Ghost Star

by Roger Eschbacher

  “Interspace is extremely dangerous,” said Iden. “The tube repeatedly lashed out and consumed one surveillance pod after another. That’s why we stopped sending them up.”

  “It’s also why we have only one left,” said Burr. “The need for intelligence far outstrips any concern for the pod pilot’s safety. Advanced notice of an incoming smart bomb, even a few seconds’ worth, could save many lives.”

  “I’ll go,” said Eria.

  “I think not,” said Burr.

  Eria raised an eyebrow. “Pardon me?”

  “Forgive me, my lady, but you are much too valuable to risk on a mission such as this. Since I possess the necessary scientific skills to run and maintain the surveillance equipment, I will take the pod aloft.”

  “He wouldn’t let me do it,” said Iden, shrugging.

  “What am I supposed to do?” said Eria.

  “Accompany Lord Bray and act as his navigator and weapons master.”

  Galen frowned. “Accompany me? Where?”

  “Into the tube,” said Burr, walking to the other tarped object. “In this.” Burr pulled the tarp off, revealing a sleek spacecraft that caused everyone in the immediate area to murmur appreciatively. Low and impossibly streamlined, it had the look of a thickened spear tip. The surface of the craft was somehow even darker than his battle suit. “Behold, the last remaining Ruam Lancer. That we know of, anyway.”

  Iden sighed. “It’s also the most advanced model. As with the Ghost Star and the Bora tank, things might have gone differently if we’d had these much earlier in the war.”

  Still in a state of awe, Galen ran his fingers over the Lancer’s smooth, dull surface. “The stilpix don’t do these justice. So beautiful, and in perfect condition. Has she seen action?”

  “Limited. As Iden states, it was built rather late in the conflict. And since we lacked nobles to fly it, this vessel has sat idle for the past five hundred standards.”

  “What do you want me to do? I’ve never flown anything as powerful as this. I did in a sim, but I don’t think—do you expect me to take on the Imp fleet with a single Lancer?”

  Hardly,” said Eria. “He does expect you to catch and destroy as many missiles as you can.”

  “Oh,” said Galen. “Yeah, sure. I can do that.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The door to Lord Mohk’s chambers opened, and Dur took a deep breath before stepping inside.

  “What news have you brought me?” asked the bulky Nell, setting down the whetstone he used to sharpen his foreclaws.

  “We have reached the ghost star and are positioned within striking distance of the tube opening,” said Dur. “What does my Lord Mohk command?”

  “Begin the bombardment and prepare all surviving strike teams for an assault if the Ruam boy does not surrender and come out on his own.”

  “All of them?” asked Dur, instantly regretting he’d inadvertently questioned a command. He was slipping. Miraculously, the Nell did not take offense.

  “The descent is extremely dangerous and nearly impossible. I’m sending them all as part of a numbers game. I need only one craft to make it through to the surface, and I intend to be on that craft. I shall lead the ground assault myself.”

  Dur raised an eyebrow. This was news.

  “And you will accompany me, Dur.”

  Bad news. “Thank you, my lord.”

  **

  The moment he and Eria completed their preflight checklist, Galen slipped on his earcups then grabbed the steerstick and eased the Lancer into Dob’s perpetually starlit sky. The control interface was remarkably similar to what he was used to in the battle sim.

  “Bartrice, activate,” said Eria.

  “Activated.”

  Galen was pleased. It had been Burr’s idea to switch out the Lancer’s personality mod. Her new designation was Lancer Bartrice.

  “Hello Galen,” said Lancer Bartrice. It was nice to hear his mother’s voice again—especially since he thought he’d lost her for good. “My, isn’t this a sleek craft? It’s going to take some getting used to.”

  “Hopefully not too long,” said Eria. “You’re going to be pressed into service shortly.”

  Eria did mean shortly. Burr had taken the pod up after earlies and reported the remnants of the Imperium taskforce was parked a short distance from the tube entrance, slightly beyond the boundary of Mael’s gravity well.

  “Of course,” said Lancer Bartrice.

  Galen took a deep breath and exhaled. “All right, let’s do this.” He eased the steerstick forward and shot toward the Dob end of the transit tube. “This thing moves!”

  “It does,” said Eria. “Burr, are you there?”

  “I am here. Wait. It’s begun. I’m picking up a large cluster of missiles near the tube entrance. Oh dear. A very large cluster.”

  “I’m on it,” said Galen. He shot toward the entrance of the plasma tube, a short distance outside of Dob’s atmosphere. The tube swirled in the vacuum of space, hanging there like an angry red eye.

  **

  On the Lingering Death, Lord Mohk watched as hundreds of missiles poured into the plasma tube. “Should soften them up a bit, eh Dur?”

  Dur watched several of the missiles explode near the entrance of the tube. Judging by the data from the probes already sent in, if any of them made it to the planet’s surface, that would be impressive. He kept this observation to himself. “Yes, my lord. It should.”

  **

  Quickly approaching the tube’s entrance, Galen pointed Lancer Bartrice’s nose toward its center.

  “You’re going in right away?” said Eria.

  “It feels like the right thing to do.”

  Burr’s voice crackled over the com. “Lord Galen is correct. The tube will absorb the explosive force of any missiles destroyed within its walls. Waiting until they enter the atmosphere will allow too much deadly energy to rain down on Dob.”

  “Got it. Here we go,” said Galen.

  The moment Lancer Bartrice entered the tube, Galen’s heart began to race, and slowtime kicked in. To the outside world, Lancer Bartrice frantically danced around the walls of the tube, barely missing the tongues and tendrils of plasma. To Galen, he hovered calmly, making gentle corrections when the need arose.

  “They’re coming,” said Eria.

  “Missile approach confirmed,” said Lancer Bartrice. “Approximately 372 in this cluster.”

  Eria snorted. “Approximately?”

  “The number of missiles is dropping rapidly due to collisions with wall plasma,” said Lancer Bartrice. “Current number of missiles is 247 . . . 210 . . . ”

  Galen could make out a small knot of incoming objects that looked more like a writhing ball of snakes than several hundred highly dangerous missiles. Their numbers were dropping dramatically, evidenced by numerous flashes as missiles on the outside of the cluster made contact with the tube’s walls.

  “Weapons online and fully functional,” said Eria.

  “As are propulsion and biosystems,” said Lancer Bartrice.

  For my family. For Nolo and Trem and Bartrice and Eria and Burr and Iden and Messel and all the Ruam, thought Galen. For everyone I love.

  Galen jammed the steerstick full forward and shot toward the approaching missile cluster. In real time, Lancer Bartrice reached the cluster in a fraction of a second, allowing Eria to target the missiles with an assortment of antimissiles and standard plasma bolts before they had a chance to dodge her attack. More than one hundred missiles detonated all at once.

  Lancer Bartrice emerged from the tail end of the now much smaller missile cluster. Galen flipped the sleek vessel in the tube and pursued them.

  “Shielding intact,” said Lancer Bartrice. “Eighty-eight missiles remaining.”

  “Not bad,” said Eria. “But even if only ten make it through, it’s a world of hurt for Dob.”

  Galen pushed Lancer Bartrice to her limits, pulling close enough to the missiles that he could see their plasma jets p
ushing them forward. Not built to defend themselves from attack, the missiles hung in space like fruit ripe for Eria’s picking. And pick she did—nailing the missiles one, two, or three at a time with bursts from the front plasma cannon. By the time the cluster and Lancer Bartrice emerged from the end of the tube, twelve missiles remained, moving so rapidly Eria was only able to destroy six more of them before the remainder slammed into the surface of Dob. Fortunately, the missiles were spread wide and distributed their destruction over a large area.

  Galen dropped out of slowtime. “Impressive, Eria.”

  “Thanks. It’s not easy keeping up with you when you’re bouncing around like that.”

  “Burr, report. Did they hit anything important?”

  The com crackled. “Another cluster of missiles has entered the far end of the tube. Even more than before. Many more.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The next round of incoming missiles was much worse than the first. Even though Eria knocked most of them out, several dozen got through and caused terrible damage on the surface of the planet. A number of villages were hit dead on, and Olor itself received two direct hits. Fortunately, since most of the population had been moved out into the surrounding countryside, the loss of life was mercifully low. Still, Galen grimaced at the reports of people dying. Each loss pinched off a small piece of his heart.

  When Burr reported the next wave of missiles had dropped into the tube, Galen decided drastic action was needed. “I’m going out to stop them before they reach the tube.”

  Bartrice, Eria, and Burr all exclaimed assorted versions of “What?” at the same time.

  “This isn’t going to work for much longer,” said Galen. “More and more of the missiles will get through, and more and more of us will die if I don’t find a way to end this. Besides, I don’t have endless power or ammo.”

  “He’s right,” said Eria. “They’ll keep pumping missiles into the tube until they’ve reduced the planet to rubble or Galen surrenders, and we know that’s not going to happen.”

  “No, it’s not,” said Galen fiercely.

  “I’m seeing something new on my scanners,” said Burr. “The fools are sending in troop carriers.”

  Silence filled the cockpit for a moment before Galen muttered, “That’s suicide.”

  “More like murder,” said Eria. “Mohk is truly evil.”

  The com crackled. “If they send enough of them, chances are some will make it through. All it takes is one carrier with a full complement of Imperium marines to conquer Dob.”

  “I’m going to try and knock out the remaining cruiser. That’s the only place the missiles can be coming from. Eria, would you like me to drop you off first?”

  “If you were in reach, I would smack you, nephew!”

  “I had to ask.”

  “You did not! That you would even think of depriving me of—”

  “Okay, okay! You’re coming!” said Galen. He took a deep breath. “Burr, please contact the surface and tell them to prepare for a ground invasion.”

  “Already done.”

  “Thank you. And Burr?”

  “My lord?”

  “It’s been an honor.”

  “Yes, Lord Bray, for me, too.”

  “Let’s try to take out as many of the incoming missiles and, I hate to say, troop carriers as we can on the way out,” said Galen.

  “Right,” Eria said. “I’ll drop some mines on this end. That should destroy some of them before they break through.

  “Good,” said Galen. “Drop the mines.”

  “Done.”

  Lancer Bartrice shot forward into the tube’s entrance and Galen dropped into slowtime. Within seconds, they were upon the next cluster of missiles. Eria took out quite a few of them with the plasma cannon, but many more made it past the Lancer.

  “Burr, incoming,” said Eria.

  “I’ll warn the surface.”

  Several moments passed in slowtime before Galen noticed a large number of flashes on his vidscreen. Eria’s mines were doing their thing, taking out many more of the missiles, but not all of them. It wasn’t going to be pleasant on Dob for the foreseeable future, and Galen worried about Trem. A deep anger grew in the pit of his stomach, threatening to cloud his thinking. That Nell must pay for all the pain he was causing. He will pay.

  Eria grimaced as a new set of images appeared on her vidscreen. “Bartrice?”

  “Troop carriers. Fifty of them.” They had to be stopped. All of them.

  “Bartrice, deploy countermeasures,” said Eria, again powering up Lancer Bartrice’s cannon.

  Slowtime or not, Galen would have only one pass on this grouping, and he had to make it count.

  “Countermeasures deployed.”

  Eria opened fire on the lead ships. Six of them vaporized in an instant. Seemingly caught off guard by having to worry about anything besides the lethal pulsating walls of the plasma tube, the carriers behind them swerved wildly, colliding violently with each other or the tube wall. Galen passed through the knot of carriers, and as he did, Eria did her best to take out the remaining ten with a lethal spray of boltfire.

  “Did we get them? Bartrice! Did we get them all?” yelled Eria.

  “Stand by,” said Lancer Bartrice. A long moment passed before she spoke again. “Hard to tell. There’s a lot of debris. Large chunks of spacecraft, bodies. I think we got them all, but I can’t be sure.”

  Galen scowled. He’d hoped she’d tell him all of the carriers had been wiped out, but he realized that was unrealistic. Let’s put a stop to all of this, he thought. He pressed on, pushing Lancer Bartrice to her maximum performance limits.

  A few moments later, he shot out the space side of the tube and dropped out of slowtime. The cold, lightless face of Mael glared at him from behind as he guided Lancer Bartrice away from the deadly gravity well.

  “Approaching main Nell Imperium battle group,” said Lancer Bartrice. “I count one Moon-class battle cruiser. It’s the Lingering Death, and it’s damaged.”

  Galen nodded. “Okay. Let’s get—”

  “Also, another cluster of more than one hundred missiles. Wait. Not missiles, arcships. One hundred and fifteen arcships, incoming on our position.”

  “Great,” said Galen.

  “What? You thought this was going to be easy?” said Eria.

  “No! Just . . . not as hard.” Galen gritted his teeth and pushed the steerstick forward. “Give it everything you’ve got, ladies.”

  “Right,” said Eria.

  “Acknowledged,” said Lancer Bartrice. “Captain Bray?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m proud of you. I know your father would have been, too.”

  A relatively long and decidedly awkward silence followed, broken only when distant flashes appeared ahead.

  “They’ve opened fire,” said Eria.

  Galen rolled his neck. “Here we go.”

  He waited until the arcs were uncomfortably close before returning their fire—a trick he’d learned from watching Nolo deal with pirate fleets. Less ammunition was wasted that way because the plasma bolts were more likely to hit something. “A smuggler has to conserve his firepower,” Nolo would say. I wish he was here now, thought Galen.

  Several of the arcs erupted in front of him, blasting a hole in the attack formation. Galen took full advantage of the opening and plunged Lancer Bartrice into it. Now it was Eria’s turn as she opened fire with the rear guns and launched a salvo of needlelike missiles into the cluster of retreating arcships. The resulting explosions created a pyrotechnic display similar to the kind seen on resort planets at closing time.

  “Nice,” said Galen.

  “If I had my Arrow here, you would see some real destruction,” said Eria. “Not that I’m bragging or anything. You’re doing a great job, Galen.”

  “Thanks.”

  “The Imperium fighters are regrouping and have begun pursuit,” reported Lancer Bartrice.

  The Lingering Death grew eve
r larger, filling the viewplates as Lancer Bartrice raced toward it.

  “What now?” said Eria, firing off plasma bolts and needles at the pursuing arcships.

  “Don’t know. To tell you the truth, I hadn’t thought I would get this far,” said Galen. “I don’t suppose they’d fall for the old get-them-too-close-to-Mael-so-they’re-sucked-in trick, do you?”

  Eria laughed. “No, I don’t suppose they would.”

  Galen squinted at the massive vessel before them. A strange sparkling stream trailed behind it. “That’s weird.”

  “What is?” said Eria, glancing up from her weapons display. “Oh, that is weird. Some kind of gas?”

  “The vessel is venting fuel from one of its rear engines,” said Lancer Bartrice.

  “Why would they do that?” said Galen.

  “It is my guess the engine was damaged during the encounter with the gas giant that crushed its sister ship,” said Lancer Bartrice.

  Galen shook his head. “They tripped all the way here with a fuel leak? That’s insane!”

  “That’s Mohk,” said Eria.

  “Magnifying.” Lancer Bartrice zoomed in on the Lingering Death’s gigantic rear engine array. An assortment of repair craft and bots hovered around a sizable rupture in the vessel’s stern. A steady torrent of sparkling fuel poured out of the crack in the ship’s skin. The small army of bots clinging to the Lingering Death’s exterior were attempting a repair with a large armor plate. “They’re trying to fix it,” said Galen, hope rising in his chest. “Using a mag plate.”

  “So?” said Eria.

  “No vacuum welding, see? No flame.”

  “Ohhhh!”

  Lancer Bartrice shuddered violently when a missile exploded behind them.

  “Snat!” said Eria, bringing up the munitions inventory on her vidscreen. Toward the bottom of the mostly empty list was a single nuke-level explosive device. “Oh, yes. That will do nicely. Get me over there.”

  Galen zeroed in on the fuel-venting engine. He brought Lancer Bartrice closer, and the portside batteries of the damaged ship dutifully opened fire. Galen dodged it the best he could, but the defensive fire repeatedly came close to taking out the nimble Lancer Bartrice altogether. The exploding ordnance buffeted them around like a hover kite.