by M. R. Forbes
"Ilanka, hanger doors are opening now. Track your targets, buy us some time."
"Roger," Ilanka said. The mirth was gone. She was stone cold.
Mitchell felt his heart rate increasing. He watched the display on the helmet. The Federation cruiser had changed color, indicating that its main engines were warming.
A flashing blue light issued a warning, and then the hanger doors began to part beneath them, silent in the vacuum. They opened quickly, faster than was probably safe, likely another modification added by Watson or Singh. As soon as the doors were open enough for them to squeeze through, the launchers fired, releasing them and shoving them ahead.
Mitchell hit the throttle with a thought, pushing the ship forward, careful not to lose course and hit Ilanka on the way out. The Piranha was smaller than the S-17, more narrow and tight, with rounded stubs for wings. It was made for space combat only, so there was no need for a configuration that provided lift.
"The patrollers are the primary targets," Ilanka said. "We won't be able to do much against that cruiser. Stay close to the Schism."
They shot out of the hanger and shifted their vectors, rocketing up and over the top of the salvage ship. Mitchell looked down as they passed, catching a glimpse of the bridge with the cracked viewport and Millie sitting in the captain's chair, her head back and linked to the Schism's CAP-NN.
"We lost Rover," Sunny said. There was a grunt over the comm, and then a man's scream. "They just lost somebody."
"Shank, sitrep," Millie said.
"Clamping bay, ma'am," Shank said. "Pinned down. Security is in full exo. This was one hundred percent trap. They knew we were coming."
"How, damn it?" Millie shouted. Mitchell could hear the frustration and anger in her voice.
They were dead. They were all dead. His first mission.
"Sunny, sitrep."
"Trapped between the Federation ambush and the security detail. There's no way through."
"Shit," Millie said. She was losing her cool, fast. "We're going to shred the clamps. Shank, you have sixty seconds to punch through that detail, and then I want you falling back."
"Captain, the inception team is going to be caught."
"Don't you think I know that? There's nothing we can do."
Mitchell winced, his jaw clenching. How had the Federation known they were coming? How could they know anything about them, when only a select few in the Alliance knew the ship existed at all?
"Ares, incoming," Ilanka said.
Mitchell checked his display. A patrol ship was rounding the top of the dock, getting into position to open fire.
"I'm on it," Mitchell said. "Stay with the Schism."
He pushed the thrusters harder, flipping over towards the patroller. The Federation versions were much simpler than the Alliance patrol ships. They looked like cubes that had been rotated, stacked, and merged together into a hundred meter long spear, with projectile batteries embedded in the top and bottom, and laser turrets running along the sides.
"We don't have shields yet," Millie said, noticing the incoming ship.
"Not a problem," Mitchell said. He was moving towards the patroller at a crazy velocity, as though he were planning to ram it.
A blue bolt extended from the ship, a laser aimed in his direction, made visible by the helmet. The targeting computer was behind on calculating his trajectory and rotating accordingly, the small size and high velocity his best defense. Mitchell knew the missiles would come next.
It was standard defense against fighters. Six vectoring warheads dropped from the patroller, their thrusters igniting. They spread out in front of Mitchell, each missile moving into a calculated position where the AI and the gunner expected him to be. It was a tough calculation to make against a human pilot and one of the reasons why fully autonomous warfare had yet to be achieved. Years of research had revealed that when the best AI paired off against one another, they became so chaotic and erratic in the maneuvers that they actually arrived at a highly predictable state.
Mitchell was anything but predictable. He flipped the S-17 up and away from the missiles, a quick change that left the ship vibrating from the force of the thrust, threatening to bend the structure. He angled over the warheads at the same time the defense system fired dozens of lasers towards them, detonating them hundreds of meters away.
"My turn," Mitchell said. A single thought launched two of the explosive discs from the wings of the fighter. He was within a half a kilometer from the patroller now, and he had to do a quick reverse and full rear thrust to shoot away from the resulting explosion. "One bogey down."
"Nice work, Ares. Two more on the starboard side," Ilanka said.
"On my way."
"Shank, any progress?" Millie asked over the p-rat.
"We're at a stalemate, ma'am. They're under too much cover to punch through."
"We're out of time. Shank, pull your men back. Sunny, you're on your own."
"Understood, Captain," Sunny said, her voice flat.
Mitchell cursed under his breath. This wasn't going well.
A flashing icon in his helmet caught his attention. The cruiser was starting to pull back from the dock.
"Cruiser is active," he said. He found the two patrol ships circling towards the Schism from opposite sides. Ilanka was racing towards one. He would have to clear the other.
He used the neural link to check his ordinance, and was surprised to find that the ship was reporting the supply of the explosive discs as nearly full, minus the one he had just fired. He remembered the clean room down on medical. Could it be that this unassuming S-17 was capable of manufacturing its own weaponry?
He swept under the Schism, coming up at the patrol ship from below. It fired on the salvage ship, its laser scoring a direct hit on the rear, near the thrusters. The armor was thick enough to hold for a few seconds of burn. It would have to be enough.
Mitchell launched three of the projectiles at the ship, turning away and heading towards Ilanka's position before they even struck the patroller. A few seconds later it vanished from the display.
"Two down," Mitchell said. He tracked the cruiser again. It was backing away from the dock, but it had to vector along the same rotating orbit in order to avoid hitting any of the other ships. That meant that it was positioned around the curve of the dock, giving them a little more time.
Mitchell watched Ilanka maneuver around the patrol ship, the Piranha flipping and spinning, turning and twisting. She expertly avoided the defensive fire, taking pot shots at the patroller that whittled away its shields. He was certain with time she would break through and destroy the ship.
Time wasn't something they could spare.
"Rain, back off," Mitchell said. "I've got the firepower."
"Roger," Ilanka said. "Don't wait for me. I will clear."
Mitchell went into a corkscrew spin to throw the targeting systems, getting close and firing two more of the projectiles. This time he followed them with his eyes, tiny slivers that slipped past the shields and sank into the hull, exploding an instant later.
Blue flashes surrounded him, his shields catching the smaller debris and vaporizing it while he angled around the larger pieces. They hurtled towards the surface of the dock, only to be pulled apart by its own near-field shielding. One of the docked transports wasn't so lucky, its own shields down, not expecting an attack from within the dock's outer defensive shell. Shrapnel tore into it, breaching it in silence and causing it to vent both air and crew out into space.
"Three out," Mitchell said.
"We're back on board, Captain," Shank said. "Taking heavy fire on the docking port. Airlock is closed, but it may be damaged. We lost Gremlin."
"Ensign Briggs, bring us out," Millie said.
"The seal may be damaged," Briggs replied.
"Then they'll die," Millie snapped. "We have to move, now!"
"Yes, ma'am."
The forward vectoring thrusters began to fire, pushing the Schism away from the dock. It
was caught on the harness, the locking mechanism only able to be released by dock control. The thrusters gained power, fighting against the connection. Either the ship would tear free or the operators would release it before it pulled the entire station out of position.
"That cruiser is still coming," Millie said. "ETA thirty seconds. Briggs, how long to reach safe firing range for the heavy?"
"Forty-one seconds, Captain," Briggs replied.
"Damn it, we need this piece of shit to move faster. Shank, are you still alive down there?"
"Affirmative, Captain. The seal has a small leak. Firedog is welding it now. We won't be going out that way for a while."
"At least something went our way."
"Ares, with me," Ilanka said.
Mitchell found her position and altered his thrust, vectoring towards her. They stayed close as they maneuvered around the curve of the station, heading towards the cruiser.
A dozen fighters poured from the warship's belly, their thrusters glowing in the blackness, turning them in their direction.
"Getting hot out here," Mitchell said. His shields flashed as laser pulses started striking against them.
"Go through, target the cruiser," Ilanka said. "You might be able to damage it with that thing."
"Roger."
Mitchell threw the fighter to the side, then jerked it up and over. He got lock on one of the Federation's fighters on the way by, launching a disc into it and smiling at the explosion. He caught sight of Ilanka as he looked back, her shields taking heavy fire as she attempted to fight eleven to one. She wasn't going to last long out there.
He looked back at the cruiser. He could hit it, sure. Maybe damage it. Meanwhile, she was going to die.
"Pulling back," Mitchell said, turning around. Three of the enemy fighters had been trailing him, and he snaked through them, hitting one with the forward lasers and two with the projectiles. All of his weapons bypassed the shields as though they didn't even exist.
"Ares, the cruiser," Ilanka said.
"Sorry, Rain. I outrank you. Either the cruiser is going to blow the Schism or we're going to get away. I'm not leaving you for dead."
"You are stupid asshole," she said.
"Tell me about it."
He came at the Federation fighters from behind, the neural link targeting and locking much faster than any other ship he had flown before. It would have been amazing and impressive to dogfight that many enemies and come out of it alive.
Except their time was up.
The cruiser rounded on the Schism, still reversing clear of the dock, trapped between it and the outer shield web. More Federation ships waited in the space beyond, kept out of the fight by the shields, which the operators must have been ordered to hold up. They were still trapped, still stuck, with no way out.
That wasn't completely true. He had a way out. The S-17 was FTL capable. If he could stay alive, hide, act derelict, he could get out of there the moment it was all over.
And live a coward. He dropped the thought from his mind.
A barrage of missiles launched from the cruiser, aimed directly at the Schism. Mitchell cursed as he vectored towards them, pushing hard to add thrust. At these speeds and distances, the Schism would be nothing but dust within seconds.
He found himself in the center of the salvo, alarms ringing in his ears because he was directly in the path of one of the projectiles. A nuke would fry the dock at this range, which meant the warheads had to be conventional.
He let the CAP-NN take over, tracking the warheads and firing the defensive lasers. The missiles were close, too close. They detonated around him in balls of escaping gas, silent and deadly. The forces jostled the fighter, the shields fighting to absorb the energy. More alarms went off, the integrity monitor dropping.
Then it was clear again, white stars and the rounded curve of the gas planet against a black backdrop in front of him. He had saved them from the first shot. He wouldn't survive another.
"Ten seconds to clear," Briggs said.
"Preparing to fire," Millie replied. Mitchell knew she would be arming the onboard nuke and setting the target. From this range, there was no way they could miss.
A new alarm went off inside Mitchell's head. A new dot appeared on the display. Then another. And another.
"I'm picking up a huge energy spike," Briggs said suddenly. "New targets incoming."
Mitchell's heart thumped, something in him finding recognition in the readings. "Captain, shields up, now," he shouted.
"What?" Millie said.
"Do it." It wouldn't be enough. The shields on the Schism were minimal. They wouldn't survive the hit.
A blinding white light streamed from deeper space, from beyond visual contact with the new targets. It arced towards the dock with an edge of blue fire, a massive ball of energy rolling unstoppable towards the station.
The outer shields lit up, attempting to catch the ball. The front end of it pushed in for a second, slowed by the web of repulsive energy, before shattering it into nothing, bursting through and continuing its flow towards the circular dock.
It hit in the center, the energy spreading as it struck the center spoke, racing outward like a wave swallowing a boat. Within seconds, the entire structure and all of the ships attached to it were coated in an iridescent glow.
Seconds later, they began to crumble.
The center spoke went first, the structure literally falling apart, venting atmosphere and leaving pieces of the suddenly disintegrated dock drifting outwards.
"Holy shit," he heard Millie whisper. A moment later she was composed. "Ares, Rain, get back on board. I'm lowering the shields around the hanger."
They both raced for the Schism, the cruiser that nearly destroyed it turning to engage the new threat.
A second ball of energy sped towards it. The captain tried to vector around, and he managed to get most of the ship clear.
Not all of it. The edge of the weapon caught the side of the cruiser. It spread along it, and pulled it apart.
"Alliance?" Ilanka asked.
"No," Mitchell replied.
A latent, vague understanding of the time before.
A warning from a stranger who looked just like him.
They had arrived.
A third ball of energy swept behind them, aimed at the ships that had been positioned beyond the station's shields. They scrambled to clear the space, but it was too late. Pieces of the fireball caught each of them, spreading to the poly-alloy and breaking them apart.
"Drop the mains, ready the FTL," Millie said.
The Schism continued to float backward. Ilanka and Mitchell reached the hanger, vectoring in, their CAP-NN systems working to adjust their thrust and keep them from slamming into the walls. The doors closed behind them, the artificial gravity pulling them to the floor, the AI firing heavy thrust to land them on their feet.
The alarms still sounded inside the helmet. A fourth power spike, a fourth firing of the energy weapon that had decimated the station with one blast.
This one was headed right towards them.
Mitchell watched it coming, breathing in and holding it. Had they known he was here? Was he the target? Or was it just coincidence that they arrived here, now? Was it related to the fact that the Federation had known they were coming? Was there a clone, a replica, one of them, already on the Schism, or buried deep enough in the ranks of the Alliance military that they knew about this operation?
All those questions and more flowed through his mind as he waited once more to die.
A new dot appeared in his helmet. The nuke. Millie had launched it, but why? To where?
He watched it approach the energy ball. It vanished right ahead of it, the force of the explosion countering the force of the Shot. The ball broke apart, turning into a stream like water from the shower, its velocity slowed by the impact.
"I can't believe that worked," Millie shouted in excitement. "Briggs, status."
"FTL engine online, ma'am."
&
nbsp; "We're getting out of here."
Mitchell felt a slight shift, and then all of the targets in the helmet were gone.
35
Mitchell didn't get out of the fighter right away. He took a minute first to catch his breath and calm, and then slid the cockpit open, removing the helmet and jumping down without waiting for the ladder. Ilanka was already standing on the hanger floor, surveying the Piranha. It was scuffed and dark from a few soft hits from enemy lasers, adding to its already worn patina. It was otherwise unharmed.
"I don't think I've ever been so happy to be alive," she said.
Mitchell's first instinct was to tell her not to get used to the idea. He didn't say it out loud. Instead, he turned and looked at the S-17. The onboard AI had positioned it caddy-corner to the Piranha, it's wing only inches from the other fighter. It had been a closer call than he realized. He eyed it for damage, finding none.
"That ship is amazing," Ilanka said.
"Amazing to us. I don't know how fantastic it is against whoever just obliterated Calypso."
The statement stole her excitement. "We made it out alive." It was the only defense she had.
"Watson, Ares, Rain, Shank, Anderson, meet me in Olympus asap," Millie said, her voice echoing through the p-rat.
"No time to shower even," Ilanka said, raising her armpit and giving it a sniff. "I think I pissed myself in the excitement."
"I didn't need to know that."
They made their way to the lift and then up to A-Deck, passing by the communications array to the conference room that he had noticed earlier. Watson and Shank were already there. Watson looked calm and thoughtful, while Shank just looked tired. His face was sweaty and marred with grease, his clothes grimy and torn. A small bloodstain had formed near his left knee.
Anderson was there, too, standing in the corner, his face dark.
"Captain," he said when Mitchell walked in, coming to attention.
"At ease, Lieutenant," Mitchell said. He took the seat next to Shank, noticing that the textile was already stained. With blood? Sweat? Tears?
"Officer-"
"Stow it, Anderson," Millie said, entering the room like a whirlwind. Ensign Briggs trailed behind her.
