Jason smiled and took the multi-gun and enhancement shield handed to him by Boomer. “We all know our jobs here. Chief and Jackson, get going into Engineering and start work on retaking that department. We’ll be dealing with those fellas out there for a while.”
Jackson and Chief Horris flashed away. Ultimately, Jason would need to take the bridge, but Engineering, where much of the ship’s systems could be controlled from, and he was guessing was far less protected than the bridge, had to be brought under control first.
Jason took stock of his team. Five returned thumbs-up told him they were ready to go. With the exception of the three still-unconscious Caldurians, Jason phase-shifted the others out into flight bay.
* * *
They phase-shifted, appearing in a semi-circle perimeter around the flight bay and surrounding the Caldurian forces—forces that were tightly packed together and not wearing battle suits. Right off the bat, Jason knew they weren’t professionally trained combat forces. What they did have going for them was their highly advanced technology—the same technology that allowed them to destroy Jefferson Station with such relative ease. Plasma weaponry was more powerful by a large factor and although things here were similar to that within the Minian, it was like being in a much newer model automobile. Sure, the basics are the same, but here on the Quantum Lark, there were far more virtual display interfaces on distant bulkheads, and even the maintenance droids looked to be more than a few iterations more advanced.
But the situation today was different than what had happened back with Jefferson Station. The Caldurian forces here, so unaccustomed to the intimacy of one-on-one battle situations, said a lot about their leadership—about the misled arrogance of Omni Stanton. And probably about the other ship captains within this Caldurian fleet of vessels as well.
The team fired into the bunched-up, completely caught-off-guard soldiers. Their plasma fire mowed them down like mere stalks of wheat. But just as swiftly as the Caldurian soldiers were dispatched to the great hereafter, the droids reacted with split-second efficiency. He saw them move in unison, as if centrally controlled, which they undoubtedly were. Half of them jetted into the air, establishing an immediate, overhead high ground. The other droids, still stationed on the deck, came at them with blasting, unrelenting plasma fire.
Hearing and seeing his HUD’s early warnings, Jason was surprised to discover his battle suit’s shields were already down to twenty percent. Not only was he being fired upon by four different droids—two from above and two on the ground—their plasma weapons were far more powerful than his own.
“Use your shield, Dad!” Boomer’s voice crackled in his ear. In a blur, he saw her spinning, cartwheel-like, on the far side of the flight bay and dealing with her own droid combatants.
He’d totally forgotten it was with him. He brought up his enhancement shield and, as instructed by his eleven-year-old daughter, punched a rapid flurry of bright purple distortion waves toward two of the rapidly approaching droids. First one, then the other, flew backward and ceased firing. Holy crap … this thing really works! He glanced at his HUD; his shields were down to ten percent. He turned his attention upward, toward the two droids above him. “Come to Papa, you Caldurian pieces of shit.”
Chapter 32
High Orbit Over Alurian, Gracow CD1 System
Quantum Lark Flight Bay
__________________________
“My shields are down!” Orion said into the open channel.
“Phase-shift back into the shuttle, Gunny!” Jason urged, as he leapt high into the air, kicking in his battle suit’s thrusters. He noticed that Boomer, as well as Rizzo and Billy, were all using their enhancement shields to help them leap higher into the air. He had no idea how to do that yet.
Jason knew he’d soon be joining Orion in the shuttle if he took too many more plasma hits. His HUD showed his shields were down to four percent.
The two hovering droids were circling above him when suddenly a third, one of the droids he’d stunned earlier, was now rising up, ready to resume the fight. Jason continued to fire at the droid in front of him, trying to find a weak spot in the thing’s armor or shields, or a combination of the two. Three plasma bolts hit him hard in the back, bringing his suit’s power levels to zero. Falling twenty feet, Jason dropped like a bag of rocks. His head hurt and he felt on the verge of blacking out and suddenly he became very uncomfortable, as the temperature rose substantially inside his battle suit. While lying there prone on his back, he saw the three droids above him. With his shields’ protection level gone to zero, he had little if any options left.
He raised his head, but his multi-gun was too far out of reach. Damn … his integrated plasma guns were inoperable and phase-shifting away was no longer an option. A faded message showed on his HUD, regeneration time required.
What the hell am I supposed to do now? Simply lie here and wait to be deep-fried? he asked himself in frustration.
In his mind, Jason replayed Boomer’s training class instruction: “Come on, Dad, it’s not a thing that’s separate from you … think of your shield as an extension of your arm … what you feel, it will feel … it will help you … if you let it.”
Jason’s mind flashed to Dira. He visualized her—what was left of her—lying in a coma, barely alive, vulnerable, and confined within a MediPod; then he pictured the beings responsible for putting her there. His enhancement shield came up before he knew what was happening. Multiple red plasma bolts were firing down on him from the droids overhead; several had pierced into his suit like white-hot pokers. But his shield, somehow, managed to block most of them.
Getting to his feet, Jason’s inner rage took ahold of him—driving him forward to overlook the pain and ignore the overwhelming odds stacked against him. He spun left then right, unleashing barrages of his own bright violet distortion waves, one after another, at the droids. With each punch thrust forward, another equally strong recoil struck his arms. The stronger the recoil, the more painful the strike felt. But the pain sustained him, driving him into an almost manic state of frenzy. The violet distortion waves, shooting out from his shield, for a split second, changed color—turning to red, then back to violet. Apparently, that was all to the good. One of the three hovering, dodging droids exploded with such a force that the blast propelled it into the droid next to it, sending it—like a bullet—into the nearby bulkhead, where it too exploded.
But Jason wasn’t paying any attention to explosions nor much else. He slowly and methodically stepped forward—pounding out distortion waves ever-increasing in strength into the last remaining droid. It moved backward, as Jason moved forward, firing continuously at Jason, but none of its shots connected with anything other than Jason’s raised, always moving, enhancement shield. With teeth gritted, and a scream so loud and primal the devil would cower in fear, Jason put all his anger and rage into one final thrust. The droid disintegrated without leaving a trace.
It took almost half a minute for Jason to break free from his self-induced trance. His white-knuckled fists slowly unclenched as the battle around him came to an abrupt end. No other droids circled above them.
The deck was scattered with the remnants of destroyed droids and the fifteen dead Caldurian soldiers. Jason scanned the deck for any of his own, for a battle suit, and spotted one. Rizzo was sitting at an awkward angle directly across from him, leaning up against the opposite bulkhead.
As Jason came closer he recognized the young SEAL was in bad shape. Like his own, Rizzo’s battle suit must have lost its shields. Too many blackened scorch marks to count pocked his arms, torso, and legs.
Billy was now at his side. “You look like shit, Rizzo.”
Rizzo’s visor was open and he was gasping for air. His words were faint. “Bite me.”
Billy smiled and turned toward Jason. “We need to get him into a MediPod.”
Jason nodded. His own battle suit still hadn’t regenerated enough for him to phase-shift. “Can you phase-shift him into this ship�
��s Medical?”
“Nah! My suit’s dead, too.”
“Mine’s not,” Boomer said, approaching them at an all out run.
Jason was surprised to see she had almost no damage done to her suit. She looked virtually the same as before the battle.
“Listen … there’s still plenty of Caldurian combatants on board this ship … not to mention other droids. So be careful, kiddo.”
Boomer smiled. “They come near me they’ll need to be the careful ones.” She knelt down next to Rizzo, placing a hand on his shoulder, and in a flash, both were gone.
“Have you checked on Gunny?” Jason asked Billy.
Billy nodded. “On comms. She’s okay, actually taking care of Grimes. Guess she also took a few too many hits. Both are still in the shuttle.”
Jason stood and looked around the flight bay. “We need to move things along. It’s only a matter of time before they start bringing troops over here from their other ships. Hell, they could be readying to phase-shift at any second. This compartment is now ours so start moving Sharks over from the Assailant. No less than two hundred.”
“I’m on it. I’ll also check on Gunny and Grimes and get them into Medical if needed. By the look of things, you could use a few hours in a pod yourself, Cap,” Billy said, gesturing toward Jason’s blackened battle suit.
“Later. My suit’s power levels have just risen far enough up into the black that I can phase-shift again. I’ll go check on the boys in Engineering. Meet me there when you’re done here, okay?”
Jason gave a quick nod to his friend but then hesitated. In the distance, where the majority of Caldurian vessels were parked in the flight bay, were no fewer than twenty royal blue fighters, lined up like children’s toys on a shelf. Now, looking again, he realized he’d almost missed seeing the three dark red two-man fighters parked farther back. He allowed himself a brief smile. They looked identical to his favorite, no longer in existence, Pacesetter.
* * *
Jason arrived in Engineering to find it another battle zone. Bulkheads were pocked with blackened craters and, just like in the flight bay, the deck was strewn with the shattered remnants of drones. A life-icon indication on his HUD showed Sergeant Jackson was nearby. Whatever action had taken place here was over now, as all was quiet. Jason moved to the center of the large open compartment and glanced up. Like the Minian, the ship’s Engineering compartment spanned far upward, nearly to the top of the ship, some twenty-three decks in all. Ascertaining there were no hovering droids around, he brought his focus back toward finding Jackson and the chief.
Beneath several overturned storage bins, Jason saw two outstretched legs. He moved in and hefted the bins out of the way. Jackson wasn’t moving. If Rizzo’s battle suit had looked bad, Jackson’s was far worse. Leaning over him, Jason peered into the sergeant’s visor. His eyes fluttered open and Jason saw recognition there. He was alive and still conscious. The big man stirred.
“No no, Sergeant. You’re pretty badly hurt and need to be moved to Medical.”
Jackson’s visor retracted back into his helmet and Jason saw him blinking away tears.
“The chief … I couldn’t protect him. I’m so sorry, Captain. It’s my fault. It’s completely my fault. There were too many of them. Five … no six … of those monster droids.” Jackson’s gaze turned toward the right and settled on a part of Engineering where two bulkheads converged into an inset, recessed area. Jason, following his gaze, saw a pair of legs, protruding from beneath a console. “Dead?”
Jackson simply stared in the chief’s direction, and then, ever so slightly, nodded.
“What happened here?”
“The chief got a lot done … he was amazing, really. He transferred all control of this ship here, to Engineering. Comms were disabled so no distress calls could go out and he configured the shields to only allow Assailant-designated personnel and vessels to phase-shift in. You were right—if we’d tried to phase-shift that shuttle in we would have exploded on contact.”
Jason turned his eyes back to where the chief’s body lay. He died a hero. With a heavy heart, Jason said, “He won’t be forgotten.”
Billy flashed into view and quickly took in the situation. “What the hell happened here?”
“Apparently, six other drones were here … waiting. Sadly, we lost the chief,” Jason said.
Billy stood quietly for several beats, then suddenly kicked the head of a nearby drone. “Mother fu—”
Jason cut him off: “There’ll be plenty of time to curse the Caldurians later. For now, help me get Jackson into Medical.”
Chapter 33
Dramicus 9, Gracow CD1 System
Minian, Bridge
__________________________
Ricket’s leg had fully healed, freed of the parasitic bug, as he made his way onto the Minian’s bridge. Most of the ship’s systems were still down and he needed to address them before getting the vessel phase-shifted from its current location, two hundred feet below the surface of Dramicus 9. The good news was the Minian’s AI was still active and that would make things significantly easier. Plus, having Bristol and Granger there, both recovered nicely from their ordeals, would help to expedite things considerably.
Ricket gave Bristol and Granger the important task of getting the propulsion system activated in Engineering, and almost immediately, he felt the ever-so-slight vibration of the ship’s two massive drives slowly coming alive.
Ricket was moving toward the tactical station when Leon entered the bridge.
“There you are … hey, I want to get into my ship … get it up in space.”
“I understand, Leon. I am in the process of doing that very same for the Minian.” Ricket gestured toward the wide-open, deserted bridge. “Perhaps we can work together. Help me here, getting her systems activated, and I will assist you with the SpaceRunner.”
“Deal. What do you want me to do?”
“Bristol and Granger are working on bringing both the propulsion and environmental systems up to their optimal states. Why don’t you get comms operational—see what is going on there—while I bring tactical back online. Then we will know what we are dealing with topside.”
Leon hurried over to the comms station and took a seat, as Ricket went to Gunny’s open seat and brought the board before him to life. A small, projected, hovering 3D display came alive and Ricket took in all the information. At first glance, everything seemed to be as it was when he was on board the Parcical: Twelve Master Class warships were in high orbit, still above Alurian. But something had changed. Ricket couldn’t quite put his finger on it, yet something was different. As expected, the Parcical, wherever she was, was cloaked. But one of the Master Class vessels was … broadcasting on an open channel?
Ricket glanced over at Leon who, with his brow furrowed, was intently listening to something. When he looked over to Ricket his expression held a mixture of confusion and something else.
“I think I’m picking up U.S. comms chatter, going on above. It’s encrypted … protected, but definitely has Allied fleet characteristics.”
Ricket considered that. The Minian had been a U.S. space vessel for years. Whoever was up there was using the most recent updated comms protocols. He smiled. “We may not be able to decipher what they are saying, but they will be able to understand us.” About to ask Leon to open a channel, he stopped short, instead, opening his own NanoCom channel. A moment later, Ricket was more than a little surprised by the voice coming across.
“Is that you, Ricket?”
“Yes, Captain … it is me.”
“You have no idea how happy I am to hear your voice! Where the hell are you?”
“I am sitting inside the bridge of the Minian … some two hundred feet below the surface of Dramicus 9—a planet within the Gracow CD1 Syst—”
“I know where it is! I’m looking right at it,” Jason interrupted.
“You’re here? In the same system?” Ricket turned his attention back to the data being relayed
from the tactical display.
“The Assailant is here … cloaked. But I’m on the Quantum Lark, one of the Caldurian ships. Listen to me, Ricket. I don’t know how you escaped from the Caldurians, we can get into all that later, but there’s a lot going on you’re probably not aware of.”
“Yes, sir, I’m just now—”
“Be quiet … just for a minute. Thanks to the actions of our friends up here, Jefferson Station’s almost been destroyed. Ricket, Dira’s …”
Ricket listened as the captain hesitated.
“Ricket, Dira’s been injured. In fact, she’s barely hanging on. The truth is, there’s not much left of her.”
Ricket’s heart sank. He loved Dira. For a brief moment he wondered if Captain Reynolds could survive her loss—be able to continue on?
“She’s in a MediPod. The last I heard her vitals were stable, but she’s not regenerating … The MediPod’s spitting out complaints about being incapable of completing the task as there’s too much damage.”
“I am very sorry, Captain, but it is probably true. MediPods certainly can achieve miraculous results, but there’s a limit—”
“I don’t want to hear it, Ricket. You need to think of something. Come on, pull one more rabbit out of that fantastic brain of yours, you hear me? Figure something out. I don’t care what it takes. Promise me you’ll do that?”
Ricket sat still, listening to the desperation in his friend’s voice. He was poised to tell him the very sad news that there was nothing he could do—it was beyond his capabilities—probably anyone’s, when something flashed in his mind. Could it be that simple?
“Captain, I don’t want to give you false hope. It may be impossible to bring Dira back. It may be best to let her go. I am sorry.”
“What are you saying? Is there a fucking chance to save her or not?”
Ricket (Star Watch Book 2) Page 21
