by A K Lambert
‘The Life Teams may be aboard the Delta Spheres,’ said Mancer.
‘They’re heading for wormhole Prefaxi 3.’ Pilz was relaying information from his sub-officer. ‘Estimated time of arrival of first ship ten minutes at current speed.’
By now there was a row of spheres all following the same path at regular distances apart. Their positioning was now revealing a sophisticated subplot—chaos into order—en route to the wormhole.
‘It appears that all fifteen are entering.’ Pilz knew he was stating the obvious. Zander gave him a sharp look. ‘Twenty-eight minutes and they’ll all be through,’ he continued lamely.
‘Get our spheres through there immediately,’ Zander growled. Nothing else was small enough and appropriately equipped for wormhole travel. ‘Who is first Sphere Commander? Get him, now! And make sure Squadron Commander Dag gets our spheres through safely.’
The Trun Squadron approached the space dock. Dag now with new orders to deposit the spheres safely into the wormhole. Pilz could now see that the Vercetian cruiser’s primary role wasn’t spearheading the attack, but was to back up whichever flank the Trun squadron took. Clever. Now Dag was on screen discussing tactics with Zander and Mancer. Pilz knew his position was redundant with both his bosses here. He could see their squadron begin to sweep to the aft side of the space dock, following a path that would skirt around the flanking Vercetian battle cruiser. He glanced up at one of the trajectory screens, which confirmed what he was anticipating. They were forming a corridor, by pinning the Vercetian fleet against the spaceport. It allowed the Trun spheres to travel around the outside and pick up the route to the wormhole.
The one problem with this, or any other strategy that he could think of, was that soon the two fleets would be broadsiding each other, and the result of that could be messy. The spheres would never have made the wormhole in Trun space without this impressive backup, and the Vercetian cruisers and bifighters were there to make sure they did, at any cost. He picked up on a conversation between the sphere commander and Zander.
‘Commander Courtier reporting, sir. What are your instructions?’
‘Are your ships and your officers ready for some possibly long term interstellar space travel?’ Zander asked bluntly.
‘Yes, they are, High Commander.’ Courtier replied.
‘Good. Commander, get to Prefaxi 32 as quickly as the squadron can get you all through. You are then to follow six of the Vercetian spheres. We suspect four of them are carrying the high council Royals. The rest are decoys. We anticipate that they will all, ultimately, head in differing directions, to confuse and randomise their ion trails. You’re playing a numbers game, but, providing the Royals are in separate ships, the odds are in your favour to pick at least one of them.’
Mancer added, ‘The Vercetian fleet are going to throw everything they have at ours to slow your progress. Be patient, when you do get through you should have time to pick up their trails. Trust in your judgment when choosing. Good luck.’
The Trun Squadron XB3 consisted of two TC cruisers—slightly smaller than the enemy’s, but much more manoeuvrable, and ten TB carriers—half the size of a cruiser, but highly weaponised and each carrying four 3W fighters. The six TW Spheres were now in pursuit, rapidly playing catch up with the squadron.
All ten of the carriers launched their fighters. A swarming mass of flying bugs forming a spearhead in the direction the corridor would take. The space dock fighters broke off from their personal encounters with the arrows and headed to join them.
The two TC cruisers and seven of the carriers veered away to follow the swarm of fighters. They would ultimately form the corridor wall. The remaining carriers held their ground to ward off the now advancing Vercetian arrows and also, so Pilz assumed, pick up the TW Spheres when they arrived and shepherd them towards the wormhole. Further into space, the lead Vercetian sphere was approaching the wormhole. It slowed down just before entering. There was a small flash as it opened and blinked closed.
Zander, Mancer and Pilz stood looking down at the slow motion jigsaw puzzle forming before their eyes. Pilz could see that the delta spheres were nearly safe and well on their way to escaping. The Vercetian armada could retreat now, but instead, they were setting themselves up for a fight. They must need more time, he assumed, not just for the escape, but maybe more time for the spheres to affect some dispersal plan at the far end of the wormhole. Or, they had become aware of the Trun spheres and were trying to stop them. As the remaining vessels moved into place, the scene was set for one of the largest space battles any of them—except Mancer—would have ever witnessed. The three of them would now have little influence on the action, the vessel commanders, space station techs and the raft of tactical computers now taking full charge.
The Trun squadron was ready first. The TC cruisers and TB carriers creating a two tier wall from the spaceport away in the direction of the wormhole. Between the two levels, an infill of fighters hovered in anticipation, their main work still to be done. Finally, the three remaining carriers, each with two TW Spheres under shield protection, started their dangerous journey through the makeshift turkey shoot. The central command centre techs held their nerve, not yet wanting to provoke the enemy. The longer the Vercetians held off firing the further the three surrogate mother ships would be able to advance safely with their precious cargo.
The Vercetians must have thought the same, for as soon as the second of its enormous battle cruisers slotted into its designated place, broadside on, it opened fire. A perfect line of twenty small glowing red globes released along its length, lime green tails forming behind them. The vivid colours began to light up the holo-deck. The cannon banks discharged immediately and again a third time. Pilz watched the rows of globes form, the second and third globes desperately hanging on to the tails in front. They grouped into three distinct spearheads, directed at the nearest TC cruiser and two carriers. The pedestrian speed at which they appeared to travel within the holo environment belied the spectacular colour show that ensued when they eventually smashed into the target ships. Streaks of red and green lightning forks shot in all directions, briefly displaying the full expanse of the protective shielding around each ship.
Pilz could make out the canon banks on their vessels glowing red, an ominous precursor to their participation in the battle. Moments later triple volleys of bright red energy globes with the same characteristic green tails were making their way towards the Vercetian battle cruiser. Within moments the fighters and the arrows filled the void between the two protagonists’ artillery, ignoring each other now, their role being to destroy the globes, targeting the lead ones first with decisive blue laser strikes. These attacks, together with the flashes of exploding globes produced a silent orgy of colour on the holo-deck.
The Trun battalion was forced to hold its rigid defensive formation, unable to break the barrier of shields in front of the advancing three carriers. The Venetians however, were much more flexible. The bifighters, able to roam at will, were targeting the shields of the ships that were actively protecting the carriers. And the fighters were far less efficient in neutralising their firepower.
The shield levels on each side were slowly decreasing. Zander kept looking up at the screen showing the status of the Trun fleet’s shields, now getting seriously low. Its forced defensive posture, and the sheer firepower of the Vercetians was sealing their fate. He turned to Mancer. ‘Our shields will fail first. I think we’re going to lose this.’
Mancer paused, studying the holographic battle a few moments longer. ‘Just hold on.’ He looked up at the same screen Zander had been studying. ‘I think our cruiser commander is trying something. Watch, he’s changing his formation.’
Squadron Commander Dag Fallas shouted at Tech 13, ‘Are you sure this will work?’
Forester Jerramii, designated Tech 13 replied, ‘My tactical computer has confirmed my strategy, but we must act now.’
‘Proceed. Please don’t let me down, Forester.’
Forester gave an order to the tactical control matrix. ‘Tactical computer 13 taking full control of all ship-wide manoeuvring. Authorisation Dax Fallas.’ He could see Dax confirming the command as he finished punching in the interface request. Tactical 13 uploaded the new instructions.
Pilz watched the formation of the Trun Squadron alter subtly. The three carriers protecting the spheres formed a tight circle. The other ships moved around them. Rather than a thinly spread, two-dimensional, flat target for the Vercetian ships to attack, they were forming an elongated egg shape, with the pointy end facing the Vercetians, giving them a much smaller target to aim at. This narrow target meant only the nearest two Vercetian ships could mount an offensive—the other ships were hopelessly positioned and scrambling to get back in the game. Meanwhile, the Trun fighters surrounding the squadron were being very effective at neutralising the Vercetian’s missiles.
It was smart, but Pilz doubted it would change the outcome, just prolong the waiting. The Trun held out for a surprisingly long time before the shielding finally began to fail.
First to fail was the lead cruiser and one of the carriers, both of whom had been taking the brunt of the recent offensive. The Vercetians attack immediately turned to both ships’ weapons arrays, smashing into them with a previously unseen ferocity. The spectacular light show had changed to something far more sinister, as lightning white explosions sent chunks of weaponry flying off in all directions.
The other Vercetian vessels had finally taken up decent flanking positions and were bombarding the next wave of Trun carriers. The 3W fighters were in chaos, flying aimlessly about, firing with no conviction.
All seemed lost. But the Trun tactic had managed to buy enough time for the three rear carriers to position themselves such that they could release the six TW Spheres safely. Their natural speed would now ensure they got to the wormhole unmolested.
Pilz could make out a noticeable pause in the Vercetian attack. With the TW Spheres now lost to them, Pilz nervously awaited their next move. They had the Trun squadron at their mercy. To his surprise and relief, the Vercetian armada ceased all weapons fire and turned towards their space.
The light show in the centre of the central command hub was no more. The only sign of life now was the Vercetian arrows scuttling onto the three large cruisers. Zander signalled one of the technicians to shut down the holo-deck, and the images disappeared one chunk at a time.
Chapter 6
Jon O'Malley
Earth - The Republic of Ireland - 2002
* * *
Jonathan O’Malley’s dream world began to disappear as he drifted into the start of a new day. He became aware of a piercing light invading his senses and buried his head in his pillow to shut the intruder out. Moments later his brain began to prise open his eyelids until he finally realised it was the sun’s rays squeezing through a gap in the curtains. He jumped out of bed and flung them open. The weather had finally brightened up. The first week of the school summer holidays had been awful—wet and windy—but now the sun was shining, and the sky was blue.
He raced downstairs to where Moira was making breakfast. She was his nanny, or had been when he was younger, looking after him during the many times his parents were away working. Her job description nowadays was undefined, but she loved working there, and in Jon’s mind she was part of the family.
He sat down and started devouring the scrambled eggs and bacon Moira had placed in front of him. She joined him, and they ate in a comfortable silence before she asked, ‘So, where are you going today now the weather has changed? Football with the boys?’ She knew the answer before she’d even asked the question.
‘I think I’ll be heading off on my bike. Any chance of a sandwich to take with me?’
‘Already done and in your backpack,’ she smiled.
Jon loved his bike; it set him free.
Oh, he liked his schoolmates and was popular with them. It was just, well, they were always playing football, and it wasn’t his thing. He wasn’t a team player; always happier in his own company. And never more so than when he was riding his bike.
He made his way to the highest point of the woods on the eastern side of Harewood Hall. He loved it there. This Irish countryside was as dramatic as it was beautiful. His choice of routes to the valley below could be exhilaratingly fast, technically demanding or downright dangerous.
Jon looked down to see the old hall in the distance. He put his helmet on and closed his eyes for a moment. A gentle breeze kissed his cheeks, and the warmth of the rising sun radiated through his clothing. He visualised the route he was going to take: the gradients, the technical sections, the fast sections where he would let his machine fly free. He entered his cycling mindset. As he started down, he rose out of his saddle and felt his bike begin dancing over the rocks and tree roots, all carefully placed there by Mother Nature to unseat less worthy riders. His part in this addictive partnership of man and machine, was to choose a line, feather the brakes and trust in his bike.
Jon kept his body fluid in readiness for the steeper terrain. The obstacles trying to bring him off his bike came towards him at blindingly fast speed. He relaxed his arms and legs and could feel the bike’s Marzocchi suspension begin to show its pedigree. His DiamondBack bike may have been a little dated but when new it was the best money could buy. His father had told him that the suspension was the same as that used in the Ferrari Formula 1 racing cars. It certainly was the most well balanced bike he’d ever ridden, and it felt like a Ferrari right now. The technical section eased off, and the route became a flatter but fast single track. He powered through the bike’s gears to get maximum speed for an upcoming jump. As he hit it, he lifted off and floated through the air—time seeming to slow down as he felt tree branches flash by on either side of him. He sighted his landing point and relaxed further, letting his body and the Ferrari suspension cushion his landing. Before he knew it, he was at the bottom, the time taken to get down having now dissolved into a fusion of senses. His only desire now was to do it again.
By midday, he needed a break as three-quarters of his time was spent working hard to get back up the hill. The last effort had left his quads burning. Some food and rest were in order at his favourite relaxation place. Swan Pool, a lake within the grounds of the Harewood Hall.
Chapter 7
Amanda Walker
Earth - The Republic of Ireland - 2002
* * *
Amanda Walker stomped out of the hall in a mood.
Nobody had any time for her. Grace had lessons. Her mum and dad were in deep discussions with the Squire—god knew about what. If they were old friends, why did they seem to be always working? Everyone else was busy with one thing or another. She’d heard Helen and Gordon promising the Squire that everything would be fully operational by this evening—whatever that was. She couldn’t even play with Krankel; no one knew where he was.
She went to the workshop and found Peter busy at work on something electrical looking. She pulled out a chair next to him dramatically and slumped down onto it, sighing loudly.
‘Good morning, Amanda. Did you get out of the other side of the bed today?’ Peter asked.
‘Wrong,’ she replied.
‘You did not?’
‘No. Wrong side of the bed.’ He was looking at her quizzically. ‘It’s, “did you get out of the wrong side of the bed,” not other side.’ He was always getting things slightly wrong.
‘Ah, sorry. I’m still perfecting your language. We say other in Norwegian.’ He smiled at her. ‘And why are you in such a mood, young female?’
‘Lady. Oh, forget it,’ said Amanda. ‘I’m bored. Everyone is busy.’
‘We’re all on a deadline to get the security system complete. The Squire says we’re taking too long.’ Peter pointed at her bike. ‘Gordon has finished repairing your bicycle. Why not go for a ride on it?’
‘Could do, I suppose. I could head down to the lake.’
‘Good idea,’ said Peter. ‘You
may bump into the young man who tends to visit the lake after he has been cycling in the woods.’
‘The local boy?’ said Amanda. ‘You’ve mentioned him before. I’ll be careful.’
Her bike was one of some old ones left here by the previous owners of Harewood Hall. Gordon had fixed one of them up for her—he’d even put a basket on the front. That, she liked.
She set off, gently to start off with, getting used to the bike. The paths near the hall were in good condition, but as she ventured further away they deteriorated, and she needed to be a little more careful. She could see the lake in the distance. She was enjoying her ride now.
As she approached the water, she noticed the boy. He was sitting on a grassy hill, gazing across the lake. He must have heard her as he turned around and looked straight at her. All she could make out at this distance was his untidy black hair. She decided to ride by him and give him a scornful look. She might even challenge him to find out what he was doing here on private land.
Unfortunately, she was watching him and not where she was going.
She felt the front wheel dip down and stop instantly, a large pothole making her grind to a halt. With the rear of the bike starting to rise, she found herself looking down towards the pothole. She felt her body rising above her, her legs now high in the air and her hair fanning down towards the ground. Her only thought was, this is going to hurt. And it did. After a complete pirouette in the air, which must have looked quite dramatic to the boy, she landed on the ground with a thud.
A moment later she opened her eyes and was greeted with a view of a blue sky full of little fluffy clouds. Spoiling the view, was the silhouette of the boy looking down at her, his scraggy hair plain to see, but his other features unclear.
