by M. R. Forbes
He checked the countdown timer on his p-rat. Thirty seconds to drop. Liberty had been easier. At least they had known it was going to be a shitstorm.
"You aren't nervous?" he asked the engineer.
"I already peed in the suit," she said. "Twice."
They'd only been waiting in the S-17 for the last five minutes, after receiving a rousing send off from the entire crew, who lined up in the hanger and chanted "Riigg-aaah, Riigg-aaah" while they boarded the fighter. For all of their faults and failures, they pulled themselves together when things got serious, focusing on the task, the mission, and forgetting everything else. They were broken and dysfunctional. They were still a family.
He drew in another long breath and let it out slowly. Millie had given him the best send-off of all, even though the bed in Yasil's quarters was only intended for one.
Ten seconds.
They would come out of FTL three AU from the star, a good distance to get their bearings and start the scan for Goliath, and hopefully have time to react if they weren't alone. After the fight on the bridge, Mitchell had suggested that the Schism drop in, launch him, and then jump back out, not even waiting to see what was out there before making their escape. She had rejected the idea outright, insisting on providing backup, or at least a secondary target in the event that they came under fire.
She had never said it, but he had a suspicion that she loved him, and her desire to protect him only cemented the notion.
He wasn't sure if he loved her back. He was sure that he didn't want to lose someone else to a suicide run meant to save his life.
"Good luck, Ares," Millie said through his p-rat, at the same time the shift from FTL occurred. The hanger doors slammed open beneath him, rigged by Watson and Alice to clear in a second for this run. They might not close again. He hoped to find out.
The fighter was clear of the Schism almost before the grid appeared on his HUD.
His stomach clenched.
They weren't alone.
Red dots appeared on the grid, six in total. He split his concentration between flying the fighter and watching as the AI identified them.
They were human-made. Part of an Alliance battlegroup. A battleship, two cruisers, three patrollers, and a carrier.
He waited for a seventh spot. The Goliath.
It wasn't here.
The Alliance ships were motionless, ten thousand kilometers away from their position.
He rolled the fighter and headed back towards the Schism.
"It isn't here," Millie said. "Are your sensors reading anything?"
"Negative," he replied. "The ships are Alliance."
They still weren't moving. Mitchell evened his thrust, placing the fighter up in front of the Schism, where Millie could see him from the bridge.
"What are they doing?" she said.
"Waiting for something."
She didn't ask what. Neither of them knew.
"Watson says they aren't transmitting the kill signal," Millie said. "I'm going to open a channel." A soft tone indicated the broadcast. "Alliance battleship Warlock. This is Admiral Mildred Narayan of the Alliance Navy. Please respond."
They waited. Mitchell's stomach was still clenched into knots, his hand tight on the stick.
"Alliance battleship Warlock. This is Admiral Mildred Narayan of the Alliance Navy. I am transmitting my secure identification. Please respond."
A few more tense seconds passed.
"Admiral Narayan," a voice replied. "This is General Nelson Cornelius of the Alliance Space Marines. Please shut down all non-essential systems and prepared to be boarded."
General Cornelius? Mitchell's heart sunk even further. Out of all the ships that could have been out here, it was Millie's father? Of course, the enemy knew who Millie was. If the meeting was intentional, they had a sick sense of humor.
"General Cornelius, with all due respect," Millie said. "We have reason to believe that Alliance communications and service members may be compromised. We cannot allow you on board at this time."
"Are you refusing my order, Admiral?" Cornelius barked. "I have every right to blow you to pieces here and now for refusing your assignment."
"Sir, did you receive my last report? There is a threat to-"
"A threat? The New Terrans are a threat. One that is only growing because you failed to act."
"Sir!" Millie snapped back at him. "Liberty has fallen, taken by the alien-"
"Liberty has not fallen," Cornelius said. "There is no alien threat. I've reviewed your report, Millie. You've made some wild claims to justify abandoning your post. I knew the mission I sent you was challenging, but I thought you were up to the challenge."
There was a long, silent, painful pause.
"Mitchell," Singh said from the back of the fighter.
"Sir, I believe your integrity may be compromised," Millie said. Mitchell could hear the tension in her voice. "It is possible that you have come under the influence of the alien invaders. Sir, I request that you please shut down your neural implant."
"Mitchell," Singh repeated.
"What game are playing, girl?" Cornelius said. "The only one under the influence of anything is you. You're lucky that you're one of mine. I can still save your life, but only if you shut down and prepare to be boarded. Now!"
"Mitchell!" Singh shouted, her voice showing signs of anger and excitement. Her hand smacked the side of his helmet.
"What?" Mitchell said. He'd been so engrossed in the standoff, he was ignoring her.
"We're picking up a distress signal, coming from within the rings of that planet out there." He turned his head, finding the distant shape. There was a thick flow of rock spread around it, a heavy asteroid belt caught in its orbit.
"A distress signal? Alliance? Federation?"
"Sir, I repeat, I cannot allow you to board," Millie said.
There was silence from the other end.
"No, Captain. None of those. Watson's rig is capturing all incoming transmissions. It's only filtering on the transmission from the Alliance, but it still registers every band. It reported as an anomaly."
Mitchell looked at the planet, and back at the arrangement of Alliance forces. Could he beat them to the spot? Could the Schism? "The Goliath?" he asked.
"The signal is consistent with one that was used in that era," she said. "The-"
He opened the emergency channel. "Millie, the asteroid belt on your left. Go!" He slammed the thrusters of the S-17 with a thought, charging not towards the belt, but towards the Alliance ships.
"Mitchell, what the hell are you doing?" she replied, even as the mains and the vectoring thrusters on the Schism fired, turning the ship towards the planet.
"Admiral Narayan, stand down immediately," Cornelius yelled.
Mitchell watched the HUD. It was picking up the power increase from the Alliance ships. They were preparing to fire.
"Trying to save your life," he shouted back. "Please forgive me," he said, even as he targeted and fired on the first of the patrollers, sending four of the small discs out at the more lightly armored ship. They had no choice. No options. He didn't have any doubts the crews were under the control of the enemy. How else could they have known to be there?
The first two discs shattered the shield web. The second two detonated the patroller.
"I'm sorry, Millie," Cornelius said before closing the channel.
Lasers arced from the Alliance ships, invisible in reality but painted by the HUD in green and blue light that smacked against the side of the Schism, causing the ship's shields to glow. The other two patrollers started angling his way, trying to get a lock on him.
"This isn't good," Singh said from the back seat.
"Hold on."
Mitchell threw the fighter into a wild spin as guided projectiles launched from the patrollers. They jerked and bounced, trying to track him, falling one by one to the ship's alien countermeasures. Mitchell shifted his position, moving up alongside the cruiser, rolling over the top o
f it and ducking under, breaking left and targeting the patroller. Three more discs and the aft blasted out into space, leaving it mostly intact but completely disabled.
He found the Schism then. It was gaining velocity, heading towards the planet. The cruisers and battleship were following behind, peppering it with lasers, saving the heavy artillery. They were confident they could destroy her without using expensive projectiles.
The third patroller opened fire, lasers crossing his path, sending blue bursts of energy arcing around the fighter. His HUD beeped, and he focused on it, seeing that the fighters on the carrier had finally scrambled into action. Only one squadron to start, though it held many more ships in reserve.
Mitchell vectored towards the patroller, taking a wide, arcing path that kept the rest of the Alliance ships behind him. Any misses from the patroller would hit them, and while the laser blasts wouldn't pierce their shielding, they would at least put a minor strain on the systems.
Another salvo of projectiles headed for him, the starfighter's AI issuing warnings and firing the small lasers in the nose. Mitchell watched them vanish ahead of him in a flash of explosions, their compressed air storage vaporizing. He kept his aim on the patroller, screaming towards it, getting too close for it to avoid his assault. He dropped three more of the discs, watching them spin away from him and dig deep into the ship's hull before detonating.
"Do you have to cut it so close?" Singh asked as they blew through the new debris field, shields deflecting the otherwise deadly projectiles.
"Only if I want the fighters to not shoot at me," he said. With the patroller gone, that wasn't an option anymore.
He flipped the S-17 over, putting his face towards the oncoming fighters. They were Morays, the same fighters he and Ella had flown on the Greylock. Like the S-17, they were meant for space and atmospheric combat, and had short wings and a shape that provided strong lift. They opened fire as he approached them, and Mitchell pushed the fighter vertical with the belly thrusters, and then jerked it so it was pointing forward when the squadron split beneath him. He fired on them with his own lasers, catching the tail of the rear ship and burning out the engine. It continued drifting forward, dead.
"That was the last of the shields," he heard Briggs say. The channel to the Schism had been open the entire time, but he was too focused on combat to notice it. The announcement of the ship's predicament brought him out of the zone, and he turned the fighter so he could see the chase.
The Schism was nearing the asteroid belt, rocking back and forth, trying to keep the engines out of the direct line of fire. The Alliance ships were close behind, a trail of debris pouring from the salvage ship.
"They aren't going to make it," he said. A warning triggered in his head right before something slammed into the side of the S-17, hard.
The ship rolled through space, twisting and tumbling from the impact. More alarms went off, shield integrity dropping by half. What had hit him? He hadn't seen anything incoming, hadn't been alerted to a missile.
He saw it a moment later, the debris of the fighter that had used itself as a weapon. The pilot's body floated out in front of the ship, blood droplets surrounding his decimated corpse. The enemy had forced him to do it, to kill himself to stop him. He hit the thrusters, shooting ahead and slipping downward, narrowly avoiding a second fighter. He checked his HUD, seeing that they were forming up, arranging themselves into a wall of material that he couldn't avoid. He glanced at his shield readings. He might be able to take out a few more. There were still too many.
"Main two is out," he heard Briggs say. "FTL engine is damaged and offline."
They couldn't get away now. The Schism's only hope was to reach the asteroids and try to slip through the cracks, keeping the larger Alliance ships at bay. Without shields, it would take a masterful bit of piloting.
More warnings sounded. He put his attention back on the enemy fighters. They were closing in, firing lasers in an organized pattern that was too perfect to be human. They were trying to keep him surrounded, to smash him inside their ever-shrinking box. He turned the ship and fired, taking one out. He turned again, destroying another. The trap was closing fast, too fast for him to shoot them all.
"Main one is offline," Briggs said, her voice filled with fear.
"We're going to make it," Millie snapped.
Mitchell's heart burned, his anger flaring. He was seconds away from being killed himself. All of this to find the Goliath, only to die as soon as they did.
Four of the fighters vanished in an instant, struck from behind by a salvo of missiles. Ilanka's Piranha followed behind them, blowing through the debris.
"The door is open, Ares," she said. "Do you want an invitation?"
He growled beneath his breath and hit the thrusters again, shooting through the newly made hole before it could close up. The enemy fighters trailed behind, working to recover from the attack. He joined Ilanka on the path towards the Schism.
"Where the hell did you come from?" he asked.
"Captain's orders," she replied. "Save the stubborn asshole so he can get to Goliath."
"We're not out of this yet," he said.
"You are, my friend. I have gift for them."
Her ship vanished from his side, thrusters flipping it over and sending it back towards the oncoming fighters before he could react.
"Ilanka? What?" She was headed right into the heart of the following squadron, taking heavy fire. He watched her blue dot flash slightly, indicating a power spike.
"No," he shouted. "Not again."
The fighters that weren't destroyed in the blast fell dead from the EMP.
He fought against the swell of anguished fury. Another friend, gone to save his life. How many more would die for him? Why? He was nothing special. No one special.
He checked his HUD. The carrier was still behind him, unloading another round of fighters. The Schism was... He found it ahead of him. It was still transmitting, still out there, buried somewhere in the asteroid belt. One of the Alliance cruisers tried to follow behind it, getting battered by the rocks, the force shoving it away. Weapons fired from the battleship, breaking up the asteroids, carving a path towards the ship. They would make it through sooner or later. There was only one thing left to do.
"Which way?" he asked Singh.
"I'm passing the coordinates."
A new marker appeared on his p-rat, swinging around from behind the star. It was larger than the others, and the AI refused to put a tag to it, to identify it as something human-made.
They were here.
They were coming.
53
Mitchell fired full thrusters, vectoring away from the battleship, away from the Schism, towards the position Singh transmitted to him. There was no way to see that deep into the asteroid field, but his first, macabre thought was that he was going to find nothing more than debris, a transmitter floating in space. Had the enemy ship already obliterated Goliath, and then lay in wait for them to arrive?
Or had they been unable to find it?
They wouldn't have either, if not for Watson's machine. Who would have thought to check bands that had been out of use for so long? Who would have expected the ship to be sending a distress signal after all of these years?
He watched the larger marker of the alien ship circle the star and begin its approach, even as he reached the belt and plowed inside. The field was a challenge to maneuver, and under other circumstances he would have enjoyed slaloming between them, seeing how close he could get without being crushed.
"Ares," Millie's voice found its way into his head.
"Captain," he replied. "I'm on my way to Goliath."
"Hurry," she said. "The...offline...support...failing." The asteroids were screwing with the transmission. He knew what he thought he heard.
He rolled and swung, skipped and hopped through the field, firing on a few of the smaller rocks to clear his path instead of trying to skirt around them. He kept an eye on the HUD the entire time, c
lenching his teeth every time it would freeze, unable to get an honest view of the battlefield through the mineral-soaked debris.
As he watched, one thing became clear:
The alien ship was about to fire.
The Alliance ships were still in its path, pummeling the belt, trying to reach the Schism. It didn't matter. They had shown they didn't care about human life, about casualties. They used people like robots, sending them commands. Sending them to their deaths. They had let Cornelius chase his daughter into an asteroid field, and now that he couldn't finish the job they were going to do it for him.
"Mitchell," Millie's voice crackled in his head. If their sensors were working, she knew what was going to happen as surely as he did.
"Millie." He growled it in his mind at the same time his concentration slipped, and an asteroid smacked the rear corner of the ship. They spun wildly, careening out of control, lucky, or maybe not lucky, that the AI stabilized the ship before they were splattered on another chunk of rock. "You need to get out of there."
"I want..." she said, not hearing him, or ignoring him. "Love you."
His gut wrenched. Why did she have to say that? Why now?
The overlay picked up the power spike coming from the alien ship. Mitchell blinked away his angry tears, fighting every instinct to turn around, as if his little fighter could do anything against the enemy.
He did the only other thing he could do, pushing forward, harder and more resolute than before. If she was going to die, if they were all going to die, he was going to get his revenge.
The HUD picked up the blast from the enemy, tracking it in fits and starts across open space. It collided with the Alliance ships, tearing into them, rending them apart, shifting the alloy from ultra-tensile to ultra-brittle. It would do the same to the asteroids, and then the Schism.
"No," Singh said behind him, barely loud enough for him to hear. She had a feed into his view, and she saw what he did.
It was the first time he had ever heard her say anything with emotion.
In the heart of the loss, in the center of the destruction, there was only silence. Mitchell's body fell numb, his mind blanking. The Schism's marker dropped from the overlay, treated as nothing more than a speck; an empty, unimportant thing. Millie, Shank, Cormac, Briggs, and all of the others. Gone in an instant. Killed in the depths of space, where no one would ever know of how they died, of what they had sacrificed in penitence for the crimes they had committed.
