by Gregg Vann
“Acknowledged.”
A curt reply followed by an immediate response.
I watched on the console display as the fleeing Udek and Obas ships spun around and swung in from every trajectory, reforming to focus all of their efforts on a single piece of the shield. But as they congregated closer, reassembling the allied fleet, they became easy targets, and the Brenin started mowing through their ranks again—just as before. The allies had intentionally placed themselves in a killing field, but there was no other way to concentrate the needed firepower. As Obas and Udek alike fell to the Brenin guns, other allied ships swooped in to take their places, working on the shield and outlying Brenin ships from the best possible firing solutions. Unfortunately, the primary was not on the perimeter, but the heavy assault launched by the allies viciously cut through the three ships standing between them and their goal. The shield fell back further each time one of the intermediate vessels exploded—finally retreating all the way back to the target.
They’d reached the primary.
And it was a big ship. A very big ship, only slightly smaller than the one I’d been on with Uli. But the entire allied force was pouring everything they had into its destruction. Other Brenin vessels moved in closer to defend it—drawing heavy fire down on themselves in the process—but the bulk of the allies ignored them and kept hitting at the primary. That effort paid off when the top of the gigantic ship exploded in a fireball—one that was quickly snuffed out in the vacuum of space. The large vessel then rocked to one side, falling over in relation to the rest of the Brenin fleet. But just before the hulking mass rotated enough to be completely ‘upside down’, its structural integrity failed and the ship broke apart into several large chunks, each spewing tons of debris as their atmospheres vented out. Floating among the growing clouds of detritus were many, many Brenin bodies.
But more importantly, the shield was gone.
Every allied ship that was capable flew or limped past the perimeter. Some were blown into atoms almost immediately, but others started pounding the Brenin ships with every weapon still functioning. Energy beams and projectile devices of every bent shot through space, looking for targets. And at every turn…everywhere, there was death—Brenin, Obas, and Udek, all perishing by the thousands.
Boe took us in closer and we watched the battle unfold directly through the scout ship’s front window. We weren’t exactly winning, but for the first time ever we were able to fight the Brenin ship to ship—on more or less even terms. And we were hurting them too…but not enough. Not nearly enough. Even without the shield they still held some huge tactical advantages, particularly their stronger hulls and advanced weaponry. And as a result of the way the battle had unfolded prior to the shield’s collapse, the Brenin now had an immense numerical advantage as well.
I checked the scanner to confirm what my eyes were telling me; of the four hundred ships the Brenin arrived with, three hundred and sixty still remained. And the combined allied force that had numbered almost six hundred at the beginning of this battle, found itself with fewer than three hundred ships left. And of those, many were heavily damaged or adrift. Unsurprisingly, the largest portion of the destroyed and derelict belonged to the Obas.
“Everybody back out Now!” Eraz’s voice blared over the speaker. “The shield is going back up.”
I watched as the allied ships maneuvered away from the Brenin fleet, some providing cover fire for their damaged or defenseless brethren. Then the shield began to form again—perceptible as a slight shimmer of light reaching out through space to connect all of the Brenin ships together. Sixteen allied vessels hadn’t gotten out fast enough, and were trapped inside when the shield went active; they were quickly cut to ribbons by Brenin guns. I scanned the enemy fleet and located the new primary, relaying its coordinates straight through to Eraz.
It only took a few moments for the Udek and Obas forces to regroup and go after the new target. For a fleet that had never trained together—and one inherently distrustful of each other—they’d managed to coordinate their actions admirably. A testament to Eraz’s leadership abilities, I reasoned.
She skillfully brought the allied attack fleet back around in a wide arc, diverting out away from the Brenin fleet and down the short side of their formation—maneuvering to the location the new primary while still avoiding their guns. It was a taxing approach, and some of the allied ships fell away, unable maintain the charge. I saw a wobbling Udek warship explode, taking out the Obas vessel next to it as well.
The allies then turned hard and dove back toward the enemy, and I watched them blow apart in the effort. The Brenin had anticipated the direction of their attack and pivoted most of their fleet to set up a kill zone. At least one hundred allied ships died in the charge…most of them Obas. A full one-third of the remaining allied fleet wiped out in an instant. I realized then that the Brenin were on to us—that they knew we’d found a weakness—and understood exactly what we had to do to exploit it. They’d prepared a defense against the tactic and we paid a heavy price.
Damn it!
I was so engrossed with the spectacle in front of me that I didn’t follow my deduction through to its natural conclusion; I didn’t anticipate the Brenin uncovering our role in the strategy, and then striking out at us in response. I figured that part out when the attack came and I was thrown facedown onto the console. Only our distance from the battle and the scout ship’s reinforced hull kept us from being totally vaporized, but the Brenin assault was still strong enough to knock out the ship’s power. Before we spun off, completely out of control, I saw more allied ships explode as they continued to press the charge to the primary. But there was something else as well; several large projectiles passed through the Brenin shield, diving down toward the planet’s atmosphere.
I recognized them immediately.
More poisoned missiles…
But this time, no Obas ships chased after them. There simply weren’t any capable of reaching the missiles in time. The allies were all out of position—away from the planet and engaging the Brenin fleet. And those that weren’t were heavily damaged and in no shape to pursue.
There would be no stopping them this time.
The emergency thrusters arrested the ship’s roll and we leveled out on the fringes of the upper atmosphere—giving us a front row seat for the destruction of the Obas ecosystem. We watched helplessly as the seven missiles began to glow red on entry, the aerodynamic heating marked their paths with long, white trails.
Boe smacked the controls in anger. “If this ship would move we could stop at least one of them! Save something…” The Obas gripped the console hard and stared out the front window, watching the missiles spread out on their divergent paths. As they dipped lower into the atmosphere, I saw his frustration turn into despair. “They are all going to die,” he whispered.
Flashes of light shot through the blackness as the ship’s emergency power fought its way to life—bathing the vessel’s interior in a yellow glow, and illuminating a single emergency panel on the dash. Boe used it to run a ship wide diagnostic.
“The power loss is permanent,” he announced. The Obas had regained his confident bearing—his instincts as a pilot taking hold despite what was about to befall his planet. “Both engines have been destroyed and we have limited battery power only.” He checked the panel again and frowned. “And we are drifting into the atmosphere.”
“How long?” I asked.
“Ten minutes before it becomes a real problem.”
“Escape pod?”
“Intact, but I think it’s showing a failure code. I’ll go check it out.” Boe took another look out the window before getting up—the missiles still visible as they continued on their deadly trajectories—then he turned his head away and raced to the back of the ship.
I tried to pull up the sensors and track the progress of the deadly projectiles, but the entire array was down. I did manage to locate one working exterior camera, and focused it in on the nearest miss
ile—watching it sink down to the planet on the emergency panel’s tiny display.
“It’s just a power issue,” Boe called out from behind me. “I can re-route everything from the battery and get it operational.”
I was so engrossed in watching the destruction of an entire species that I didn’t bother to reply.
Even though I could no longer see them, I knew that the missiles had already spread out—following pre-programed routes that would send them to carefully chosen impact sites, locations where the ocean currents would carry the toxin to every square inch of the planet. The original launch had been comprised of twenty missiles, and I had a feeling that these seven were hastily crafted replacements, but the information I’d stolen concluded that the Obas ecosystem could be completely killed off with as few as five properly placed strikes.
The Brenin had sent poison to spare.
I pulled the camera back to get a better view and a black flash zipped by, filling the screen as it flew past. It was a ship…a very fast ship. I struggled to zoom in on it as it blazed through the atmosphere, achieving speeds far above anything the Obas could manage, or even the Udek for that matter. As I worked to resolve the image, several more of the craft zoomed across the screen; they were small trapezoid-shaped ships with rounded edges, each one black with vibrant red markings. I knew those ships; I’d seen them before in intelligence reports and combat videos.
They were Blenej.
Small, but incredibly fast, Blenej fighters were notoriously difficult to hit in battle. Where the Obas had pushed weaponry at the expense of shielding, the Blenej had optimized their craft for speed. Their ships couldn’t take a pounding like Udek vessels, but it really didn’t matter—they were nearly impossible to target. The Blenej physical characteristics—four arms and superior dexterity—allowed them to operate at speeds other races envied, and ones automated systems couldn’t match. It was a merging of reason and reflexes that no machine could ever hope to emulate. And unlike the Obas, their design gamble had paid off handsomely; the Blenej fighters were absolutely lethal.
But where the hell did they come from?
“Time to go,” Boe said.
I turned around to find him standing next to a small, round door set into an interior wall—a hatch I’d not noticed before. “This conveyance is odd, but serviceable,” he stated.
“Odd…odd how?”
“You will see, Udek. Let’s go.”
I stood up and watched him duck through the portal, and then I followed him in, taking a seat opposite the Obas on one of two, flat benches mounted to the round walls. The pod was roughly three meters in circumference, and as I gazed around at the sparse interior, I realized instantly what Boe had been referring to. The walls of the pod were completely transparent. In fact, the entire escape craft appeared to be made out of glass. But I knew that was impossible. It wouldn’t be space worthy if it were.
The pod rotated a quarter turn and then an exterior hatch opened up, revealing the blackness of space. Before I had a chance to get my bearings, we were ejected with incredible force and sent hurtling away from the doomed ship. A patch of thrusters mounted on the outside of the pod kicked in, sending vibrations throughout the craft, and pushing us even further out from the planet. When their fuel was finally spent, the small engines detached and fell away, leaving us floating silently through space in a clear bubble. The view was incredible, if a little unnerving.
A large, translucent panel lit up across the glass-like surface next to me. At the bottom, left-hand corner of it, a red light flashed once brightly, and then started pulsating in a slow and steady cadence.
“Automated distress beacon,” I guessed.
“Probably,” Boe agreed.
“I can’t explain it, but if I’m not mistaken, I saw several Blenej fighters tearing through the atmosphere, right before we ejected.”
Boe’s eyes widened and he started to stand, pointing straight behind me. “I’m looking at a lot of them right now,” he said, clearly in shock.
I spun around to see that the battle still raged on, but now, there were considerably more ships in the fight. I saw Iriq, Volas, even a few Human ships.
Humans? This far out?
And yes, just as Boe had said, there were many Blenej as well. But how? And even more importantly, why? I watched in fascination as they all worked together, joining with the remnants of the allied forces to push hard at the shield.
They were really taking the fight to the Brenin.
The enemy understood the shield’s vulnerability now, and the primary was now ensconced a little deeper within the Brenin fleet, but the allied forces were pounding their way through to it in quick order. I reached over to the wall panel and found the comm system, turning it to an Udek battle frequency; I entered my clearance codes and opened a channel. Because of the Udek prohibition against receiving enemy transmissions during battle, I wasn’t able to transmit—we were in a Brenin escape pod after all—but I could listen in on what was happening.
“No. No. No!” A voice blared, it was Eraz, and she was clearly agitated. “Listen to me! Forget about the other ships; just keep hitting at the primary. When the shield drops we can all go in.”
As if on cue, the shield flickered then failed, and hundreds of allied ships poured in—attacking Brenin targets of opportunity with little rhyme or reason. It was obvious from the assault that this newly constituted fleet lacked a battle plan—or any proper command structure for that matter—but they were still doing some serious damage.
A lot of it.
I’d been in a few battles, and analyzed many more, but I’d never seen anything that matched the frenzy of this attack. Brenin ships began exploding at frequent intervals, some even diving into one another as they used unfamiliar and never before attempted escape maneuvers. The allied forces were relentlessly blasting their way through the hardened enemy hulls, destroying ship after ship. The Brenin had never suffered losses like this before, and I knew that they had to be unnerved by the quick turn of events. But they still had teeth, a lot of very large ones, and they were using them to chew through a fair number of allied ships as well. But despite these losses, the allies kept the pounding up, particularly what was left of the Obas fleet. They’d remained outside the perimeter, firing salvo after salvo at the newly exposed Brenin ships.
“One minute until the shield goes back up!” Eraz called out. “Everyone start making your way out.”
Almost to the second, the shield flared back into existence. And with it, came the realization that we could no longer identify the primary. The scout ship was gone. There were still nearly three hundred Brenin ships in that fleet, and even though quite a few were heavily damaged, most were still fully operational. I watched as they continued to fire at the retreating allied vessels, damaging or destroying almost two dozen more as they fled.
Now what do we do?
The Brenin could go back to hiding behind their shield, attacking when and where they wished, while we struggled to take out a few of their ships on the outside perimeter. Without the scout’s scanners—without knowing which Brenin ship started the shield—we were helpless…even with our curious new reinforcements. I prepared myself for a scene I’d witnessed far too many times before—the return of Brenin supremacy on the battlefield, and the complete destruction of hundreds of friendly ships.
I knew that this was the beginning of the end.
As before, the allied ships sped away from the Brenin fleet—out past the range of their guns where they could regroup safely and prepare for the final battle. But when I turned my attention back to the Brenin, I noticed something strange. They were condensing their vessels into a much closer formation than usual, and when the repositioning was complete, the entire armada slid into motion as a single unit—tightly maneuvering through a sharp turn…away from Obas.
The Brenin were leaving.
And then I understood the truth of it; they couldn’t take the chance that we might still be able to locate
the primary. That last charge by the allies had hurt them badly, and another, more coordinated assault, could cost them everything. They had no choice but to withdraw; the Brenin had never faced this type of opposition before, and they needed to repair their ships and reassess their strategy.
I had a hard time bringing myself to believe it, but we’d actually won.
As the Brenin fleet began to pick up speed, almost a hundred ships pulled away from the allied formation to pursue them. Most were Udek.
“Get back here!” Eraz barked over the open channel. “Now!”
Another voice rang out, one clearly lost in the lust for war. “They are retreating, Colonel Eraz. This is our chance!”
“Get back in formation, Stantz, or I’ll blow you apart myself. There are other things at play here you don’t understand.”
“Gah!” the voice complained, but I saw the ships spin around and rejoin the allies.
Eraz’s statement reminded me… I returned the communications channel to a Brenin frequency and reached down to turn off my translator. Boe looked at me strangely, trying to figure out what I was up to.
“Saba,” I said in pure Brenin, “remember what happened here today. I am Yano. The trees are life…”
The reply was instantaneous.
“And the ground is death. We will return for you, Yano, for all of you. And we will send every last one of your kind to the ground, no matter how long it takes. The Yano will pay for this treachery.”
For a brief moment, I worried that they would turn around—call my bluff, and bring a wave of destruction we couldn’t stop. But they kept moving, ramping up to full speed on a course that would take them far away from both Obas and Bodhi Prime. I searched my memory, recalling the last status reports I’d read on Brenin fleet movements. The Saba were headed in the direction of the Yano detachment.
