Ep.#7 - Who Takes No Risk (The Frontiers Saga - Part 2: Rogue Castes)

by Ryk Brown

  “For my son…and for his son, as well. No man should outlive his heirs.”

  “But you are putting your own life at risk.”

  “We all die sooner or later,” the old man insisted. “The only choice we have is how we live. If I am to die this day, I choose to do so in a manner that would make both my son and grandson proud.”

  The old man said no more as he moved the hatch back into position, forcing Michael down into the hiding place below. He quickly moved the dirt and straw back over the hatch, and then pushed with all his might to move the trailer back to its previous position, before attempting to restore the barn to its original condition, hiding all evidence of his guests.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Jump complete,” Kenji reported.

  Aiden glanced up from his console and out the forward windows. The cargo ship, Prestipino, was directly ahead of them, already filling half the window and growing larger with each passing second.

  “Four contacts!” Sergeant Dagata reported over Aiden’s comm-set. “Dusahn fighter escorts. Peeling off to port and starboard. Turning to intercept us now.”

  “We are the bait,” Aiden commented.

  “We have a firing solution,” Kenji reported.

  “Firing plasma torpedoes,” Aiden announced as he pressed the firing button on his flight control stick. Three groups of four red-orange plasma torpedoes streaked away from under their gunship’s nose, closing the distance between them and the Prestipino in the blink of an eye. All twelve torpedoes slammed into the cargo vessel’s aft shields, causing them to shimmer in opaque, pale-orange flashes with each impact. It was frightening looking, to be sure, and likely shook the crew of the cargo vessel quite a bit, but their shields held.

  “Targets one and three are turning into us,” Sergeant Dagata warned.

  “How about somebody fires on them?” Aiden suggested.

  “Roll twenty to starboard, Captain,” Ali requested over the comm-sets.

  Aiden didn’t reply, simply tapping his flight control stick, pushing it momentarily to the right to initiate the roll and bring his port cannon turret to a more advantageous angle, as requested. A second later, the young specialist opened fire, sending successive bolts of plasma energy streaking toward the approaching fighters. The first Dusahn octo-fighter took several hits, causing its shields to flash reddish-orange as it absorbed the incoming energy. She continued to pour the plasma bolts into the diving fighter as it too opened fire, causing the gunship’s shields to flash, as well.

  “Forward shields down to eighty percent,” Kenji warned.

  “Firing another round,” Aiden announced as he sent another group of twelve low-powered plasma torpedoes toward the Prestipino. The first four torpedoes found the cargo vessel’s aft shields, just as before, but the remaining torpedoes missed, as the target rolled into a turn to port in an effort to evade the incoming fire.

  “All four octo-fighters are engaging us,” Sergeant Dagata warned.

  The cockpit was flooded with repeated flashes of red-orange light as the incoming fire slammed into their forward shields.

  “Forward shields down to fifty percent,” Kenji warned.

  “First two targets are in the kill box,” Sergeant Dagata announced.

  The nearest attacking Dusahn octo-fighter suddenly exploded, as its shields failed, allowing the incoming fire from Ali’s plasma cannons to reach its hull.

  “I got one!” she exclaimed in glee.

  “The last two fighters are entering the kill box,” Sergeant Dagata announced.

  “We’re outta here,” Aiden exclaimed, pressing the jump button.

  Striker Three disappeared in a blue-white flash as it jumped clear of the engagement area. A split second later, jump flashes appeared to the left and right, as well as above. Red-orange balls of energy poured in from three sides at once, pummeling the shields of the remaining three octo-fighters. One of the fighters managed to jump away as the other two exploded. Then, just as quickly as they had appeared, the three gunships, which had jumped in and ambushed the remaining Dusahn fighters, jumped away in blue-white flashes.

  “Jump complete,” Kenji reported.

  “Coming about,” Aiden added. “Got anything?” he asked his sensor operator.

  “One moment,” Sergeant Dagata replied. “I’ve got the Prestipino, still rolling away to port…and a whole lot of debris!”

  “Striker Leader to all Strikers,” Captain Nash’s voice called over comms. “One bandit still active. Unknown position.”

  “The Prestipino is jumping!” Sergeant Dagata reported.

  “Did you get her track?” Aiden asked.

  “Track and field energy levels,” the sergeant assured him. “Calculating her jump destination coordinates and sending them to you now.”

  “I’ve got them,” Kenji reported. “Turn to one five seven, twenty down.”

  Aiden immediately turned to the new heading as his copilot fed the estimated coordinates of the Prestipino into the jump drive. “Striker Three in the blind,” Aiden called out over comms. “Prestipino has jumped. We are pursuing.”

  “Loading jump plot now,” Kenji reported.

  “What were the Prestipino’s shields down to?” Aiden asked.

  “Her aft shields were down to forty percent when we jumped,” Sergeant Dagata replied. “Probably back up to at least sixty by now.”

  “Plot loaded.”

  “Jumping,” Aiden announced as their windows turned opaque momentarily. Aiden looked out the windows but saw nothing. “Where is she?”

  “Got her!” Sergeant Dagata reported. “One one five, five up! Two thousand clicks!”

  “Changing course,” Aiden reported.

  “Plotting intercept jump,” Kenji followed.

  “She’s powering up for another jump,” the sergeant warned.

  “Kenji,” Aiden urged.

  “Plotted and loaded,” he replied.

  Aiden pressed the jump button, and the windows turned opaque again. When they cleared, the Prestipino was directly ahead, closer than expected, completely filling their windows. “Oh, shit!” he exclaimed. “A little close, don’t you think!”

  “She’s jumping!” Sergeant Dagata announced.

  Aiden pressed the firing button on his flight control stick, sending twelve more plasma torpedoes into the cargo ship’s aft shields. The Prestipino’s shields flashed with the impact of the first eleven plasma torpedoes but collapsed completely just before the last one arrived. The cargo ship’s propulsion section came apart, breaking away from the main body of the ship and spinning off to her starboard side, just as the ship’s jump fields began to form. The spinning propulsion section exploded, sending debris flying in all directions and causing the Prestipino’s jump fields to collapse before they could fully form.

  “Target’s jump drive is down!” Sergeant Dagata exclaimed.

  “So is her main propulsion!” Aiden exclaimed, ducking as debris slammed into their forward shields and bounced harmlessly clear of their gunship.

  “Target is disabled!” Sergeant Dagata added. “She’s dead stick, unable to jump.”

  “Dags, send a comm-drone back to the engagement area,” Aiden ordered. “Let them know our location.”

  “I’m on it,” Sergeant Dagata replied.

  * * *

  Surprisingly, Birk had not fallen asleep. With a belly full of lousy food, and total darkness surrounding him, he should have dozed off long ago. However, something was keeping him wide awake.

  Perhaps it was the Dusahn troops who had just searched the ranch and all its outbuildings. It had been an hour since they heard the faint sound of men yelling back and forth to one another and stuff being moved about. It was difficult to hear much of anything, since there were about two met
ers of rock between them and the surface. What little they did hear was coming through the switchback tunnel which led to the hatch hidden under the trailer in the barn. The bend in the tunnel prevented handheld scanners from getting any readings from within their little cave, but it didn’t stop sound from traveling. Because of this, few words had been exchanged between the three of them, even in whispers.

  Birk leaned closer to Michael, whom he knew was sitting nearby in the pitch-dark cave. “How much longer?” he asked in a barely audible whisper.

  “I do not know,” Michael replied in similar tones. “Why?”

  “I gotta pee.”

  “Go ahead.”

  If there had been any light, Michael would have seen Birk frown.

  A minute later, it was Cuddy who spoke. “Seriously?” he complained in a whisper. “Can you keep it to your side of the cave, at least?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Quiet,” Michael snapped.

  “I think they’re gone,” Birk insisted. “In fact, I think they left a long time ago.”

  “Do you really want to take that chance?” Michael whispered. “Leaving one man in hiding is a very old trick.”

  “Why are you in such a hurry?” Cuddy wondered. “You gotta poop, too?”

  “No,” Birk defended. “But I’m not crazy about sitting around in my own pee.”

  “We don’t enjoy it either,” Cuddy replied. “Trust me.”

  “We can’t stay down here forever,” Birk insisted. “Sooner or later, we’re going to have to take the chance.”

  Michael sighed. “He’s right, I’m afraid. It would be better to come out while it is dark, in case someone is still here.”

  “If they searched and left, wouldn’t the old man come tell us?” Cuddy suggested.

  “That’s what has me worried,” Michael admitted.

  “You think something happened to him?” Cuddy asked.

  “I do not know,” Michael replied. “But I intend to find out,” he added, moving in the darkness toward the tunnel that snaked its way back and forth to the surface.

  After several minutes of twisting and wiggling his way up the narrow switchback tunnel, Michael reached the hatch. He pushed upward on one edge, very slowly, straining his neck to get one eye into position to peek into the barn. There was very little light, just what moonlight was spilling through the partially opened barn door. For all he knew, there could be several Dusahn soldiers sitting on the other side of the nearby tractor, waiting for him.

  However, if they knew he would come out in the barn, then they already knew about their hiding spot. If that were the case, they would have ordered them to come out or simply would have dropped a grenade down the hatch and been done with them.

  Michael laid there for several minutes, his neck beginning to cramp up as he looked and listened for any indication that they were not alone, but no such indication came. Finally, he slowly and quietly slid the hatch aside, contorting his body further to squeeze between the hay-covered barn floor and the trailer above him.

  Once out, he rolled quietly clear of the trailer and stood up. Michael looked around, checking behind everything, in the barn, large enough to conceal a human being. Once he was satisfied he was the only one inside, he pushed the trailer over a meter and whispered to Birk and Cuddy that they could now come out of hiding.

  “Are they gone?” Cuddy asked after climbing out of the underground hiding place.

  Michael peered out of the crack in the barn door, staring into the night, looking for any signs of movement. “I’m not seeing any movement. No vehicles, no troops, not anything.”

  “What about in the main house?” Cuddy wondered.

  “The lights are still on, but I’m not seeing any movement there either,” Michael replied, concern in his voice. “To be honest, that has me a little worried, also.”

  “Why?” Birk asked, stepping up behind the two of them, after climbing up from the hatch.

  “The old man always turned the lights on when he entered a room and off when he left. All old people do. It’s a habit they picked up during the original Takaran occupation, when electrical power was difficult to come by and expensive.”

  “But, he’s got a fusion reactor, just like everyone else,” Birk commented, pointing over his shoulder at the reactor in the corner of the barn.

  “Fusion reactors in every building didn’t come until long after the Takarans took over. It was one of the ways Caius tried to convince us that life was better under his rule. A lot of people refused to accept the reactors. I have a feeling the old man was one of them.”

  “You think they took him?” Birk asked.

  “Or worse,” Michael said. “Either way, we have to check on him. We owe him that much.” Michael slowly pushed on the barn door, moving out into the open and heading toward the main house.

  “I guess we should follow him,” Cuddy said, looking at Birk.

  “And here I thought we were supposed to lay low and survive,” Birk grumbled, following Cuddy out the door.

  * * *

  “She’s still got maneuvering,” Sergeant Dagata reported. “And her jump drive is still operational.”

  “But her entire propulsion section is missing,” Aiden exclaimed. “Hell, a quarter of her emitters were probably on that part of the ship.”

  “Emitters are independent of one another,” Kenji reminded Aiden. “They’re all fed power through dedicated lines. They’re just timed to work together. If a few of them are offline the others can still form a jump field as long as not too many of them are missing. It just takes longer for the field to fully form, and they won’t be able to jump as far. But they could still jump…theoretically.”

  “Would you risk that jump?” Aiden asked. “Theoretically?”

  “Probably not,” Kenji admitted.

  “Multiple jump flashes,” the sergeant reported. “Three of them. Strikers One, Two, and Four.”

  “Three, Leader. What the hell happened?”

  “Sorry, sir,” Aiden apologized. “They tried to jump away. We pursued and jumped in a little close. We fired as they were trying to jump away again, and, well…”

  “Leader to all Strikers,” Captain Nash continued, ignoring Aiden’s apology. “Move to overwatch positions.”

  “You heard the man,” Kenji said.

  Aiden manipulated his flight controls, moving his gunship to their assigned watch position, in preparation for the Seiiki’s arrival, to begin the next phase of the mission.

  “One is launching a comm-drone,” Sergeant Dagata reported.

  “He sounded a little angry,” Kenji said.

  “Who, Nash?”

  “Yeah, Nash.”

  “Nah.”

  “We weren’t supposed to blow the tail off the Prestipino, you know.”

  Aiden said nothing, just glaring at his copilot who seemed to be taking great joy in Aiden’s mistake.

  * * *

  Michael slowly opened the back door to the main house, peering inside. Like most ranch houses, the back door led to a mudroom which then led to the utility room, both of which seemed to be the only rooms in the entire house that were not lit.

  Michael moved through the mudroom and into the utility room, guided only by the light spilling through the partially open kitchen door. The utility room provided the first indication that the Dusahn had been in the house. Cupboards above the laundry unit were open, the laundry bin was knocked over, and clothing was scattered across the floor.

  Michael continued to move quietly toward the kitchen, being careful not to disturb anything along the way. He paused at the door, peeking inside of the well-lit kitchen, but spotted no one.

  The kitchen was also in disarray. The table was tipped over, pots and pans were strewn about, a
nd the floor was littered with broken dishes. In addition, the refrigerator was standing open, and it looked as if much of the food stored within had been taken.

  Like common thugs, Michael thought as he moved through the kitchen toward the living room. It was not an uncommon phenomenon among conscripted troops. He remembered his own days in service of the Takaran Empire. Stories abounded of soldiers taking whatever they wanted from the populations they were supposed to be protecting. He had even known one man who was quite methodical in his looting, planning to use his ill-gotten gains to fund his transportation home upon completion of his service. Ironically, that man had not survived long enough to complete his plan, and all that he had taken ended up in the hands of officers above him…men who were of noble houses and therefore, did not need such trinkets.

  Michael moved out of the kitchen and through the dining room. That’s when he saw something that made him stop in his tracks. A pair of legs, just beyond the doorway into the living room. They were at an angle, as if the man to whom they belonged was leaning back in a chair with his legs outstretched to relax.

  Michael stood there for several seconds, frozen with indecision, the only sounds being that of his own breathing. “Sir?” he finally called, barely above a whisper. When he got no response, he took two steps forward, just enough to see the man’s unmoving hands. One more step provided his answer. The edge of a pool of blood on the floor, just under the man’s thighs.

  Michael continued walking slowly forward, revealing the full view of the old man. He stood there, staring at the victim. The old man’s expression told the horror of his death. His shirt was open, and his chest and abdomen had been sliced open with near surgical precision. His intestines were hanging out, and blood and bile were dripping from his severed colon.

  The old man had been tortured. Michael was certain of it. And it had been brutal. Yet, the tough old guy had not given them up to the Dusahn.