Ghost Star

by Roger Eschbacher

  “Something tells me they don’t want to play,” murmured Eria.

  Galen grunted. I wonder why?

  A direct hit from an Imp boltfire battery temporarily blinded Galen, ghosting his vision with a bright flash that almost knocked Lancer Bartrice out of commission. Every electronic system on the ship briefly flashed off, and the engine cycled down before, thankfully, everything came back online again.

  “We can’t take any more hits,” said Lancer Bartrice, who sounded groggy.

  “I hear you,” said Galen. “We’re almost there.”

  He guided Lancer Bartrice under the massive battle cruiser, hugging the vessel’s hull. The arcs mirrored his flight path and kept up their relentless assault from behind.

  Galen pulled up hard, following the curve of the hull as it transitioned from keel to broadside. “Ready, Eria?”

  “You have no idea how ready I am.”

  Galen broke free of the Lingering Death’s hull and did a barrel roll directly over the venting fuel. “Now!” shouted Galen.

  Eria calmly slid her finger over the weapons vidscreen, and a small egglike package, no bigger than a bandyball, shot out from one of the gun ports and made a graceful, tumbling arc toward the Lingering Death.

  “Enjoy, my Lord Mohk,” said Eria.

  Galen banked violently and leaned on the throttle, knowing he had only a few brief moments to put as much distance as possible between them and the biggest time bomb in the Rex Cloud.

  A horrific flash filled the cockpit, and then, for Galen, there was nothing at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Darkness and silence.

  Then an irritating buzzing in Galen’s ears. He tried to shoo away whatever creature was flying around his head, but his hand only made contact with something hard.

  That wasn’t right. Buzzing creatures weren’t supposed to be sticking to the side of his head like earcups.

  Earcups!

  Galen’s eyes flashed open as he sat up. Am I alive? Stupid question, of course he was. What happened? Better question. The Lingering Death had happened. Galen punched at the surrounding control surfaces, but none of the visual displays worked. He craned his neck to get a look out of Lancer Bartrice’s small viewplates, but he didn’t see any sign of the Imp vessel. Or any of her arcships or other support vessels either. All he could see was the riotous light of the star field and the malicious stare of Mael. It was as though, with the exception of Lancer Bartrice and her occupants, the area had been wiped clean of any evidence of Imperium existence.

  A throaty groan came from behind him. Galen unbuckled and floated back to Eria. “Are you okay?”

  “Do I look like I’m okay?” croaked Eria.

  “How bad are you?”

  “I’m okay,” she said with a grin. “What happened? Did we get the ship?”

  “I think so. And everything else, too. At least, nothing’s attacking us right now, which is a good thing, because Bartrice is totally out of it.”

  Eria unbuckled her harness and leaned forward. “Ow!” she said, massaging her temples.

  “Now you know how I feel. This is the third time I’ve been knocked out this standard.”

  “Let’s see what I can do.” Eria slipped out of her flight chair and squeezed into the small maintenance area toward the middle of Lancer Bartrice. Galen watched her pull off a few panels and let them float.

  “You know how to fix this stuff?”

  “Pretty much. When you’re a crew of one, you learn how to keep your ship moving,” said Eria. “I’ve overhauled the Arrow all by myself at least three or four times.”

  “When all of this is over, teach me to do it, too. Fix things, I mean.”

  “It’s a deal. Ah, here we go.” After a loud click, Lancer Bartrice came back to life, all systems powering up.

  “Bartrice, you there? Bartrice, activate. Bartrice?” Galen’s voice grew more strained. “Bartrice! Mom, say something!”

  “I’m here.”

  Galen closed his eyes in relief. “Good.”

  “Stand by,” said Lancer Bartrice. “Incoming transmission.” The com crackled, and the cabin was filled with a loud hissing noise. “Sorry. Adjusting.”

  A familiar voice came through. It was Burr, and he didn’t sound too good.

  “Lord Bray! Come in. Come in, please,” said Burr in an urgent tone.

  “Relax, Burr, we made it. We survived!”

  “Oh thank goodness! I’d almost given up hope.”

  “Thanks to some fancy flying by my nephew, Mohk and the remainder of his fleet were completely destroyed.”

  “Almost completely,” said Burr with a hushed sense of urgency. “Two troop carriers and several arcships made it through.”

  Galen sat in stunned silence. As impossible as it was for them to have somehow survived the battle with Mohk’s attack fleet, this seemed even more so. Nothing else survived a journey through the treacherous length of the tube. Only he did.

  “Sheer numbers, I suppose,” said Burr, as if reading Galen’s thoughts. “They’ve landed on the outskirts of Olor.”

  “Where are you, old man?” said Eria.

  “I’m still in the pod, near the tube’s entrance. They haven’t spotted me yet, or if they have, they’re ignoring me.”

  Galen took a deep breath. “Power up, Bartrice, we’ve got to get down there.”

  **

  On the planet’s surface, the two troop carriers sat in a rolling meadow on the outskirts of Olor. Overhead, arcships screamed by and systematically took out tiny clusters of Ruam who shot at them with small arms. It was a brave and futile effort by a few artisans who had ignored the mayor’s orders and suited up. Ridiculously outmatched, they were taken out by lethal bursts from the arcships’ plasma cannons. When all resistance had been quieted, the outvac double doors on the front of each carrier opened. Imp marines poured out and set up a defensive perimeter around the vessels. After a moment, Lord Mohk descended the ramp and stopped when his feet touched Dob’s soil. Looking up, he took in the chaotic starlit sky, which almost obscured Mael’s wicked scowl.

  “Impressive,” said Mohk. “Captain?”

  An Imp officer snapped to attention. “My lord!”

  “Take the town with one of your platoons. Kill anyone who resists.”

  “Sir.”

  **

  Galen pushed Lancer Bartrice as hard as he dared considering the tube was full of debris from destroyed missiles and assault craft. Even in slowtime, he had to be vigilant to avoid the large chunks of spacecraft . . . and the bodies. An armored corpse could do quite a bit of damage to Lancer Bartrice if he wasn’t careful.

  Such waste, he thought. That stupid Nell couldn’t have cared less how many of his fighters died.

  Lancer Bartrice shot out of the Dob end of the tube, and two of the six surviving arcships jumped on her. Here in inner space, Galen was at a disadvantage to the more experienced Imperium pilots, who opened fire on him with gusto. One of them pulled behind Lancer Bartrice and poured boltfire into her stern. She bucked and rattled with each hit but kept going.

  “A little help, Eria,” shouted Galen.

  “I’m working on it!”

  She powered up the rear battery and returned fire. The arc pilots were experienced enough to know better than to keep traveling in a straight line. They danced and zigzagged behind Lancer Bartrice, pouring in volleys of boltfire whenever their flight path crossed directly behind Galen’s ship.

  Galen did his best to outfly his pursuers and provide them with as hard a target to hit as possible. Still, impact after impact rattled Lancer Bartrice.

  “These guys are good!” said Eria, who was working up a sweat.

  “That’s nice to hear. How about less praise for the Imps and more effort getting them off my tail?”

  “Uh-huh. How about shutting up and actually flying this thing?”

  One of the arcs crossed into the boltfire stream of Eria’s guns and vaporized.

  “Oh, ni
ce,” said Eria. “I think I’m getting the hang of this.”

  “Four additional vessels detected,” said Lancer Bartrice. “They are moving to intercept our position from the port side.”

  Galen looked to his left. The surviving arcships opened fire. “Snat,” he muttered.

  The tight cluster of boltfire hit Lancer Bartrice like a string of heavy boulders dropped from a great height. She shuddered violently, and Galen gripped the steerstick as tightly as he could to keep her on a straight path.

  “How are our shields?”

  Eria grumbled. “What shields?”

  The steerstick fought him. It felt like it had been jammed into a barrel of zipa honey tar.

  “Bartrice, what’s up with the steering?”

  “My steering system has lost all power assist capabilities,” said Lancer Bartrice. “You are flying on manual now.”

  “My guns are dead. No ammo,” said Eria. “They’re coming around!”

  The arcs joined together in attack formation and looped around for another run at Lancer Bartrice.

  Galen scowled. “Everyone, I don’t know what else to say other than it’s been nice knowing you.”

  “What a stupid way to go,” said Eria, slumping back into her flight seat.

  Then, miraculously, the five arcships broke off their attack. Four of the five tore off in the general direction of the tube, while the fifth pulled alongside Lancer Bartrice. The Imp pilot pointed grimly toward the planet’s surface.

  “He wants me to land.”

  Eria exhaled. “Ya think?”

  **

  Down on the planet, Dur snapped his handheld closed.

  “My lord, the arcships have ceased attacking the Ruam vessel,” said Dur.

  “Idiots. It wouldn’t do any good to kill our one way out of here, would it?” said Mohk.

  “No, my lord. Also, there’s a cluster of some thirty utility bots approaching rapidly from the direction of the town.”

  “Utility bots?”

  “Yes, my lord. I’ll dispose of them.” Dur reopened his handheld, entered a code, and waited.

  A screech filled the air, and soon a tight knot of utility hover bots could be seen racing toward the Imp transports. Dur waited until they were within several hundred feet before tapping the touchscreen, unleashing a directional electromagnetic pulse that instantly deactivated the bots and sent them crashing into the meadow. Two of the bots, one covered with metalloceramic armor and another sporting gold and white tassels, skidded and rolled across the meadow until they came to a stop only a few feet from Lord Mohk himself. “So much for a respectable planetary defense,” he sniffed.

  **

  Within the cramped space of the observation pod, Burr watched helplessly as events unfolded on the surface. An alarm flashed on a vidscreen, and a persistent beeping filled the cabin. They’ve found me. Burr magnified the screen and zoomed in on the four arcships screaming toward him. The pod was nearly helpless, but not completely. Burr flicked a switch, and a single Ruam drone slid out from the pod’s exoskeleton. Only have to get one. He leaned back in his seat and opened the com. “Lord Bray. Come in, Lord Bray.”

  On Lancer Bartrice, Galen looked at the speaker in utter shock. “Stop talking! They’ll—”

  “They’ve already found me.”

  “Then surrender and follow them down to the planet. That’s what I’m doing.”

  “And it is correct you are doing so. It will buy you time. I cannot, will not surrender to the Imperium. It has been an honor knowing you, Galen. I am sorry we could not have spent more time together.” He entered a few quick commands into the drone. “Continue the fight. Never surrender our people. Never.” Burr switched off the com and launched the drone, watching it scream toward the arcs. “Only one,” he said quietly.

  Instinctively the arcships opened fire on the drone and the pod. The drone was able to avoid the bolts; the pod could not. Burr, the oldest of the Ruam and their greatest scientist, fell to the surface of his beloved planet in a white-hot fireball of vaporizing metal.

  “No!” screamed Galen.

  The drone tore past the arcships and banked hard toward the surface of Dob. Galen watched as the arc pilots, confused at first, tore off after it once they figured out what was going on. The drone had targeted something on the surface. Frantic warnings broadcast to the Imperium troops sent all of them scrambling like a stepped-on nest of crats. Many, but not all of them, cleared the landing site before the drone slammed into it, completely destroying one of the carriers and damaging the other.

  **

  Stumbling out of the wreckage of the damaged vessel, Lord Mohk looked up and laughed. “Well done! Finally, someone who knows how to fight back! Dur!”

  Dur scrambled out of a nearby ditch. “My lord?”

  “Bring me the one responsible for almost killing me. I wish to sever his head myself!”

  “An honor, my lord,” said Dur, hurriedly working his handheld. “However, it appears his vessel was destroyed.”

  Mohk clenched his teeth. “All I ask is that they let me do the important kills.”

  Lord Mohk stood absolutely still for the longest time. With each blink that passed, Dur and the others around him grew more nervous—none of them daring to speak for fear of triggering the Nell’s rage. As it was, this could go either way: the petulant killing of a bystander or nothing at all. So when Lord Mohk kicked at a clump of grass, a visible wave of relief swept through all Imperium personnel in the immediate area.

  “I can’t afford to lose any more of my troops, Dur,” said Mohk. “Although a disciplinary killing would greatly improve my mood.”

  “Very wise, my lord,” said Dur, carefully avoiding the Nell’s gaze. “Such is the burden of command.”

  “True, Dur,” said the Nell lord, turning to look at his underling. “You’re surprisingly intelligent. For your kind.”

  Dur bowed deeply, still not daring to make eye contact. A statement like that could be dangerous. A compliment from a Nell could either be just that, a compliment, or a threat assessment that could lead to death. “Thank you, my lord.”

  Lancer Bartrice and its arcship escort landed nearby in the meadow and were surrounded by Imps. The canopy lifted, and two Terran marines roughly lifted Galen and Eria to their feet.

  “Easy!” commanded the arc pilot. “These warriors deserve our respect.”

  Eria shrugged them off while Galen stared at the ground, paying them no mind. “He’s dead, Eria,” murmured Galen. “I can’t believe he’s dead.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Galen, his knees pulled up to his chest and his face buried in his arms, sat on a hillock overlooking the meadow. Eria sat next to him, her arm around his shoulder. “He died an honorable death,” she said.

  “I know.”

  She laughed, briefly drawing the attention of two gruff-looking marines standing guard nearby. “Leave it to old Burr to be the one who almost kills Mohk.”

  “Yeah.”

  Eria idly scanned the meadow. “The ground is littered with utility—Hex!”

  Galen lifted his head and squinted in the direction Eria was looking. “Where?”

  “On the ground near the transports.”

  “I see him. They must’ve tried a charge.”

  “Something else. Mohk appears to be the only Nell who made it to the surface. I’ve been watching. Just Terrans.”

  Galen followed his aunt’s gaze down to the transports. She was right. Everyone around Mohk was easily a head or so smaller than their Nell master, even the marines. A squad of Imps approached from the direction of Olor, herding a column of the town’s elites. The mayor, Trem, Messel, and Iden headed up the line.

  Eria leaned closer. “I suggest you put your mourning on hold for a bit.”

  Galen scowled. “Why?”

  “This is not going to end well. If I know my Nell customs, he has to kill at least one prominent local to establish his dominance. Since he can’t kill you—”
r />   Galen’s heart sank deeper back into the pit of his stomach.

  “What are you going to do?” whispered Eria.

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you, Lord Galen Bray, leader of the Ruam remnant.”

  “Why do I have to be the leader? You’re older than me.”

  “You’re Nolo’s heir. You’re their leader.”

  Galen turned Eria’s words over in his head. She was right. It’s up to me to do something, but what? There would be no reasoning with Lord Mohk. The deadly Nell understood only one rule: he needed complete and absolute dominance over his enemy. In this case, the route to that was raw power exercised through personal combat. That’s it, then.

  **

  A short time after requesting a parlay with Mohk, Galen Bray, leader of the Ruam remnant, was completely unsurprised to hear himself say, “Lord Mohk, as the leader of my people, I challenge you to personal combat.”

  “No!” screamed Trem, struggling to escape the grasp of one of the guards. “You can’t! I want to kill him!”

  “Quiet, Trem.”

  The Nell stared at Galen for a long moment before croaking in a manner Galen guessed stood for laughter in his people.

  It seemed a good minute had passed before Lord Mohk finally stopped laughing and caught his breath. It’s not that absurd of a challenge, thought Galen, now peeved.

  “Of course I’ll fight you, boy,” said Mohk.

  A look of alarm spread across Dur’s face. “My lord, if you kill him, how will we be able to leave this place?”

  Mohk glanced at Dur. “If?”

  “I meant when, my Lord Mohk,” said Dur, bowing even lower than before. “A careless choice of words on my part. That he will die by your foreclaw is an absolute certainty.”

  Mohk stared at Dur for what seemed like an eternity before slowly turning back toward Galen. “The fool does have a point. I need your parlor trick to get me off this rock and back to the Imperium. It will be quite a difficult task for a headless corpse to pull off, don’t you think? And speaking of parlor tricks, how do I know you won’t turn into one of those beasts as your father did?”