by D. M. Pruden
“Where is everyone?”
“Give me a second,” said Cora, “I am accessing the ship’s duty roster.”
Hayden thought that a curious thing for her to do, but before he could say anything, she said, “Multiple stations on this ship are not occupied. I don’t think Stromm has enough people to staff something this size.”
As they approached the next junction, he spotted two armed guards at a door down the hallway. They saw him and raised their weapons. Before they could act, the Ranger who acted as Hayden’s bodyguard took them both out with precise shots.
“I jammed them,” said Cora. “They didn’t get any signals out.”
“Let’s hope they were guarding our people.”
In silence the group advanced to the door, stepping over the bodies. Without prompting, the synth proceeded to the door control and seconds later opened it.
The advance guard rushed in, Hayden and the others hanging back. His jaw was clenched tight as he waited for a firefight to break out.
Instead, the “all clear” signal came. He hurried into the room to a disheartening scene. Lying about on the floor where a dozen or so people he barely recognized as his missing crew-mates. They were in rough shape, looking like they hadn’t eaten in weeks. Many of them appeared to have been abused. An overwhelming panic rose up inside him as he frantically searched for Stella.
“Hayden! Is that you?”
Realizing he still wore a helmet, he removed it as he looked for the source of the voice. Turning around he saw a sight that both delighted and horrified him.
She struggled to her feet, steadying herself against the wall. She looked like a starved waif; her small frame had lost more weight then she could afford.
Hayden rushed forward and enfolded her in his arms, afraid she would break if he squeezed too hard. She hugged his neck and with surprising strength pulled him close.
“I knew you would come.”
“Stella, what has happened to you? Where are the others?”
She disengaged from him long enough to survey the room. “We are all that is left. Stromm murdered the rest. He is searching for something aboard Scimitar. He’s mad.”
“Everything is all right now. We are here to get you all out.”
“Give me a moment,” she said as she shut her eyes to concentrate. “I have spent all my energy trying to reach you. I didn’t pay attention to anything else. But I can’t sense anyone nearby. I must be in worse shape than I thought.”
“We encountered no one on our way here. Cora thinks the ship is undermanned. That should work in our favour to escape.”
“Cora is here?” She looked at the Rangers. The synth stepped forward, hand raised in greeting.
“Hello, Stella. It is good to see you safe.”
“Cora?”
“It’s her. I’ll explain later. Right now we need to get everyone off this ship.”
She nodded as Hayden went to help the survivors to their feet.
“The going will be slow. None of these people can move quickly in their current state,” said Cora.
“We will form a phalanx around them and work our way back.”
She went to speak with the squad commander and make arrangements.
After a couple of minutes, they exited the cell and retraced their steps. Weapons raised, the point soldiers carefully approached every corner and cleared it. The going was agonizingly slow, with Hayden having to assist in carrying Anderson, the navigator he’d met a few weeks before. Aside from the advance and rear guard, the remaining Rangers each supported a survivor.
When they were within a dozen metres of the docking hatch, shots rang out. A Ranger fell back, mortally wounded. Seconds later, a withering barrage of weapons fire pinned them, shielded only by the corner.
“They’re on to us,” said Hayden as he lowered Anderson to the floor so he could reach his weapon.
More gunfire erupted behind him, and he realized that they were trapped.
Shielding survivors with their armoured bodies, the Rangers returned fire, taking down several of the attackers who tried to advance on them. Outnumbered, Malkovich’s troops began to fall, one by one, as the overwhelming forces pressed their attack from both sides.
“We won’t last long, sir,” said the group subcommander. He was bleeding from a wound in his abdomen. The squad leader was dead at his feet. “We’re the only ones left. We need to make a push for the hatch, or we won’t get out of here alive.”
“That’s suicide,”
“So is staying here.”
Hayden nodded and turned to inform Stella.
Tears in her eyes, she pushed herself to her knees. Her hand covered a red stain on her leg where she had been hit. She looked at him and shook her head, as if acknowledging they were finished. Closing her eyes, her brow furrowed in concentration.
Moments later, the Ranger screamed in pain, dropped his weapons, and clutched at his head as he fell to the floor. Confused, Hayden looked about but could see no new attackers. Strangely the gunfire had ceased. After a moment, with no further shots being sent at them, he peeked around the corner. And was shocked by what he saw.
Their assailants lay unmoving. Turning about, he saw the same thing behind them.
Stunned, he looked at Cora. “What happened?”
“I don’t know, they all screamed out and collapsed.”
Stella struggled to her feet and limped to Hayden’s side. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and burst into tears as he embraced her.
“They are dead. I killed them,” she said between sobs.
“What do you mean?”
“They died way the Malliac did ten years ago. This was why the captain wanted me along. I was afraid of something just like this.”
He searched for the words to comfort her. Her story seemed too fantastic to believe, yet something had felled all of the soldiers. Only those with no cortical implant, like Scimitar’s crew and himself, were not hurt. Now he understood why Pavlovich had insisted his new recruits remove their implants.
Without warning, the deck shook violently. Hayden tried to stand, only to be knocked back down by another shaking of the ship.
“The dreadnought is being attacked,” said Cora.
“Are you connected with Scimitar again? Tell them we’re still aboard.”
“No, I can’t make contact with them. But it’s the only explanation for what is happening.”
“This is crazy, Pavlovich would not open fire if he thought we were here. If he cuts loose with the dark energy cannon...”
“Then it won’t matter if we make it to the stealth ship,” she said.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
True Colours
WITH THE COMMUNICATION with Stromm on hold, Pavlovich took the opportunity to gather his composure and assess the bridge crew. Given that they were all Malkovich’s people, none of them were familiar to him.
There was an understandable tension among them, but he had been involved in far too many combat situations over his long career, and something didn’t feel right. He knew what the mood should be during a standoff like this, and the current reading he got from them was different.
Something else was going on. He felt like that person who walks into a room full of strangers only to realize they all share a secret that he is not party to.
He smiled and shook his head. He had spent too much time in the company of an empath. He was starting to believe he could read people’s feelings and moods like she could. That was dangerous territory. Casual, paranoid fantasies were distracting and potentially fatal. He needed to focus on the situation and rely on his hard-earned experience.
Glancing up at the viewer, he said to Gunney, “Is anything happening out there?”
“No changes, sir. Their rail gun doors are open, and they have missile locks on us, but nothing else is going on.”
Pavlovich signalled for the communications to be reopened. “Sorry about that, Stromm. We are still having some system glitches.
But that doesn’t extend to my weapons. How about you surrender your prisoners and we have a discussion about what you want with my ship?”
“You won’t open fire as long as I have them as my guests. The way I see it, Yegor, you really don’t have any other options. Why don’t you do the reasonable thing and just turn Scimitar over to me?”
Pavlovich glanced at his cousin, who scowled back at him. “I’m afraid some of us strongly object to that, so the answer is no.”
“Tell Malkovich that if he surrenders I will let his people live.”
“Tell him he can stuff that up his ass.”
Pavlovich frowned at him and shook his head. “He declines your offer, Stromm.”
“I heard his response. You were always a reasonable man, Yegor. I will give you sixty minutes to reconsider before I begin executing people. Perhaps I will start with your XO, Miss Gabriel.”
“He has terminated the transmission, Captain,” reported the communications officer.
Malkovich growled, “You had better not be seriously considering...”
Pavlovich ignored his comment. “Why an hour, Cousin? Why would he not kill the prisoners immediately?”
“Because he is a sadist who wants to enjoy torturing you as much as your people. He has no intention of letting them live.”
“Do you think he suspects we have some kind of plan?”
“How could he? I told you, he’s a bastard and he’s going to play this out for his own enjoyment.”
Pavlovich frowned and called to Gunney, “How long until the remainder of Stromm’s fleet arrives?”
“Twenty-one minutes, sir.”
Pavlovich considered the information for a moment, and then his eyes widened with realization. “He doesn’t think he can beat us with his current firepower. He doesn’t have a clue of what we are capable of doing. All he knows for certain is that he has two missing warships.”
“Then demonstrate it. Now, while he doesn’t expect you to.”
“My people and your Rangers are over there. I won’t do anything until I hear from them.”
Malkovich’s scowl deepened. “You always were a soft-headed fool.” He looked up to the tactical station and nodded briskly. One of his men drew his pistol and pointed it at Gunney’s head. Three other members of the bridge crew rose, drawing weapons. They all aimed them at Pavlovich.
The captain considered all of the firearms directed at him. “Do you really want to do it this way, Cousin?”
“Do you know how many years I waited for this opportunity? With a single shot from this ship I can take out that dreadnought and end the blight that is Ulysses Stromm. His remaining fleet won’t stand a chance and will surrender once they see the power of this vessel. Don’t look so shocked, Cousin. You would do the same in my place.”
“I really don’t think so.”
Mindful of the guns, he stood slowly and moved away from the command chair.
Malkovich approached and sat in it while his men held Pavlovich by the arms.
“So what now, Cesar? Are you going to throw me out an airlock?”
“Yegor, we are still family. In time you will see that I am right. Your people, if not dead already, will soon be at the hands of that monster. His reign of terror is over. Give me the codes to activate the dark energy weapon.”
Pavlovich straightened his back and crossed his arms.
Malkovich sighed. “Please don’t do it this way.” He signalled his officer, who pressed a pistol muzzle into the back of Gunney’s head.
“Don’t you do it, Cap’n,” said the cyborg. “The Confederation is finished, and my best days are behind me. Let me give my life for something worth dyin’ for.”
Pavlovich considered Gunney for a moment then returned his attention to Malkovich. “You’re not Stromm, Cousin. There is no need for this.”
The general frowned then nodded to his man.
A deafening shot rang out.
Gunney’s lifeless body fell to the deck, his brains splattered on the bulkhead.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Desperate Deal
“YOU BASTARD! WHY did you do that?”
“Because you did not take me seriously. Give me the codes.”
“Go to hell.”
Malkovich leaned forward and flipped a switch on the chair. “Lindsey, did you put it in place?”
“Yes, General, we’ve isolated the artificial intelligence from the rest of the ship and attached the device to its core. Awaiting your instructions.”
Pavlovich frowned. “What have you done?”
“A bomb is strapped to the central processor of your ship’s AI. I have less of a problem destroying the machine than shooting a man in cold blood, even one who didn’t mind giving his life.”
Pavlovich’s brain was awhirl. “Cora? Are you still there?”
“I’m here, Cap’n. They isolated me from Scimitar’s systems, but I can hear everything. Don’t you dare give in to his threats, not while Hayden and the others are still over there.”
Malkovich shook his head. “I tried to be reasonable, Cousin, but you leave me no other choice.”
He flipped the comm switch at his elbow. “Lindsey; do it.”
“No!” Pavlovich lunged at him, but the guards restrained him.
Amused, the general said, “Well? What are the codes?”
“I’ll kill you before this is over.”
“I have no doubt that you want to. We are no longer children, competing for mere bragging rights. I mean to have my victory over Stromm. Give me what I want, and I will spare your life and your AI.”
Pavlovich glared at him, his nostrils flaring with each rapid breath. He looked at Gunney’s crumpled body on the bloodstained deck, then checked the other faces in the room. Everyone shared the look of grim determination of their leader. He fought to hold back the tide of guilt and grief that threatened to overwhelm him.
“All right, I’ll give them to you.”
If they were not already dead, Kaine, Stella, and the others soon would be. He was sick to his stomach. They’d entrusted their lives to his care, and because of that ill-considered decision, they would die. But Cora was someone he could still save.
The guards frog-marched him to the tactical alcove. When he arrived at Gunney, he knelt and closed the cyborg’s good eye. Recalling a prayer for the dead he’d learned as a child, he recited it in his mind.
“You are stalling, Cousin. Get on with it.”
Pavlovich stared at Malkovich through slitted eyelids. Every second he delayed gave Kaine more time to get off the dreadnought. It was all he could do. There was no way to know if any of the boarding party had survived. He couldn’t gamble Cora’s existence on those who might already be dead. There was no way he could win—have it all. He had to choose what he deemed the better of two evils.
The routine pops and pings from the instrumentation and muted voices were the only sounds on the bridge. Pavlovich rose and shifted uneasily on his feet, hoping with each passing second that Kaine would contact them and declare that he was clear.
Sitting at the station, he examined the interface, desperate for some inspiration—something he could do to save the day.
“I’m not patient, Yegor. Input the codes now, or I will kill your AI and give the test to my code breakers.”
Pavlovich’s shoulders slumped. His hand slowly rose to the panel, and he entered the authorization. “The weapon is at your command.” The words tasted like bile. Hands pulled him to his feet, and one of Malkovich’s officers took his place.
The general regarded his cousin, as if disappointed in him, and shook his head. “It didn’t have to be this way, Yegor.” He returned his attention to his tactical officer. “Set the cannon at five percent and fire.”
Bolts of dark energy stretched out from Scimitar and struck the massive vessel on its bow. The impact site flexed and distended like a trampoline before the nose of the dreadnought exploded in a burst of light and flame. When the flare died down, t
en percent of the ship was in ruins, but the remainder appeared untouched.
Flares sprouted along the flank of Stromm’s vessel.
“They’ve launched missiles!”
“Brace for impact,” ordered Malkovich. Seconds later, three nuclear warheads impacted in rapid succession on Scimitar’s armoured hull. Everyone not strapped in at their station was thrown to the deck.
Pavlovich picked himself from the floor and fearfully checked the condition of the bridge.
Alarms blared, and the crew appeared shaken, but aside from a bruise on his hip from the fall, he could detect no damage.
“Tactical, return fire,” shouted Malkovich. “Increase power output to one hundred percent.”
“General, the EMP of the incoming missiles discharged the emitters. The weapon is offline until the capacitor relays recharge.”
“How long?”
“One or two minutes, I think.”
“Damn it! Let them have a rail gun salvo. Target their gun ports.”
Moments later, the deck plates rumbled as Scimitar’s replenished rail guns released their ordnance at Stromm’s vessel.
Explosions bloomed on the dreadnought’s hull. Despite the destructive payload unleashed by Scimitar, only fifteen percent of the monstrous ship’s hull showed any degree of damage after the barrage. Pavlovich began to doubt that even his Glenatat enhancements had a chance against the planet-killer.
“Tactical, where is my cannon?”
“We have thirty percent, sir.”
“That will have to do. Let ’em have it.”
Pavlovich ground his teeth. That amount of energy should be overkill. He’d expected their original burst to finish Stromm, but the ship had surprised him with its capacity to take a punch.
After a brief interval, the new gunnery officer announced that the cannon was ready.
“Target Stromm’s vessel, midship, and fire.”
Moments later, the lights dimmed as the weapon drew power. Pavlovich turned to the holographic viewer to watch events unfold.
The middle of the massive vessel rippled, like a pond reflection marred by a stone cast into it. The distortion collapsed inward, then exploded out from the impact site, sending a tidal wave of destruction along the structure of the ship. The mighty vessel seemed to tear itself apart in the wake of the passing energy. It was as if a giant pair of hands had ripped it in two and set each half aflame. Countless explosions erupted from within, rending it into pieces. After thirty seconds, nothing remained but a dispersing cloud of fragments.
