The Fifth Column Boxed Set

by J. N. Chaney

  Perfect, I thought.

  Everything went smoothly until the second to last S.G. point. The Junos system lacked any major planets or outposts. Nothing there had been worth the time and expense required to create or keep them up.

  Alarms sounded through the ship when the tear opened. On the other side, a nightmare awaited in the form of a giant of a ship and small force of fighters.

  “Ravagers!” Calliope hissed.

  16

  “Son of a bitch,” I growled from the captain’s chair. “We don’t have the time for this.”

  “Or the firepower,” Farah commented grimly.

  Every single one of the boats was currently aiming their weapons directly at the tear we’d just vacated. It closed behind us and I could almost see the confusion when the Genesis didn’t show up on their displays.

  I silently thanked the gods that the cloak allowed us to travel unseen in slip tunnels. “V, talk to me.”

  “The Ravager vessels are probing this area,” she advised. “I believe they may detect our energy signature soon if we do not move.”

  “It’s always something,” I muttered.

  “Are they here for us?” Calliope asked.

  I shook my head. “Doubt it. More likely they were just waiting for someone to come through. It’s pretty common. Once they get someone, they usually move on in case the victims got a distress call out or a patrol comes out.”

  Ravagers were the bane of the known universe. Dirty, crude, and ruthless, their only goal was to take what everyone else had. They did that through brute strength and violence.

  The ships in front of us hardly deserved to be called such, what with their claptrap hulls and mismatching guns. It would be a grave mistake to underestimate them though.

  I’d seen Ravager fleets—if you could call them that—take out sleek Union ships and Sarkonian crafts alike. Formations and tactical planning were not part of their repertoire of skills. No, they achieved this by making modifications to their weapons. Highly illegal modifications that went against the Androsia Convention.

  One of their favorite attacks involved shooting debris filled projectiles into the hulls of their victims. These had a devastating impact. Not only did they vent the ships, but any person within range of the explosive was torn apart by the shrapnel.

  Rudimentary but effective.

  “Mack, any bright ideas?” Farah whispered, as though the enemy might hear her.

  The hacker studied the holo display and incoming readings, then looked up. “Yeah. Drop power as low as we can and still move.”

  “Do it, V,” I commanded.

  “We have to treat them like a minefield,” Mack advised. “Maneuver around them. Carefully, though. If we get too close their shields will alarm. “

  “Wonderful. Everyone buckle up. If something happens and we lose grav or have to book it I don’t want anyone getting thrown,” I warned.

  “What happens if they catch us?” Calliope wondered aloud.

  “We’re dead,” Farah answered, casting a grave look my way.

  I returned it.

  Since the enemy’s ships were coalesced around where the tear opened, it was impossible to go around them without going through some of them. The problem with that was they were in constant flux, probably looking for whatever had caused the tear to open.

  Whether they suspected a cloaked ship or not, I couldn’t say. It was just dumb luck that they happened to be at this S.G. point at this time.

  Winding our way through them took painstaking movements. An adjustment here, slight tilt of the controls there. It reminded me of the debris field surrounding Safe Haven, and I almost asked Calliope to take over.

  The stakes were a little higher this time though, and she looked more than a little nervous. Her hands gripped the harness tightly and her rounded eyes stayed fixed on the holo display.

  It occurred to me that she’d probably never seen ravagers up close. Even doing time in the military didn’t guarantee an encounter. I’d served for almost a decade and had only fought or come across them a handful of times.

  Once had been a full-scale battle and a rare instance where the Union and Sarkonians teamed up to defeat their common enemy. Another, less violent, brush happened when our unit was coming back from an op in Union territory.

  We had no cloak at the time, this being before the Second Genesis—then called the Dreadnight—came to us. The lower grade vessel barely got us out of there before all hell broke loose.

  The only thing that saved us was that the ravagers’ attention was split when a Union patrol showed up. The poor bastards were heavily outgunned and their shinier ship promised better loot than ours.

  Navari had forbidden us from sending a distress beacon for someone to come pick them up since we couldn’t very well explain our reason for being in their territory without giving ourselves away. The ravagers weren’t known for mercy and I knew the soldiers in the patrol boat had suffered.

  I tried not to think about that now with more than two dozen of the bloodthirsty assholes so close.

  “Almost through,” I murmured, keeping my hands light on the controls. “Just the big guy now.”

  I edged away, putting as much distance between our ship and their behemoth as I could.

  “Gods,” Mack said under her breath as we passed close enough for it to show up both on the display and the window.

  It wasn’t quite as big as a Union carrier or even the Ambiana, but size only made up one scary thing about it. The entire vessel had been outfitted with massive spikes sticking out at odd angles. They could easily tear through a smaller, less robust vessel.

  “What are those?” Calliope asked, motioning at the ship.

  At first, I thought she meant the spikes, but when I zoomed in on the external cam it became clear.

  Farah’s sharp intake of breath told me she saw it too.

  “Corpses,” I said darkly.

  Hundreds, maybe thousands, of bodies adorned the exterior. Some still had meat on them, their frames crystalized. Others were just skeletons. Ravagers were rumored to be cannibals, and I wondered if the skeletons had been stripped for consumption.

  It was a grisly scene and none of us could stop staring. Which was probably why I missed the second cluster of ships hidden behind it and nearly clipped one when we came around the stern.

  I might as well have. Our proximity sensors went off, so theirs must have as well. The shields gave off a slight rumble as a precursor warning that we’d gotten too close.

  I held my breath waiting to see what the enemy would do. It didn’t take long to find out. They may not have known exactly where we were, but they started shooting anyway.

  “Full power, V! The sensors must have told them where to aim,” I grunted, jerking the controls to bring us out of the line of fire.

  The Genesis responded almost as soon as the words were out of my mouth, but we were in big trouble.

  The group hanging out near the tear had turned around and were now making their way toward our position, firing in a sweeping line to try and catch us.

  “Hold on!” I shouted, dipping our nose down and sending us into a dive.

  To anyone not paying attention it would have worked. Unfortunately, the move, while a good one, left behind a trail of fuel exhaust. The ravagers might not be able to see us, but if they knew what to look for and the general direction in which to find it…

  Of course, they did.

  Farah began activating the guns and preparing to shoot back, but it was hopeless. We might manage to take out a few before we went down, but winning? Out of the question. Our only chance was to run.

  “V, how far to the nearest S.G. point?” I barked, narrowly avoiding another stream of fire.

  “Approximately four standard hours. I’ve marked the route, though I do not advise taking it. It is almost assured that the combatants will follow.”

  “What about in the other direction?” I asked, a plan taking root.

  “Twe
nty standard hours,” Vega replied.

  Less than ideal but I had to try.

  I shot the Genesis forward, opening up the engines until they roared from the strain. The force pushed us back into our chairs and I struggled to keep the controls pushed away from me.

  “What… are… you… doing?” Farah asked, fighting against the massive pressure and forcing the words out one at a time.

  I didn’t answer, continuing the hard burn for the next five minutes. The ravagers gave chase but had fallen behind.

  It just might be enough time. I hoped.

  “You did it,” Cal said breathily. “Why are we changing course?”

  “Trust me,” I said. “V, low power again. Just leave me enough to maneuver.”

  “Yes, Captain. Initiating low power now,” Vega replied.

  The bridge was plunged into semi-dark and I directed us down into the galaxy’s slowest dive.

  “I don’t understand,” Calliope whispered.

  Farah answered for me. “We couldn’t keep that pace up. You felt that pressure in your head, right?”

  Calliope nodded, still looking perplexed. The girls face was flushed from the intense speed we’d been going and her eyes had a glazed over shimmer.

  “After too long you would’ve had a brain bleed. Or we would have burned through all the fuel way before the S.G. point,” Farah explained.

  Mack understood first. “Oh! You gave them a trail in the most likely direction. Once they pass over, we can backtrack and go to the other tunnel.”

  I sucked in a breath and stopped moving as the fleet started to creep up on us again. “Yeah. Let’s just hope I’m far enough underneath them and it works.”

  The bridge went silent as the ravager fleet approached. I’d put a fair amount of distance between the dive point and our current position. Enough that we had to watch them on the display instead of out the window.

  I found myself barely breathing as one by one each of the ships kept going, rocketing in the closer slip tunnel’s direction. The warship moved slower and seemed to lumber like a giant, though it was still booking it to keep from falling behind. The tension in my chest and shallow breathing prolonged each moment until every second seemed to stretch into a minute. In reality, the entire gamut of ravagers only took a few seconds to pass by, then it was over.

  “V, scan for stragglers,” I ordered. “I don’t want to be fooled again.”

  “Working. No lingering vessels in the vicinity, Captain,” she informed me.

  Releasing a sigh of relief, I sat back, suddenly drained. The whole ordeal had lasted less than an hour, but I felt as though I’d just run the obstacle course at precursor training.

  “Well freaking done,” Mack commended me.

  “Seriously, that was brilliant!” Calliope mimed applause.

  Farah grinned. “This is going to be one of those things you see in the vids.”

  “What things?” I asked, confused.

  “You know, where we find ourselves in another tight spot, then look at each other,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows like that would make me understand what she meant. She rolled her eyes. “One of us will smile and go ‘remember Junos?’, then the other will know what we need to do.”

  Come to think of it, I did remember seeing something like that in one of the action holos I liked.

  I laughed. “Gods, I hope to hell not. If we need to do this again that means we’re in deep crap.”

  “But if we ever are, we’ll know how to handle it,” she touted, holding up one finger and tilting her head a little.

  “Alright, alright. This just put us behind schedule, so I need to let Dunham know,” I said, grimacing slightly.

  Instead of calling, I sent the transmission using a text. Her response came a few minutes later. Short and to the point, the answer consisted of one word.

  “Copy,” I read aloud, then looked up at my crew. “That’s all it says. Guess we’re still on.”

  “What now?” asked Calliope. Her color was back to normal and, to my relief, she looked much more alert.

  “Now we’re going to keep them on the scanner. Once they get to the tear we’re going to head for the other tunnel. By then it will be too late for them to catch us, so we’ll be in the clear.” I tilted a glance at the control display and tried not to wince. “If we don’t run out of fuel before we get to Acutus, that is.”

  Mack checked the reading and ran some calculations through Vega. “There. We should make it if we take it easy on the way to the next gap. Just let her coast every now and again.”

  “Let’s just hope we don’t run into any more trouble,” Farah remarked.

  “No kidding,” Mack replied wryly.

  I chuckled at that. “Heck of a first mission you chose to join us on, eh?”

  17

  Every place had their thing. Neblinar was a sanctuary for those who needed it. Taurus station was large enough to maintain a population and run a travel stop. Leah catered to the hedonistic with its late-night patrons and seedy surface.

  Acutus specialized in speed and efficiency. No queue 98 long here. The dock master asked our business and scheduled us accordingly with one hour to complete any extracurricular activities. It didn’t take long to see that there really weren’t any to speak of.

  Besides restrooms, a restaurant with exactly three choices each for food and drinks and no place to sit, and a gift shop with cheesy souvenirs proclaiming, “I went to the galaxy’s smallest waystation”, the place was bare.

  Well, except for the motel. But even that was reserved for workers and those patrons who received approval from the dock master.

  The station was too small to accommodate traditional docking. Instead, Acutus completed all services in free space and provided a shuttle to the main installation.

  Farah and I had left Mack and Calliope to deal with that while we fetched the two Initiative soldiers.

  “So much for stretching my legs,” Farah complained. “I’m pretty sure there’s more room on the ship. Hey, I think those might be our guys.”

  I looked in the direction she indicated and had to stop myself from pulling a face. The two men were unshaven, wore dirty jumpsuits, and had unkempt hair. I could practically smell them, and they were at least fifteen meters away.

  “They don’t strike me as soldiers,” I said. “They look like freight haulers.”

  Freight haulers had a reputation throughout the universe for being foul and grungy. The kind of people that frequented places like Leah to fulfill their fetishes. Men far outweighed the women, who most everybody referred to as “Berthas,” though they shared the same stereotypes.

  “Yeah, but I don’t see anyone else,” Farah asserted. “Maybe they’re blending in? We should at least check.”

  Resigned, I crossed the small platform to reach them. When the first one noticed us, he elbowed his friend and jerked a chin in our direction.

  Dunham had given me a code to use so we could tell that we had the right people, so I led with that.

  “Did you guys hire a ride?” As soon as the words left my lips, I knew it was a mistake.

  Both men perked up and their eyes roved over me and Farah in an obtrusive leer. “Why, are you offering, little bit?”

  My fist curled at my side.

  “Sorry, wrong clients,” Farah said, dragging me away.

  “We can be your clients!” one of the men called out suggestively.

  “That’s it,” I growled.

  “Not a good idea,” Farah whispered. “We’ll get kicked out, possibly before we get fuel or our passengers.”

  I glowered but relaxed. “Fine. Let’s find them and get the hell out of here.”

  “No argument here,” she replied, scanning the platform.

  We only waited for fifteen minutes before two tough looking types, one younger, one older, exited the motel. Between the close-cropped haircuts, rugged clothes, and the way they fell into step, it was impossible to mistake them for anything but military.
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  The older man’s eyes met mine and we exchanged the briefest of nods. It was a subtle thing, the soldier to soldier recognition of shared service, but it told me all I needed to know.

  “That’s more like it,” I said.

  Farah nodded when she saw where I was looking. “Definitely.”

  “This time you’re the one saying the code,” I told her.

  No way I would embarrass myself again. The whole code business was stupid to begin with and something they only did in spy holos.

  “Guess I deserve that,” Farah allowed.

  The soldiers had already noticed us and were waiting for us to reach them before offering a curt nod when Farah repeated the phrase.

  “Yes. Pick up for two,” the older man replied.

  I jerked a thumb toward the shuttle after checking my wrist unit. “Next one leaves in five minutes.”

  We didn’t speak again until the shuttle deposited us back to the Genesis. I introduced myself and Farah, then the rest of the crew.

  “Oh, we know who you two are,” the younger grunt said excitedly, motioning to me and Farah. “You were all over the news and gal-net not too long ago. You’re both something of a legend among the ranks. Name’s Aaron Tyndall. Sniper,” he added.

  From the fresh face and sprightly attitude, I pegged him to be a little older than Calliope, but not by much.

  The older man shot him an exasperated glance. “Stop fawning.” He held out a hand, first to Farah, then to me. “Sorry about that. Kid likes to talk but he’s a helluva shot. I’m Lieutenant Paul Tyndall.”

  “You’re related?” Calliope asked, interest lighting her yes.

  He smiled at my raised eyebrow. Family members didn’t usually work this close together. For some reason the knowledge made me uncomfortable.

  “Yes. My son. Unconventional, I know, though this rebellion is anything but.” Tyndall clapped his son on the shoulder proudly in a show of affection rare for most Sarkonians. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t worry, when it’s time to work we’re all business.”

  The break from the social norm spoke volumes about their relationship and cultural shift. Things were changing, I could feel it.