The Great Talisman (Intersect Book 2)

by M C I Hinchliffe

  Anxiety ruled his sixty seven year old mind as moments earlier, the distress beacon from the Sydney had been retrieved and the data was being downloaded. Distress beacons contained vital data of the last know whereabouts of the sender, any data relating to their possible demise and the last few hours of communications on board. The reason for the resent loss of communication with the Sydney was undoubtedly in Charlie’s mind, the returned of the Warrians. But he had to know for sure, and maybe the probe could forewarn them of what they were up against.

  After a brief wait that seemed like an eternity, the communications officer below him turned about announced, “The data is coming in now General Clark.”

  “Replay the last five minutes before deployment up on screen.” He replied.

  Above their heads the screens displayed sensor data from the Sydney and the conversation between Warren and Denise. Many of the bridge crew paused to watch the screens. When the last moment of the recording transpired the bridge had achieved one of those rare moments of silence. The screens returned to the former uneventful images of fight data as the realisation of Ryan’s predictions came true. The Warrians were back and this time they had technology on their side.

  The sound of Ryan’s voice startled Charlie, “Was that the Sydney?”

  “The Warrians are back, and the Sydney has been destroyed.” He said forlornly as dread began to fill his mind.

  “I know, Zardon has already sent me a calling card.” Ryan’s reply was lifeless, as if he were oblivious to the terrible news.

  “Two more weeks and no would have died.” Charlie continued testing Ryan’s reaction.

  “In two more weeks there maybe no one left.” Again his reaction was out of character.

  Charlie pushed aside his concern for the moment and concentrated on the issue at hand. “They were unable to detect or target the vessel. Any ideas on how they cloaked it?”

  Ryan stared out at the view from the window while he searched his memory for an answer. “Nothing comes to mind.”

  “Do you think they developed it themselves?”

  “Unlikely, cloaking systems were on the edge of our technology. I’d say they had assistance somehow. Is the Megaproton Energy Field activated?”

  “The moment we got the distress signal. Ground forces are being notified of the procedure changes as we speak.”

  The communication officer below them announced, “Unidentified vessel has breached the Field. Defence grid activated.”

  Charlie and Ryan glanced at each other in disbelief. “Put it up on screen.” Ryan ordered.

  Above them an image of a Warrant Warbird fighter appeared darting through a cloud bank as it evaded beams of deadly energy. Beneath the Megaproton Energy Field orbited an array of spherical defence satellites each no bigger than a basketball. They were armed with a single laser that could target a small rodent upon the Earth’s surface, or shoot down an aircraft the size of a C5A Galaxy transport. For a vessel the size of a small twentieth century fighter to evade the defence grid was feat that many on board the bridge considered impossible, except one.

  Charlie turned to Ryan to confirm his thesis, “I don’t believe what I’m seeing, no one could survive the defence grid?”

  Ryan looked at Charlie and replied, “I can.”

  “Yes but you’re a freak of nature, but for a Warrian to fly like you do? Now that’s impossible.” Ryan gave Charlie a glare of disapproval until Charlie reacted. “No offence.”

  “It takes freak to stop a freak, then we need to send in one.” Ryan retorted before instructing the communications officer. “Send in Superman!” he looked back at Charlie and said, “Remember, I’m not the only freak around here.”

  **********

  As Adam Moore strode across the white sand of the deserted beach, the hot noon Sun fought desperately to heat the dark grey armour that encased his body. Despite the Sun's efforts, the impervious ceramic alloy remained cool, and the only response to the blistering light was the mocking of a mirror-like reflection. Every squeak that his footsteps made in the sand was detected by audio scanners on the sides of his helmet, then promptly amplified to his ears. He had no perception of the helmet's interference with his sense of sound. On the inside of his visor was projected the environmental data of the small island that he walked upon. Temperature, humidity, wind speed, slop of terrain, all changed continuously as the information was updated every second. He had little interest in the readouts being displayed in his peripheral vision. His attention lied upon the words that invaded his central line of sight, "RED ALERT - Return to base," flashed monotonously.

  He was a General in the Intersect Space Force, a position he cared little for as the mundane tasks from behind a desk tore at his fiery soul. Underneath the two stars upon his chest lied the heart of a Starfighter Pilot, and no amount of promotions were going to change that. His piloting skill was the envy of the Space Force, none could match his natural instinct for flying, and such a talent was vital in the training of the other pilots. After a heated debate with his peers, he maintained some of the duties of his previous rank of Colonel.

  The combination of the two ranks was a high stress environment that demanded one hundred percent from his mind and body. Once a week he had a chance to leave behind the constant pressure and relax in a stress free environment. This small deserted island was his private escape, a place that was as distant from the sterile world of space as he could get. It was paradise, and for him the perfect place for recharging his batteries. Time passed quickly on the island as he indulged in his favourite water sports of surfing and snorkelling. Soon, duty beckoned him to his Starfighter to continue another harrowing week of battling bureaucratic issues, and conquering manoeuvres from hot-headed young pilots.

  His direct line of path led him through the thick cluster of palm trees to a sleek smooth-lined spaceship that waited silently in a small clearing. The vessel was the size of a twentieth century fighter, and its grey metallic skin reflected the sunlight the same as his suit of armour. Two swept-back delta wings protruded from the sides of the fuselage like the graceful wings of an eagle, while jutting from the nose like an oversized black eye, was the cockpit's canopy. In the image of a roosters comb, the tail fin extended to the blue sky, complementing the already impressive design.

  The X3000 Starfighter had only one brother, the prototype, and that was proudly owned by the Admiral himself. It was the most advanced fighting ship ever constructed by human hands, and with a performance that twenty-first century aeronautical engineers could only dream of. As far as armament was concerned, nothing was visible excluding two holes in the leading edge of the wings and two similar forward apertures in the belly. It was a perfect merge between aeronautical and astronautical engineering, so the X3000 was absolutely proficient in all environments.

  He stopped at the nose of the Starfighter and placed his armoured hand upon the fuselage. In his helmet a feminine voice said, "Access approved" and the canopy lifted back into the air to expose the cockpit. The bulk of his Armoured Artificial Environment Extra Vehicular suit felt nimble as the micro-servos within the suit translated and amplified his muscular movements. With great ease, he hoisted his body into the tight confines of the cockpit and laid in the recess that covered the floor. Immediately, it moulded to the shape of his A.A.E.E.V. suit. The soft, cream colour surface felt like a bed of down that was designed for maximum comfort and support. Once on the bed, every part of his body was held fast so not even the powerful strength of the A.A.E.E.V. suit could pull away. The only movement granted by the bed was a small amount of freedom for his helmeted head. Smoothly, the canopy retracted to the fuselage surface sealing the pilot in a gee-force proof environment. He laid his arms onto uniquely moulded recesses that immobilised them in the same fashion that his body was. At his finger tips were a number of pressure sensitive keys which his fingers busily pressed. When the activation code for the Pilot-Flight Computer Mind Link was keyed in, life was breathed into the cockpit's consoles
causing an impressive light and colour display to stimulate his senses.

  The Pilot-Flight Computer Mind Link was a great technological achievement. His link with the Starfighter was no longer dependent on joy sticks, pedals and readouts. Now, he controlled the ship directly with his thoughts, like he would his own arms and legs. He was a part of the ship and the ship was a part of him. Such an integration gave him the truest sensation of natural flight, equivalent to the integration a bird has with its own wings. He was no ordinary pilot. His skill was like a sixth sense, as if he was born to fly. When he engaged the Pilot-Flight Computer Mind Link, no one could match him in battle. He could feel everything the flight computer could: the air rushing over the fuselage, the forward thrust of the engines, the gravitational pull of the earth, the pitch, yaw and heading of the Starfighter. All sensor and scanner data flowed into his mind giving him an unrivalled sense of his ship and surrounding environment.

  The only downfall of the mind link was that the pilot had to have a phenomenal flying aptitude to employ it; an ability that was exclusively unique to the birds. Only two pilots in the Intersect Space Force that possessed this ability, Adam was one and Ryan Williams was the other. The pilots lacking the gift found the mind link disorientating and even nauseous, so production was halted in its infancy and the two X3000s were the lone prototypes.

  The dominant features of the instrument panel before him were the panoramic display of the rear view tracking monitor that covered all sight that was obscured by the fuselage; the altimeter, speedometer, thrust level, gee-force counter, pitch and yaw display, and the continually updating sensor readouts. Surrounding the main flight instruments was the secondary level of data; life support, climate control, damage control, flight computer system data, and the Pilot-Flight Computer Mind Link command line that displayed the current interface. All these instruments were lucky to get a glance from the pilot, because they were no more than a backup in case there was a failure in the Pilot-Flight Computer Mind Link.

  The command line swiftly changed as he mentally projected the command, ‘Start engines’. A low moan violated the calm of the cockpit and steadily increased in pitch until it achieved an almost inaudible whistle. A deep roar followed that penetrated his ears as the powerful engines reached flight speed. Steadily, the X3000 raised off the hot sandy soil bustling the trees and ground with a gusty draft. The vessel rose higher and higher until he levelled it off at a height of five hundred metres. He gave the command to divert the engine power to forward thrust and braced himself for the forthcoming onslaught. Two great flames exploded from the exhaust ports hurtling ship and pilot into forward motion. The violent force pushed his helmet into the head rest, as the speedometer and gee-force counter raced through the digits in an attempt to log the incredible acceleration. The gee-forces topped off at 105 times normal gravity as final velocity was approached, then swiftly decreased to one gee. In a few heart beats the Starfighter had accelerated to a speed of Mach 8. If it were not for the gravitational shielding of the A.A.E.E.V. suit, the massive gee-forces would have torn his body apart. His only physical reference to these forces were the readouts before him and what his eyes perceived. Even then, most of that was a blur.

  The exhilaration of flight made his heart thump harder as the adrenaline flowed. He felt far more aware of his surrounding environment than when his human senses were applied. Even his sight was enhanced as the rush of the barren blue landscape of the ocean appeared in his mind like an endless plane below him. The ocean quickly fell away as he pulled the nose of the Starfighter towards the clear blue sky and he headed for outer space. The rear tracking monitor flickered, then changed from the display of the rapidly receding ocean to a familiar face.

  "Admiral! For what do I owe the pleasure of your ugly face on my monitor? Have you been demoted to a communication's officer?" He said with a smirk.

  Ryan's face momentarily lost its stern gaze as a smile briefly broke through. "Adam, hold your position. We've activating the Megaproton Energy Field."

  Adam's cheerful face quickly dissipated. "The Warrians are back aren’t they?"

  "Yes."

  "There goes the neighbourhood!" He adjusted the Starfighter's trajectory to level off at a height of ten kilometres. "Why activate the field so soon? It would be some time before they're within striking distance."

  "A Warrian Warbird fighter has penetrated the field, and is now on a trajectory for the field generator platform near the North Pole. It's too manoeuvrable for our defence net to hit, so our only chance is a close range strike."

  "I'm on it chief." Adam announced. He whipped the Starfighter into a hard left bank as he changed course for the North Pole.

  "We've set up a direct sat-link to Betty so you can track it until you’re within sensor range. You have clearance to obliterate that son-of-a-bitch by any means possible."

  "Don't bother to place your bets gang, the bitch is toast! Blue leader, out." He increased the throttle to maximum causing a great stream of fire to expel from the back of the Starfighter. The view from the cockpit turned red as the atmosphere burned against the bow shields. The cloudscape dashed by him so quick that it became a blur. The speedometer reading went momentarily haywire as it failed to indicate the rate of acceleration, then slowed the change of digits until it halted at Mach 300. Ryan's face was replaced by a three dimensional image of the Earth with two orbit trajectories indicated by a red and a black line. The red trajectory moved slowly over the Northern Atlantic while Adam's own trajectory dashed rapidly across the Pacific Ocean. With one hundred kilometres of thin atmosphere passing by him every second, he was forced to progressively drop the nose of the Starfighter so he would maintain his height above the Earth. Otherwise, at this great speed he would be launched into deep space. In less than two minutes he had travelled from the tropical climate of the south pacific to the bleak icy world of the North Pole. It had been too long since he battled a real foe and his senses were electric with the anticipation of a live target. Adam backed off on the throttle and reduced his speed to what seemed a snail's pace of Mach 10. The cloudscape returned to focus with a brilliant orange sunset bathing the seemingly endless sea.

  The three dimensional view of Earth changed to a tactical display with a red dot in the centre of the screen. Copying the tactical display was the image within his mind so his attention remained upon the scene outside the cockpit.

  The flight computer changed to attack mode stating the position of the Warbird. "Target at twelve o'clock low and closing. Time to intercept, sixty point zero five seconds." It announced with a light female voice.

  ‘Betty, activate battle systems.... arm weapons.’ He conveyed with his mind.

  After a brief pause the flight computer replied. "Battle systems activated, weapons armed. Ready to engage target."

  Adam dropped the nose of the Starfighter until the artificially projected red dot in his mind was dead ahead. With his eyes transfixed upon the red dot and his heart throbbing loudly in his head, his mind ran through all the possible defensive tactics the Warbird might deploy. "Load missiles, twenty percent charge."

  "Missiles loaded, ready for launch." Announced Betty.

  A pulsing sensation was sent to his brain as the targeting system homed in on the target, then changed the sensation to a continuous buzz.

  "Weapons lock, twenty seconds to intercept." Betty continued.

  No Warrian pilot had the skill to avoid the defence net and Adam began wonder if a Warrian piloted it at all. It must be a pilotless drone loaded with a new highly sophisticated guidance program, possibly problem solving. He expected some sort of evasive manoeuvre, but the Warbird seemed oblivious to his attack run.

  "Ten seconds to intercept."

  He waited until the last moment to reduce the chance of the Warbird drone evading his attack, then with the clear thought of one word he launched his missiles.

  "Fire!" Two bright flares expelled from the belly of the Starfighter and rocketed at the obscured target ah
ead. He plummeted through a layer of thick bellowing clouds as a brilliant flash of light illuminated it from below. Adam's years of experience left nothing to chance. He immediately pulled his ship into a dive loop to bring himself into an attack position behind the guided Warbird's trajectory. The Starfighter performed the manoeuvre as if it were on rails. A deep sonic boom was cast out at the clouds that clapped like thunder as the air was savagely pushed aside. Between two layers of cloud emerged the red flare of a Warbird exhaust, and quick to follow was the red dot of the targeting system.

  “Negative impact, target out manoeuvred missiles.” Betty announced.

  Adam's surprise by the manoeuvrability of his target was short lived as pure determination took over. He opened up the throttle and continued pursuit. The superior power of the Starfighter quickly closed the gap, and soon his target was less than five hundred metres ahead and in clear view. At this range the energy guided proton missiles were useless, and only the dog fight weapons system was effective. "Change to laser cannons." Adam commanded.

  "Cannons armed." Betty replied.

  "Let’s see how good your programming really is!" Adam unleashed two beams of white hot fire that travelled the short distance at the speed of light. The Warbird performed a miraculous tight weaving manoeuvre that would have impressed the best of pilots, and the deadly beams of energy impacted a metre above its tough fuselage. The explosion thrusted the Warbird a few metres off its trajectory, but its highly sophisticated manoeuvring system returned it in less than a heart beat. Adam now furious, closed the gap even further until the heat vapour from the Warbird's exhaust was flaring over the Starfighter's bow shield. With only one hundred metres between them, the threat that Adam now implicated was too great for even this extraordinary Warbird to ignore. It counteracted the attack with a random radius spiral manoeuvre that was virtually impossible for any pilot to neutralise.