by James Thomas
Their vessel took several more hits, making matters instantly worse, shaking the cabin and completely decloaking the ship. However, as the vessel became visible, the salvo of shots stopped as they broke through the atmosphere. For the moment they were hidden, while Grax fighter remained in the reentry phase, giving them a temporary break.
As soon as their ship changed to full air-breathing mode, the engines failed, completely flaming out.
“Get them reignited,” said Joe to Sadar.
Sadar replied, “Do you have any experience with crashing? Because I think we are about to. There’s just too much damage from reentry and the Grax fighter.”
“That shouldn’t be a surprise. I stated that before,” said Augie externally. “We’re too damaged.”
“Augie, not now,” said Joe.
“Great, has he been giving you advice and you’re not taking it?” asked Sadar.
“Both of you stop it! I need to fly this bird manually and not debate humanity,” said Joe.
They were now in an ice storm, so even if they had propulsion, they could not see where to steer. The original plan was to scout out the area to find the entrance to the side of the mine. However, the situation was quickly becoming hopeless as they rapidly lost altitude while blind to the terrain below. They only knew that they were close to their planned ingress spot.
When the Grax fighter finally broke through the atmosphere, its speed was much greater than Joe’s ship. It caused the fighter to rapidly fly past, momentarily allowing them to see it through the storm.
Joe pulled the nose up, bleeding off precious airspeed, and fired. The Grax ship took a direct hit to its engines, causing them to immediately fail and the fighter to veer away. It disappeared into the snowstorm. Moments later a flash of yellow color lit up the storm and then vanished just as quickly.
“That could be one of two things.” Joe again sounded worried. He seemed focused, leaning closer to the windscreen then suddenly banked the ship hard to the left as the wall of rock from the side of a mountain started to fill the windscreen. The sudden force of gravity of the ship’s turn pulled them back into their seats. Joe’s vision started to narrow, but he continued to hold the tight turn. The rock slowly pulled back from his view.
“Mark that one off as another close call,” said Joe. “Now, we don’t have a lot of time. We need to suit up in the cold weather gear because those two maneuvers just cost us a lot of altitude. Who knows where the next mountain tops are?” He leaned over, grabbing one of three suits. Joe then tossed it to Robert. “Your word, Robert!” he reminded him. “We don’t have long to get suited up. A hundred micro-cycles at the best, so hurry. We’ll freeze without these.”
Blinded by the snowstorm, Joe had to keep the nose pushed over to maintain enough speed to keep flying. The ship was falling fast, and he had no clue what lay below or how much time they had. With a glimpse of a sheer slope on the mountain’s side, Joe surmised they still had some altitude. Joe slowed to the minimum maneuvering speed, hopefully buying them some more time.
Sadar and Joe each took a suit for themselves. It only took a few micro-cycles to don the suits since both had previously worn them on Huldra. Robert struggled a little, but Sadar was already helping him.
“We don’t have anymore time, Sadar. Ready?” said Joe as he inhaled deeply.
“I don’t like back up plans, but you’re right. Slamming into the side of a mountain or smashing into the ground is out of the question,” said Sadar. “In tight,” he added before also inhaling deeply.
“What?” asked Robert. “Why tight? Are we going to crash?
“No time, ejecting,” hollered Joe as he pulled the command ejection handle.
Robert’s scream was immediately drowned out by the sound of four explosive charges separating the cockpit from the main ship, then from the blast of the wind stream hitting the escape capsule. A barricade had dropped behind Robert’s chair just inches away from his head as they ejected, sealing the cockpit tightly.
As the noises from the ejection faded, Robert’s screams became audible. He sounded like an upset toddler.
“Robert, stop your yelling,” shouted Joe. “We made it.”
“But we’re still falling,” cried Robert. “There’s no parachute . . . is there?”
“Nah, soft snow will break our fall,” teased Joe before leaning over and asking Sadar, “Please, tell me there’s something to stop us!”
“Yes,” Sadar answered before turning back toward Robert. “We have thrusters that will slow and steer us to our preplanned point, as best as the system’s computer can without our main engines. Though, it might be a rough landing. Take a deep breath, Robert. We’re going to survive this.”
Robert moaned and forced himself to take deep breaths.
The thrusters started to fire a little on one side, then another, before increasing all around the capsule in a random pattern. Red flames partially filled the windscreen as the capsule slowed and turned to align itself. Each firing resulted in buffeting forces against the ship that jolted the cabin repeatedly. Finally, with a massive final firing of thrusters, the vessel came gently to a stop. However, the back thrusters remained on.
“Quick, we have a problem,” said Sadar as he unbuckled.
“Another problem!” mumbled Joe.
Robert moaned loudly.
“Just a precarious obstacle,” replied Sadar. That was one joke too many since Robert had become traumatized by stress of reentry and ejection. The capsule was balancing on a cliff’s edge and the thruster fuel gauges were flashing on empty.
“Hurry, we need to get out of this capsule,” directed Sadar.
Joe ripped at Robert’s seatbelt buckle, popping it open while Sadar pulled on the windscreen’s emergency handle. The entire window flipped forward, away from the capsule, before falling to the side and over the cliff’s edge.
“Climb forward and jump,” shouted Sadar over the cold weather suit’s comms. He knelt on one leg on the window ledge before using his other foot to leap forward and onto the cliff’s rocky edge. Sadar turned back toward the capsule. “Jump, you two, before it’s too late.”
Five of the fifteen remaining thrusters on the back of the capsule sputtered, then stopped. The capsule leaned back, causing loose items to fly past Joe, hitting Robert in the chest. Robert flailed in panic, knocking the items to the side as if they were hot coals. The capsule tipped, creating an ever-increasing upward angle at the exit point.
Robert did not move, so Joe grabbed one of his arms and dragged him to the opening. “Out,” ordered Joe.
Robert leaned forward but stopped, paralyzed by fear. The capsule tilted further as two more thrusters ran out of fuel. Joe held Robert’s arm tightly as the listing hull tried to pull them both back in. He leaped through the opening, landing on the mountain’s tiny ledge, but Robert was still halfway in the capsule.
The remaining eight thrusters were burning out one at a time as the rescue capsule’s fuel became depleted. The capsule dropped a half-meter down from the edge, pulling Robert with it. It repeatedly bounced up and down as the remaining thrusters tried to compensate. As Joe struggled to keep his grip on Robert, his arm strained downward, then jammed back into his body, matching the capsule’s motion. Joe reached for a better holding point to anchor himself on the ledge of the mountain, but instead found only loose rocks.
Joe held Robert’s arm as the capsule started to pull further away from the cliff’s edge with the last two persisting thrusters. Robert looked into Joe’s eyes as he realized Joe was not going to let him go, even at his own demise. The last two thrusters failed, one at a time and the ship fell.
15
INTO THE FIRE AGAIN
The goblet shattered into pieces against the bulkhead, covering the floor below in a mixture of glass shards and fragments. The selfsame act always made him feel better in what was more of a hopeless situation.
A maintenance panel opened to release several bots to clean up the broken pieces.
It did not take long for them to leave the area spotless and return to their earlier duties.
Admiral Pearson took several deep breaths before getting up from his stateroom chair. With the push of a button, he had a steady resupply of goblets from the replicator. However, it never was enough to help relieve the internal pain. As the new goblet appeared, he grasped it tightly, squeezing it in his hand, but this time he returned grip back to a normal grasp.
Instead of throwing it, he refilled it with a stiff drink. His sense of absolute frustration had withdrawn for the moment. He could not understand how two boys could escape from an entire squad of police officers. Enraged, the Admiral questioned how one person whose very existence could tie Bandor and the Tourians together and expose the his true ambitions had gotten away. Now all bets were off, and the list of his adversaries was growing.
The door to the Admiral’s Flag Stateroom onboard ISF Maiden opened with Captain Strata entering. His dark black skin was tight over well-defined cheekbones. He dressed in form-fitting ISF woodland camouflage fatigues, perfectly pressed, with the sleeves cuffed around his toned arms. His trousers tightly bloused over the top of his boots. Agitated, he quickly approached the Admiral, but he withdrew his anger inward
“Well, did you track him?” asked Admiral Pearson.
“Sir, that’s not all you asked me to do!” replied Captain Strata.
“Then…has it been done?” asked the Admiral disregarding Captain Strata’s assertion.
Captain Strata let out a deep breath.
“Well?” said the Admiral.
“Admiral, I . . .,” spoke Captain Strata pausing.
“You what!” the Admiral interjected forcefully.
“I don’t agree with destroying the ship,” added the captain.
“I didn’t ask you to destroy the ship. The boy is enough. Well, boys!” he said correcting himself. “Besides, don’t you believe in stopping traitors?” retorted the Admiral.
“They’re just boys . . .. Shouldn’t we have just captured the . . .,” spoke the Captain before he was interrupted.
“That’s funny. I thought you were in the military and not in a union,” said Admiral Pearson in annoyance. Unlike the Captain, the Admiral was not trying to hold his emotions inward. “—No! Our members don’t get to vote here. You have your orders.”
The door opened to let another officer enter. The officer walked straight to the Admiral before stopping at attention.
“Sir, I have a new report,” said Commander Johnson.
“Good, finally someone who has answers. Let’s have it Commander,” said the Admiral.
“Sir, the enemy vessel was tracked toward Planet Huldra, where we lost the signal,” reported Commander Johnson.
Admiral Pearson’s eyes drew inward, leading to a sigh, before he asked, “But not destroyed?”
Commander Johnson seemed a little taken back by the question, but he understood what was implied. He quickly adjusted. “Sir, it disappeared by itself. From atmospheric interference. But there’s more; one of the Graxs’ ships were disabled by a collision with the cloaked ship and the other one . . . well, it followed the cloaked ship into Huldra’s atmosphere. We first lost the Grax fighter signal, then we lost Officer Robert Duncan’s signal a little time afterward.”
“So, we can’t sense their cloaking technology?” queried the admiral. “And this officer’s signal?”
“No, Sir. When the ship is cloaked, we cannot sense it. Their cloaking technology is miniaturized and compared to ours, further advanced. Also, we have no assessment if they have the technology fleet-wide. However, our data is somewhat incomplete.”
“Somewhat?” asked Admiral Pearson.
“Yes, Sir, incomplete. We don’t know what they were up to,” said Commander Johnson, but he was lying. He was trying to cover Joe’s intentions as best as he could. He had once been Joe’s father’s Executive Officer before taking over the squadron as Don moved up in position. It was too dangerous for Johnson to go on the mission and not be noticed by the Admiral. Instead, due to his position as Admiral Pearson’s Flag Aid, he became the eyes and ears Don needed.
“This tracker on this officer, was it planted by our intel operatives?” asked Captain Strata.
“No, just pure luck. That rookie officer, Robert Duncan, disappeared in a chase after Devlin and the other boy. When the other officers checked his tracker, it was heading off planet Bandor. In turn, the police passed it to Intelligence, who were able to track Duncan by his locator. Due to its limited range, it was lost after they jumped into hyperspace.”
“And then?” asked Captain Strata.
“A straight-line . . . well . . . we assumed, at least initially,” replied Commander Johnson.
A new Intelligence Recruit had formed the idea. But before Johnson could intervene, the information had already been passed along. Instead, Johnson could only delay telling the Admiral until Joe was near Huldra.
“This other boy. Did the police know who he was?” asked the Admiral.
“No, Sir, he was listed as a person of interest and to be detained without identification or the usual police in-processing,” answered Commander Johnson.
“Commander, I’m just curious,” said the admiral. “How old is this incomplete data?”
“A solar day,” answered Commander Johnson.
“And the reason for the delay?” queried the admiral.
“We had to verify where the ship was heading,” said Commander Johnson.
“Obviously to Huldra,” said Captain Strata. “You seem confused about your duty to promptly report any intel about the enemy activity. A straight line is easy enough to guess with two choices . . . the beginning or the end.”
“Yes, Captain,” replied Commander Johnson. “You have a good point. The endpoint variance grows with distance, leaving the Tourian Void or the Graxs’ planetary system both in range. Since one of our new cloaking ships has already positioned itself off Huldra, all they have to do was wait for the ship to arrive at where ISF could detect Duncan’s signal.”
“And the Tourian Void?” asked Captain Strata.
“We have the Space Station Erebus listening for any non-ISF movement,” replied Commander Johnson.
“Well, Commander,” said Captain Strata, his anger resurfacing. He did not like what the Admiral had wanted as the end result, but it did not mean that the boys could not be intercepted safely. Johnson had delayed telling the admiral for a reason. Now the boys’ lives were in danger from the Admiral’s orders. “Any more incomplete data for the Tourian Void?”
“No, Sir, . . . well, I mean yes,” Commander Johnson said obviously nervous.
“Yes or no, Commander?” demanded Captain Strata.
“No to picking up their signal from the Tourian Void, and yes because of still incomplete data. But we picked their ship up at Huldra.”
“There’s that incomplete data again. Explain what this means!” demanded Captain Strata.
Beads of sweat were forming on Commander Johnson’s forehead. He was not used to deceiving his own. “We lost all communications with the Space Station Erebus . . . so, incomplete data,” said the Commander.
“Enough questions,” said the Admiral. “At least my Flag Aid has answers, Captain Strata. You can learn a thing or two hanging around him. Besides, we know where the ship went.”
Captain Strata did not show any visible response to the admiral’s attack. He was used to it and was only a matter of time before Admiral Pearson aimed his verbal attacks toward Commander Johnson.
“Commander, if that vessel leaves the planet again, destroy it. Seems that Captain Strata failed to do so the first time, and one thing I can’t stand are traitors.” The Admiral shifted his look toward the Captain.
The Commander did not respond verbally to the Admiral’s request, but the demand was not pressed further. Johnson was dismissed from the stateroom.
“Captain, I’m giving you one last chance to get rid of this Joe Devlin and that other boy.
You wanted a reason before. Now you have it. The punishment for being a traitor in the ISF is death!” said the Admiral. “No need for a lengthy trial and I don’t need to add more names to my list, do I? Am I—clear—Captain?”
“Yes!” replied Captain Strata. He understood the double meaning of being a traitor as it was smeared over him, but for now, he had his orders.
***
The Admiral had shifted his attention to reviewing his victory speech, ensuring that it fit his imminent victory over the Grax. His battle cruisers had all been retro fitted with the same cloaking device as his command ship, and he was waiting for just a few tests to make sure the shields could hold up while firing. It would be a first when both could be performed simultaneously.
Only the newly commissioned ISF Asteria would be in reserve, commanded by Captain Strata. Admiral Pearson wanted to make sure he only had commanders around him in the battle, so Captain Strata or anyone his rank or higher could not claim any glory. Once Captain Strata had taken care of those boys, he was to withdraw from Huldra in reserve.
The communication channel for his stateroom buzzed.
“Yes, state your purpose,” snapped the Admiral. He had asked not to be bothered while going over his speech.
“Sir, Commander Johnson, I have important an important communique,” said Commander Johnson.
“Pass it to me, Commander.”
The stateroom door slid open.
“Sir!” said Commander Johnson as he reached his hand out. He handed the admiral what was called the Brick, a secure communication PDA that allowed high-level coms.
“Wait here, Commander, while I review it,” said the Admiral.
“Aye, Aye, sir,” responded Commander Johnson.
Admiral Pearson’s eyes grew angrier as he read the message. He could not believe what he was reading.
“Has anyone read this, including yourself?” Commander.
“No sir! It just arrived and sent on immediately to you,” replied the commander.
