by Richard Fox
“I took voluntary redundancy. I’m surplus to Ranger’s requirements. Especially when we have extra kids on board sucking up life support.”
Hayes was older than I remembered; he might even have overtaken me. That’s what interstellar travel did to someone, it thrust them into the future. His eyes were red-rimmed with fatigue. Days of stubble had grown out on his chin, an offense for which I would have given him an almighty dressing-down when I had been his CO back in the USASF.
“Well, it’s a good thing the military is calling up all reservists for the big last stand, then.”
“I ain’t a reservist, Carter.”
“Pity, ‘cause I’ve got more than a few holes in my squadron order of battle after the last few fights.”
I pursed my lips and gave a nod as I looked up at the sleek, lethal Hellcat fighter. “It’s been a while.”
“Don’t worry, it’s like riding a bike.” Hayes turned to look over the bay. “And at the moment, we have more birds than we have pilots.”
“You missed your calling as a recruiting agent.”
“Maybe,” Hayes said, and gripped my arm. “Look, Cunning, this is it. The last play. You can either watch here from the sidelines, or come out with me. I ain’t gonna lie to you, the end result is gonna be the same, but at least this way you get your chance on taking some of the bastards with you.”
I felt my lips twitch in a smile and I turned to the harried-looking technicians. One of them pulled out the safety pin on the torpedo, stepped back, and pressed a button on his tablet. The Hellcat’s weapons bay doors sighed closed.
“Ladies, gentlemen. If you would be so kind as to prep me a Hellcat.”
One of the techs nodded and sprinted down the flight line.
“That’s the spirit, Cunning.” Hayes grinned. “Good to be working with you again. You seen Farrell?”
“Not since we shipped out on the First Contact missions,” I replied. “You know, I’m still confused as hell.”
“You and me both, Major Cunningham.” I gave a tolerant smile as he addressed me by my former rank. I guess I had officially been drafted now. It seemed odd that the kid had overtaken me in rank. “All I know is that these sons of bitches arrived in Sol around Jupiter and the 23rd’s been fighting them ever since.”
“And the sun?” I asked.
Hayes slapped me on the back. “One problem at a time. One problem at a time.”
“Well.” I looked at the tech as he coordinated loading my bird with missiles and torpedoes. “Let’s get to it, then.”
***
The flight suit we’d found going spare in the locker room felt tight around my armpits and crotch as I lowered myself into the cockpit and accepted the helmet from one of the technicians.
I looked at the complicated cockpit displays and took a deep breath. It wasn’t quite like riding a bike, but I could recall the basics.
Hesitantly, I began flicking switches and pressing buttons, bringing the fighter to life.
“I haven’t flown one of these things in ten years,” I grumbled to myself as I continued the preflight, occasionally stopping to run my finger down the checklist to ensure I didn’t miss anything. “This is a hell of a time to get back behind the stick.”
I felt the station rock from some kind of impact, knocking the whine out of me. The battle had reached us. Now was not the time for self-doubt. I needed to rediscover the red-hot fighter jock within.
A window appeared on my HUD and Hayes appeared. “All fighters. We’re going to clear High York and form up on waypoint one. Our job is to protect the Exodus fleet until every ship has jumped to displacement drive. We don’t let a single one of those bastards through.”
I took a deep breath; I was ready. Before me, the launch tube stretched to infinity. I powered up the engines. The fighter rocked forwards on its haunches, ready and eager to go. I felt the excitement coursing through me. I was back behind the stick of a fighter.
“Zulu one, catapult,” Hayes’ voice called. A moment later, a strained voice: “Good cat’.”
The station gave another lurch. The fighting out there was getting more intense. I felt the vibration from behind as the Hellcat’s powerful engines spooled up in anticipation of being shot out into space.
“Zulu four, catapult.”
“Zulu seven, catapult.”
“Zulu eleven, catapult.”
My turn. I squeezed my eyes closed for a moment.
“Zulu twelve, catapult.” I slapped the engage button.
I felt myself being slammed back into my seat as the fighter raced down the launch tube. A fiery glow appeared at the end and in a split second I was through and out into space. The sun’s tortured hazy orange light filtered through my cockpit.
“Holy shit,” I wheezed through the pressure on my chest from the ten gravities of acceleration. My suit responded, pumping air into inflatable bags to cushion my maneuvers. “Good cat’.”
I banked over, and formed up with the other fighters. The alien fleet was much closer, exchanging fire with the station itself. Already debris was spraying out of vast wounds on High York’s monolithic flanks, filling the local space. I weaved through the bigger chunks and winced as the smaller pieces pinged off my cockpit canopy.
And then I saw her. The small sphere of Ranger, burning away from the station with her precious cargo on board.
“Don’t wait, Rice. Just go,” I whispered.
A moment later, a bright blue flash, and then she was gone.
Sparing a smile, I drew up alongside the rest of the squadron. In front of us, hundreds of ships twisted and turned in the final, brutal clash.
I rammed the throttle forward and accelerated into the fray.
Ralph Kern Biography
Ralph Kern, a frequent contributor to the Explorations anthology series, has released three novels to date; Unfathomed, which was acquired by Audible Studios for production, Endeavour and Erebus.
For as long as I can remember I've always enjoyed science fiction, especially the grand masters of the genre, Arthur C Clarke, Stephen Baxter, Alistair Reynolds and many more before deciding to try my hand.
I hold a degree in Aerospace Technology and won the opportunity to work in Milan on the design of a satellite with the European Space Agency, gained a Pilot’s License (which led to the best weekend job going - taking Air Cadets flying in a motor gliders) and for a year was an officer cadet in the Territorial Army.
After all that, I had a quarter life crisis and decided that I would succumb to the kid in me and follow a career in chasing bad guys and joined the Police. That led to a huge hole in my life though, the desire to think about what I consider 'the big issues', a desire I'm addressing with my writing.
Nowadays, I've calmed down a bit and enjoy spending time traveling, seeing what the world has to offer, scuba diving, long distance running and writing, of course.
Amazon Author Page | Newsletter
A Million Points of Light
By C.C. Ekeke
Except for beeps and clicks from consoles or the steady hum from the ship engines, Mercury Runner’s bridge was deathly quiet. Everyone was completely focused on the search.
The search was Marco Castillo’s favorite and least favorite part of an operation.
Searching filled the FCF Senior Marshal with churning anticipation. Searching educated him on every aspect of his target, from the way they flew a spacecraft to how they liked their coffee. Marco immersed himself in his target. Searching was when he devised a strategy to take them down.
Searching also meant Marco hadn't found his target yet. And after two days scouring every inch of Solis Lacus, these targets had been tricky bastards to locate.
The FCF Marshal studied every aspect of the viewscreen. All he saw was a forest of massive and contorted rock formations jutting up from the vast crimson expanse stretching before them. Not the most jarring visual when on Mars.
“Solis Lacus was their last known location,” he reminded his crew, p
acing across the bridge of his interceptor gunship on lanky legs. “Anything?”
Boreas Carver, his reconnaissance operative, looked up from his workstation behind Marco. The burly Aussie, shorter than Marco by a few inches, took him in with laughing blue eyes. “Same as seven minutes ago, boss.”
Marco ground his teeth, fighting back impatience. But if Bo couldn’t locate them, no one could.
Marco’s gaze landed on a trim, fair-skinned woman at the helm. “Keep us slow and steady, Edelman,” he reminded his very capable pilot. “We don’t want to spook any trigger-happy asteroid dwellers.”
Natasha “Tash” Edelman shot him an exasperated look, tossing her dark, sleek ponytail over her shoulder. “Roger, roger, fearless leader. No spooking on my watch.” She winked back, winning a smirk from Marco. Tash’s way of telling me to relax. He usually listened, if not for this mission putting him so on edge. He had the unwelcome fifth member of his four-man retrieval squad to thank.
Marco ran a hand through his slicked-back hair and addressed his ordnance officer next to Tash. “Archer? Got them cannons primed?”
Naomi Archer nodded. She was tall, slender and sloping, chocolate brown in complexion. “Ready when you are, bossman,” Archer chirped, always happy to do her job. “Give me the target and I’ll go to work.”
Marco chuckled. “Of course you will.” After over five years together, he knew this foursome was a flawless unit. He just couldn’t help his habit of triple-checking their readiness moments before a mission.
“About those cannons.” Everyone turned to the unwelcome fifth member on the bridge, seated in the chair next to Marco’s. The little man was shaggy-haired, his beard neatly cut close to the jaw, dressed in traditional United Earth Foundation ambassador attire: Errol Coulson, their assigned UEF babysitter due to this mission’s high-priority. “Are you using the big cannons or the precision laser beams?”
Marco fought down annoyance at Coulson’s patronizing tone. Naomi exchanged a glance with him before casually answering, “Whichever gets the job done.”
Coulson’s face darkened. “The job is not to destroy the whole ship,” he lectured Naomi, like she was an ill-informed child. “Your job is to recapture the ship in mostly one piece with the cargo those miscreants stole.”
Bo cringed. Tash’s eyes widened. Marco shook his head, smirking. Wrong move, genius. No one told his ordnance how to do her job.
Naomi, however, gave Coulson her brightest smile. “Would you rather I shoot your rigid pygmy ass out of the small cannons instead?”
Coulson recoiled in his seat, thoroughly scandalized. Tash and Bo burst out laughing.
Marco almost joined in, but someone had to be the adult. “Marshals, kill the comedy show.”
Once the squad reined it in, Errol huffily adjusted his robes. “Your crew needs a semester in proper etiquette,” he scoffed.
“And you need to shut that black hole of a mouth.” Marco gestured a sweeping hand at the three marshals, his family. “My crew knows how to do their job. Quite well, I might add.”
Errol Coulson folded his arms, unimpressed. “The cargo is sensitive, Castillo,” he droned on, his chin tilted upward in authoritative fashion. “The Foundation has granted me authority on this retrieval mission to direct as I see fit.”
Coulson loved reminding everyone of that directive. Just like Marco would love to turn his face into a fist magnet. He approached and leaned over until they were almost nose to nose. Marco spoke whisper-soft but with an edge of warning. “My ship, my crew. You don’t like it? Sing your sad song to the UEF brass. My team gets results our way.” He straightened and walked toward the back of the bridge to cool off. Better that than losing it on this Napoleon wannabe.
From the corner of his eyes, he spied Errol pop to his feet, opening his mouth heatedly.
“Uh-uh,” Tash warned with a look. “You’ll lose that argument, cupcake.”
Marco loved her for that.
After a few minutes, Naomi rose from her seat and sauntered over. Marco wasn’t in a talking mood unless it was mission-related, but he’d make an exception for her. The pair wordlessly stepped into the Mercury’s main corridor.
“Does this diplomat prig really have authority over how we operate?” Naomi vented once they were alone. She came up to Marco’s nose in height, though her thick topknot of braids gave the woman a few more inches.
Marco shrugged with a purposely nonchalant expression. No need to stoke her ire. “That’s what the memo says. I’m just being a good soldier.” The mission briefing came in a few days ago. One lab technician, a security guard, and an astrophysicist from Chiron Dynamics stole an unidentified asset one week ago. Two days later they struck Saint Clair-Galarza, another private military contractor, absconding with another unidentified asset. Now they were in the wind. Marco’s team was selected for the retrieval, with the specific mandate. UEF Ambassador Coulson accompanied their mission with full operational command. Marco hated it, but he couldn’t refuse an op, even micromanaged ones.
Naomi wasn’t satisfied. “No FCF Retrieval Squad has a better track record. And we have to listen to this paper-pushing twerp?” The soft blue corridor lights accentuated her beauty, even when she was furious.
Marco placed his hands on her shoulders. “Let him feel a modicum of importance. Afterward, we go about our business.” He might run a bit hot when outsiders messed with his squad, but Marco was usually the one who calmed them down when tempers flared.
Naomi finally relaxed, glancing away from his gaze. “Do we even know what cargo we’re retrieving?”
Again Marco shrugged. “I asked and got told to mind my business. It’s clearly important if the UEF is babysitting us. It's just one mission, Nae.”
Naomi sighed and entwined her fingers with his. “I’m not liking this, Castillo,” she complained. “These thieves had no criminal record before today. Then they randomly steal something from two of UEF’s largest PMCs? Something big is up.”
Something big is up, Marco agreed internally. He knew in his bones this mission felt...off. But in his long FCF Marshal career and his tours with the Terrestrial Earth Army before that, Marco had learned to stay out of the politics. “It’ll be fine, love.” He tenderly stroked Naomi’s chin. “All right?”
Despite her dark complexion, he caught Naomi blushing. “I’m holding you to that.” Her husky whisper got a rise out of him. That toothy smile brightened her lovely face even more as Naomi leaned in expectantly.
Marco grinned and met her halfway with a slow, sensuous kiss. He felt Naomi melt in his arms, then drew her in closer. Her lingering lips made Marco feel so good, alleviating the stress...
“Boss,” Bo’s grunting voice interrupted.
Perfect timing as always. Marco winced and pulled away from Naomi. “Yeah.”
“Found something odd near one of them formations.”
Marco exchanged an elated look with Naomi before both scurried back into the bridge. “Define odd,” he pressed, after striding to Bo’s workstation.
The strapping Aussie glanced from Naomi, back in her seat, to Marco, and chuckled. “Higher than normal metallic content on one asteroid odd. All of it concentrated on one specific side.”
From his seat, Errol watched the exchange with great interest.
Marco stared at the ship’s viewscreen. On display was one of the larger rock formations Marco had seen, wrinkled and pocked like some gargantuan red velvet waffle. “Energy or heat readings?” the senior marshal inquired.
Bo shook his head. “None.”
Engines on standby. “Live signs?”
“Nope.” The recon operative shook his head again. “Could mean they’re cloaked.”
In short, Bo had found their target. Marco could kiss him too.
“Orders?” Bo asked. Tash and Naomi eyed their senior officer expectantly.
Marco cracked his neck, knowing how to play this. “Keep going until we’re close enough, Tash.”
Edelman nodded and
her fingers raced expertly across her naviconsole.
Errol’s eyes narrowed as Marco strode for his seat. “What are you planning?” Not a question. A demand.
Marco shrugged off the rudeness, plopping down and stretching his legs. “We found our thieves. Now we’re giving them a wakeup call.”
Naomi gave an excited squeal, shimmying her shoulders.
Coulson did neither. “Meaning?”
“Meaning none of your business.”
“Senior Marshal.” Coulson rose again, blocking Marco’s line of sight on the viewscreen. “Should this ‘wakeup call’ do anything to damage the cargo—”
Marco’s patience had ended. “I swear to all that is holy, if you don’t sit down—!”
Errol recoiled and wisely took his seat. “Remember my words,” he added to retain his supposed authority.
Marco ignored him and nodded at Naomi. “We ready?”
“We are,” she answered with a toothy grin.
Marco winked at her. “Music to my ears.”
“Just about to pass them,” Edelman announced.
“Commencing scan,” Bo chimed in.
The growing rock formation dominating their viewscreen was replaced by a white outline of its internal structure. On the other side, a much smaller red outline became visible, the size of a military shuttle with round edges.
Marco excitedly slammed a fist on his armrest. “That’s our ship!”
“Woulda missed it if not for that sensory upgrade I kept asking for,” Bo remarked.
Marco rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Fire the wakeup call.”
Naomi typed on her console. Onscreen, two bright green streams of energy hurtled from their ship toward the rock structure. As expected, Naomi’s aim struck true, exploding a lower section of that rock formation into jagged chunks sailing every which way.
The Mercury was far enough from the spray of debris. Now Marco and his team waited.
