underway.
“That’s a story for a different day,” Colonel Terry Henry Walton replied.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Pod-doc!” Char declared, pointing at the hatch leading to the stairs that would take him to sickbay.
“We haven’t even left orbit yet,” Terry pleaded.
“This ship is plenty capable of leaving orbit and flying back to Keeg Station without the soon-to-have-his-ass-kicked Terry Henry Walton anywhere other than in the Pod-doc.”
Cory leaned against the hatch’s frame with her arms crossed, giving her father a heavy dose of stink eye.
“But...”
“But nothing.” Char knew better than to try to drag him. “You promised. It’s all over now, and you said you’d go into the Pod-doc and get checked out. Is your word going bad too?”
“My word is my bond,” he deadpanned. “And there’s nothing else going bad! Everything is working like it’s supposed to.”
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