Lone Star Renegades

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  “What would you do to it?” DiMaggio asked.

  “Quite a bit. By the time we’re done, it’ll be three times its present size. New, more powerful, and reactive anti-matter drives will be installed into parallel-mounted side structures; weaponry will be added … you won’t recognize the ship when it’s done. It may not be pretty, but it’ll be a highly effective combat vessel.”

  “What do we do in the meantime?” Collin asked.

  “You and your crew will need every minute of that time to go through the Brotherhood’s combat training … which will take place there on Nero Station as well. It will be an abbreviated version; our actual new-recruit training program takes well over a year. And your officers will require even more training. Don’t expect much sleep in the coming days.”

  “I haven’t talked to the others yet. Without their buy-in, I can’t agree.”

  An overhead light began to strobe, followed by a repeating alarm klaxon. A male voice echoed over a PA system: “Capitano Primo, we’ve got three Kardon Marauders inbound to our position. Their weapons are charged and they have a lock on us.”

  “Shields up, I’m on my way.” Primo hurried off his stool and headed for the exit. Over his shoulder, he said, “Come with me … looks like your training’s already begun.”

  Collin got to his feet and pulled on his T-shirt. Bubba put a beefy hand on Collin’s shoulder. “Dude, are you sure you want to go this route? I’m not liking this … not one bit.”

  “I haven’t agreed to anything yet. In the meantime, maybe we can see what we’ll be up against.”

  The three teens almost lost their balance as the ship suffered a jolt. Distant sounds, like thunder, were now a continuous addition to the alarm klaxon. Collin, Bubba, and DiMaggio hurried after Captain Primo.

  Chapter 19

  Three armed soldiers were waiting for them as they came out of the infirmary. Primo was running up ahead, in the direction of the bow. Collin, DiMaggio and Bubba hurried after him, with the three soldiers following close behind.

  Collin hadn’t noticed before, but the Tyrant was a magnificent vessel. He recognized how the use of rich colors and tasteful textures could be soothing to the senses … not so much right now, with the ship under attack, but his overall impression, nonetheless, was one of elegance: bulkheads painted a deep red and appointments, such as hatchways, that looked to be made of gold or a lightweight counterpart to gold. There simply couldn’t be found a more dramatic counterbalance to the dismal interior on the Turd.

  Captain Primo no longer tried to hide the pain he felt in his ribs. His right arm was pulled in close—holding on to the left side of his torso. He’d come to a double hatchway of brushed gold metal that opened silently into the side bulkheads as he approached. Once inside, he turned toward the three teenagers.

  “Hurry up!” he said, waving them inside.

  It was an elevator of sorts. As soon as they’d cleared the opening, the hatch doors closed and the ten-by-twelve-foot car began to move sideways. Collin felt the G-forces increase, to the point he and the others had to look for handholds to keep them standing. Primo didn’t seem to notice and continued to stand upright, still holding on to his ribs.

  “When you’re on the bridge you will stand out of the way and keep quiet. If you have a question, keep it until I, or one of the other officers, have time to address it later.”

  The car was slowing and soon came to a stop. Another set of double hatchways opened into a compartment bustling with activity.

  “Stay in the back of the bridge!” the captain barked, already heading forward, toward the front of what Collin now knew was the bridge.

  The three teen boys looked at each other. Wide-eyed, Collin took it all in. The bridge was big—easily twenty yards wide and thirty yards from front to back. Virtually every surface was alive with blinking lights, varying types of readouts, and display screens. Collin watched the men and women sitting at their various stations—each station was encircled by a wrap-around, quasi-transparent screen. At the forward area of the bridge was a large curved display that showed three approaching vessels. A row of ten smaller display screens depicted a myriad of other views, including a logistical view of nearby space and the four spaceships: the three approaching ones and the Brotherhood’s. Now the logistical view swapped places with the live feed. Seeing it full-sized, Collin noted there were hundreds of colorful vector lines and numerical readouts, which were constantly refreshing and changing values.

  Bubba nudged Collin and gestured toward the center of the bridge. On a slightly raised platform were three padded command chairs. Primo sat down in the middle one and immediately a quasi-transparent screen, albeit much smaller than those used in the surrounding stations, appeared at his chest level. Looking up from his personal display, then back and forth to the forward logistical display, Collin realized the captain was deeply concentrating and making some kind of an assessment. With a wave of his hand, the chest-level display disappeared.

  “Tactical … we’ll need to use pounders on those birds. Let’s try out the new guns you’ve been so excited about.”

  At the Tactical station, a round cubicle affair and nearly identical to all others on the bridge, a chair spun around one hundred and eighty degrees so the bald-headed man in it was facing directly toward Primo.

  “Aye, Capitano. Their shields are the older, low-freq caliniums. Pounders should work well, sir. All three warships will be within range within thirty seconds.”

  “And Jib … hold off on charging weapons until the last second. Let’s not give them a heads-up.”

  “Aye, sir.” The tactical station chair spun back around to its normal orientation.

  More and more stations became active and chairs began spinning about—changing orientation as the various occupants conversed with others around them. Collin felt a kind of combined electricity—a buzz of excitement, which was almost palpable. At that moment he realized something else … he loved this. More than anything else, he wanted to be a part of it. Looking to Bubba and DiMaggio, he saw in their faces, too, that they were eating the action up.

  Primo signaled them, waving a hand in the air for the teens to join him. The three moved through the throngs of bridge crew who were scurrying about. Workstation chairs, too, were constantly turning back and forth. As the three approached the center of the bridge and the raised platform, Captain Primo was on his feet and staring at the forward display.

  The three nervously looked at each other. Collin shrugged, as if saying maybe we weren’t supposed to come up here. Primo glanced down at them. “Sit. I want you three to see how it’s done.” He gestured toward the three, padded, ruby-red command chairs. “Hurry up … things are happening quickly.”

  Collin took the center chair and instantly felt what it was like to be in the command position of a powerful warship. He looked toward DiMaggio and Bubba and then across to the surrounding bridge, with its almost frenzied level of activity.

  “All three ships are in range. They’re splitting up, sir. In ten seconds we’ll be flanked, at both port and starboard,” said the officer called Jib, from Tactical.

  “Charge guns,” Primo ordered, taking a step closer to the display.

  “Charged … we have a lock on all three birds.”

  “Fire guns!”

  “Firing guns … cascades burst and targeting propulsion.”

  The display screen went back to the live feed. The three attacking ships had changed formation and were approaching from three different angles. At this distance Collin could see they were similar-looking to the Tyrant, but much smaller.

  It started as a rumble, which quickly turned into an ongoing pounding that Collin felt in the seat of his pants. Bursts … no … more like streaks of light were shooting from the Tyrant simultaneously, in three directions.

  “Incoming!”

  The three attacking ships were now firing their own energy weapons. A female at a station perpendicular to Tactical was working her station board
—her hands moving in a blur. “Shields holding at eighty percent, Captain.”

  The first of the three attacking ships was coming apart. A flash of white light erupted from its stern and then it toppled over, end over end, moving out of view.

  “Guns acquiring remaining birds.”

  If anything, the rhythmic pounding of the guns had increased. Collin felt his heart rate increase accordingly. The relentless barrage continued until another one of the attacking ships flashed white. The ensuing explosion brought everyone to a standstill. A quiet hush momentarily stifled all activity.

  “Stay on station,” Captain Primo commanded. The bridge crew resumed their duties.

  Jib said, “We’re being hailed by the remaining ship, Captain. She’s just discharged her batteries … guns have been retracted.”

  “On screen, Jib,” Primo ordered.

  As surprised as Collin was to see this face on the screen before them, Primo looked more surprised.

  “Real nice … so now you’re gunning for me, too?”

  Collin, DiMaggio and Bubba all sat forward in unison. They were looking at a woman’s face, so angry her cheeks had flushed a bright pink, her brow was furrowed into deep creases and her lips were pressed into a rigidly firm straight line. It didn’t alter the fact that she was stunningly beautiful. With the exception of a few errant strands of yellow, her blonde hair was pulled back into a high ponytail. She wore a uniform similar to that of the Tyrant’s crew, only hers was deep blue in color. Although Collin couldn’t tell what the markings on her collar were, it seemed obvious she was also an officer of high rank.

  “Principessa … you shouldn’t be out here. It’s a good way to get yourself dead.”

  “I could say the same to you. This is Her Majesty’s space, Dante—”

  “No … it’s not, Tina. We are clearly within Brotherhood boundaries.”

  Heads turned and eyes flashed toward the captain. Apparently using a casual, far less formal, nickname was a no-no, Collin thought. She glanced down for a moment at something off screen and seemed to realize he was correct.

  Collin thought he saw her lips pull up at the corners for just an instant. The two stared at one another for several long beats before Primo finally spoke: “Perhaps it’s best if you return to less hostile surroundings.”

  She continued to look at Primo. Her expression now showed sadness—and sadness showed equally on Dante Primo’s face. The display went black and then changed to a live feed of the opposing small warship. Its engines flared and the ship rapidly moved away.

  Primo continued to watch the display. The three boys looked at one another. DiMaggio smiled and raised his eyebrows.

  The captain turned back to the three of them.

  “Who was that?” Collin asked.

  “That, Mr. Frost, was Principessa Constantina Valora … my wife.”

  Chapter 20

  Collin, Bubba, DiMaggio, and Orman were escorted back to the Turd. With their minimizer bands removed, they reentered the airlock and waited for the outside hatch to close.

  Darren and Humphrey were waiting right outside the inner airlock hatch and they didn’t look particularly happy.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Humphrey bellowed. “Did you forget none of us have eaten anything for nearly a day and a half?”

  “Let’s move on over to the mess … I’ll update everyone at the same time,” Collin said, keeping cool.

  That seemed to enrage Darren. He moved in front of Collin and jabbed a pointing finger into his chest, “No … you’ll stop and tell me what’s going on, right now.”

  Collin felt Bubba tense behind him. Collin put up a hand to restrain the big guy from intervening. “Darren, you’re going to have to trust me on this. Some pretty big decisions need to be made and they will affect all of us. So I’m talking to the group. Get out of my way so we can bring you and everybody else up to speed.”

  A crowd began to form around them. Royce White, looking mean and hungry, strode up and stopped next to Darren. “Just let them say what they have to say, man.”

  Collin saw something in Darren’s eyes he hadn’t seen before. Desperation. Even more so than Humphrey, Darren was teetering on the edge.

  They continued into the mess where Collin climbed up onto a table. Bubba’s deep voice filled the compartment. “Pipe down … let Frost talk.”

  Collin looked around the mess and took in the facial expressions of his thirteen football teammates and the six cheerleaders. They look tired, hungry, defeated. He gave thought for another few seconds on how he was going to approach them regarding the new developments.

  “Are you going to just stand there all day, Sticks, or are you going to say something?” Collin ignored Humphrey’s big mouth, took in a deep breath and smiled.

  “I have some good news and some shitty news.”

  “Tell us the good news, Collin,” Lydia said, looking up at him, ever hopeful.

  “We can go home … the captain of the ship we’re moored next to, the Tyrant, has promised us that much.”

  “And the bad news?” Darren asked.

  “It won’t be for at least one year.”

  Expressions quickly turned to exasperation and then to anger. The three inseparable friends, Clifford Bosh, Owen Platt and Garry Hurst, now stood alongside Darren and Humphrey. Is this the start of some kind of mutiny? Collin wondered. They looked ready to kill someone—namely him.

  “Hey … we’re free to go it alone … I’m just reporting what was said. We decide as a group, okay?” Collin proceeded to relay the information back to them, as it was told to him by the captain; that the only viable way back to Earth was through something called a Rolm portal. He spoke about the Brotherhood, the princess and the Kardon Guard, and that they were currently sited in the middle of a two-year-old interstellar war.

  “What are we supposed to do for a whole year?” Owen Platt asked.

  “One of the conditions the captain demands, in exchange for helping us return home, will be for us to join them in their fight. We’ll be put through some sort of basic military training that will take up to six weeks. While that’s going on, they’ll be retrofitting the Turd into a warship. Both will take place on a space station, something call Nero Station.”

  “Join their army? No, thank you. And retrofit this piece of crap ship … why even bother?” Humphrey asked, starting to look hostile again.

  “Here’s how I see things. One, we won’t last a week on our own in space. We’ll die of hunger or, even more probable, we’ll be blasted into bits by the Kardon Guard. Two, don’t forget we’re just a bunch of teenagers. What do we know about space travel? This turd of a ship is just barely space worthy … no way would it make it back to Earth, even if we did find an accessible portal out there. And three … there’s something else … something pretty cool I haven’t told you yet.”

  “Just spit it out, Sticks,” Humphrey said dismissively and with disdain.

  “Our physiology, and our molecular structure, is different than theirs. Even this turd of a ship is different.”

  “Oh boy … that’s exciting,” Humphrey sneered.

  Bubba stepped up onto the table next to Collin. “It’s true. We’re like some kind of supermen here. We got into it when we first entered their ship. One of their soldiers got a little too hands-y with Orman, who then took a swipe back at the soldier and took the guy’s hand off, at the wrist. Even while they were firing their plasma weapons at us, I was able to push a guy twenty feet into the air and saw him get half-buried into a bulkhead. Frost took down the captain. After that, we all took multiple plasma shots from their guns … they nearly killed Orman.”

  “How are you still alive?” Lydia asked.

  “Our dense molecular structure,” Collin replied. “That, and the gravity field they’re used to is far less than Earth’s. In the end, they had to put special bands, they call them minimizers, on our arms and legs so we wouldn’t accidentally break something, or worse, kill someone.”
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br />   “Can we all stay together? Or will they separate us?” Lydia asked.

  “No, we’re not being separated. We told them that was not an option for us … we stay together, no matter what.”

  Lydia turned to the five other cheerleaders. A few moments later, Tink asked, “Would we be put through their training too? We’re girls, not soldiers.” The other cheerleaders nodded their heads in agreement.

  “I suspect you’d be able to physically do, or achieve, far more than any man there, Tink. I wouldn’t expect any special treatment for you gals. Like it or not, we’ll all be trained to be warriors,” Collin said.

  Collin watched as a new look came over Darren’s face, then Humphrey’s, then the others’. He’d purposely saved that bit of information for last. What red-blooded American teen, male or female for that matter, wouldn’t be intrigued by the possibility of having superhero-like strength?

  Collin and Bubba stepped down off the table. Discussions had sprung up and Collin simply needed to let them come to some decision among themselves. From the sound of things, raised voices … arguing, it would take a while. He felt his stomach rumble and a wave of nausea creep over him. He, too, needed to eat, but he decided to wait it out in his quarters. But before he even left the mess, the room went still. Darren was now standing on the same table Collin and Bubba had earlier.

  “So it’s agreed. We’re going along with this, right?” Darren asked, looking around the mess compartment.

  Heads nodded, but nobody looked overly excited about the prospect. Darren pointed an outstretched finger at Collin. “We find out this is bullshit, that they’re tricking us … I’m going to wreck you, Sticks.”

  Collin also saw baleful expressions on Humphrey, Bosh, Platt and Hurst. His fault or not, he’d be contending with all six of them, if things didn’t play out pretty much as he’d described.

  Collin wasn’t going to leave it at that. “Make threats all you want, but remember one thing … we’re in this together. We are all we have, and only by banding together will we survive—come through this alive and make it back home. No matter what occurs over the next few weeks, I suggest we don’t let them forget who they’re dealing with.”