No reply.
A dozen Air Wings broke from formation, speeding for Rivkah.
“They are coming for you right now.”
Rivkah didn’t alter her craft’s course. Was she committing suicide?
Jaxx zipped by a destroyer, inching as close to its armor as he could. Nine Air Wings, plus an Oospor, followed.
“Rivkah, I’m heading for Mars. Hang a hard and wide loop and get as far from the bandits as possible. And, for God’s sakes, turn on your Doppler and send me the vortex coordinates.”
His craft shook again as more shards of cluster bullets slapped against his Air Wing.
Jaxx had to get to that star portal.
“Rivkah, at least send me the coordinate and upload the vortex onto my holographic display, will you?”
Silence.
He clenched his fist. She wouldn’t cooperate. Had he fucked her up that badly? How big of an ass had he been to her? He pushed down on his control stick, ducking under a cruiser, heading for a vortex he had no location for.
The Air Wings and Oospor were closing in. He notched his speed to Sub Light 3.4, zipping by a fast-moving frigate. There were only a few more fleet ships in front of him then it was just him, empty space, and then Mars – the planet’s glow filling the local cosmos like a street lamp on a clear, crisp night.
He had to stay within the confines of the fleet, though. He couldn’t risk it. He pulled up.
The radar popped up on the holographic display, telling him something important just happened or changed. One of the many Air Wings in the back of the pack and chasing blipped off the screen, then another vanished.
He squished his brows together. What in the world?
He switched to exterior vid cams and everything in a wide tunnel radius behind him came up on the holographic display. He zoomed in with the camera, catching a glimpse of an Air Wing, obviously piloted by Rivkah, in the back of the pack firing missiles at another starfighter near the rear of the formation. The starfighter exploded into a fiery reddish-blue, then fizzed out.
The Air Wings broke formation, except for the Oospor, still closing in.
Rivkah was helping him.
An infrared vid popped up on the holoscreen. A swirl fluctuated in and out of the vid, pulsing like a heart beat, vanishing and then reappearing, never more than a ghost-like appearance. A haze of two energy circles of equal radius were in the middle of the spiral, twenty five percent of the second circle overlapped the first, creating what looked like an opening – a portal.
“The Vesica Pisces,” said Jaxx. He knew sacred geometry better than any archaeologist alive. “The bridge portal.” The Atlanteans on Callisto had most likely created it for a straight-shot flight to Callisto. All they had to do was match the portal frequency with the doorway frequency – another portal outside the Jupiter moon – voilà, anyone could travel without using Alcubierre Metric, which drained a large portion of a ship’s generators.
“There… happy now?” It was Rivkah, her voice revved with anger. She wanted to go her way, but probably knew that the only way to safety – if that word existed in her vocabulary anymore – was to follow the asshole she blamed everything on, Jaxx.
Jaxx came out from under a miles-long, miles-wide ship, and pulled up, the Oospor dead on his rear. He glanced at his radar. “Rivkah, can you send the coordinates of the star portal and then get this Oospor off my ass?”
The coordinates popped up. Just as he remembered. The portal was nearly touching Mars’ magnetosphere. He patched the coordinates into his control panel and veered right, just as another cluster shot came his way.
His radar beeped again. The Airwings had come back into formation and he was their main target. He turned his Air Wing dial to Sub Light 3.5, zooming past the last ship in the fleet. It was just Jaxx, empty space in front of him, and then the star portal.
The Oospor suddenly moved at a quick, slight angle on his radar. It had been hit. Good job, Rivkah. Jaxx sat straighter, then slightly slumped the moment the Oospor regained composure and went back into its projected path – Jaxx’s path.
The supposed coordinates were up ahead, the Oospor slipping away as Rivkah pounded it even more with IC’s. The Air Wings were now his major threat. They were approaching fast, using each other as a wave stream to propel them faster, while using less energy. It was an often-used tool – wave streams – for fleets within the Secret Space Program who wanted to get to somewhere fast without using Sub Light 50, fifty-percent of light speed.
Fuck. How did he know this? He rapped his knuckles on his head, not wanting to know what he knew about the Secret Space Program. It made him feel ill. It made him feel wrong.
“Rivkah, tap in 51008 in your comm line. Then transmit it continuously. It’s the only way in and out of the star portal.”
No response. He checked his radar, seeing she was chasing the Oospor. A dozen more Air Wings were now in pursuit, probably launching from their respective ships no more than five minutes ago.
His heartbeat rose. Everyone was closing in on him. He throttled up, aiming at Mars, targeting the star portal coordinates.
“Again, listen to me. You have to do this to survive. Patch 51008 into your comm line and create a continued transmission. I’m doing so now and I’ll be on radio silence, so you won’t be able to speak with me until I end the frequency transmission. I hope you hear me. Please, Rivkah. I’m pleading with you. Do this!”
“Fuck you, Jaxx. I got it. I’m en-route. Clear.”
He was overwhelmed with relief and if he was standing next to her, he’d throw his arms around her in an elated hug. “Excellent. Follow me.” He switched his comm line dial from Rivkah’s private comm to the star portal frequency. In theory, he and his craft would vanish in less than a minute. The Air Wing pilots, who probably thought he was flying to Mars where he would dodge and dogfight with them planet-side, would probably piss their pants when he disappeared in front of their eyes. He just hoped his theory was sound. If it wasn’t, he was facing the well known FUBAR – fucked-up-beyond-all-recognition.
The problem: the Air Wings were now in range and Jaxx’s cockpit lit up with alarms.
He checked the radar. Rivkah was behind them, the Oospor way off in the distance, probably in need of desperate repair from Rivkah’s ravaging. You don’t mess with Riv in a fight. Never. She was now at the back of the Air Wing pack again, causing turmoil, while the front of the pack was causing turmoil for him.
Ten seconds to hope, ten seconds to the portal.
A loud, continuous beep resounded in his cockpit. Missiles were launched, no doubt screaming their way toward him – that’s if sound penetrated the expansive darkness like sound weaved around on planets.
He wasn’t changing course. He couldn’t and the mess of SSSRM-23 Slingers weren’t, either.
More alarms, more missiles, and he was less than a few seconds away from the portal. Which would hit first? His craft into the portal or the missiles into him? He closed his eyes in anticipation. A static-sound erupted in his cockpit and his Air Wing rumbled like a car in an earthquake. His eyes shot wide open and blue, yellow, and orange lightning streaks twirled around his ship. A tube opened up before him, sucking him in like light to a wormhole.
His ship rattled, his holographic instrument panel shorted in and out as his ship catapulted at an incredible speed down a blue lit tunnel that rotated around him.
“Please Rivkah. I hope you followed me,” he whispered to himself.
His craft suddenly buffeted and spun, lights of every color shrouded his cockpit, clouds of electric gases and more lightning erupted, creating a dizzying display. The static-sound stopped and he heard a low, deep rumble like thunder. Another lightning bolt cut through the gases and then shifted, blanketing him with clouds of pale whites and reds.
His mouth fell open. Where the hell was he? He couldn’t see anything except the colorful clouds. Startled, another crack of thunder rumbled around his Air Wing. He checked his holoscreen, pulling up his radar.
>
According to his ship’s data, he was near Ganymede, a Jupiter moon. And Europa, Io, Lysithea, Elara, Autonoe, and the radar identification went on and on, until it came to Callisto – his destination. But, where was he? He brought up his own location and about jumped out of his seat. He was in Jupiter’s upper atmosphere.
He went to adjust his throttle and steer his craft out of Jupiter’s atmosphere, through the exosphere, and into space. He halted when a voice blared over his comm line. “Lieutenant Kaden Jaxx, this is Captain Katherine Bogle. We will retain your ship’s controls.”
18
M-Quadrant, Solar System ~ Starship Atlantis
Spit leapt out of President Craig Martelle’s mouth as he spoke, his face red, his eyes wild. “You lost Jaxx? You had a kill team on him? Are you fucking mad, Slade? What are we going to do when we get to Callisto? He was the key.”
Slade crossed his arms, his brows creased. He stood erect, his chin high, his chest out. He wanted to slap the president. Slap him, hog tie him, and push him out an air lock. No one told Slade that he screwed up. No one!
“What the fuck are you doing to get him back?”
“Captain Richard Fox is on it, Mr. President.” Slade stared at Martelle – eyeball to eyeball. If it hadn’t been for Slade, none of their objectives would have been met. Slade wasn’t taking the President and the entire Democratic and Republican Party – who Slade referred to as DemoReps – on some joy ride. It had taken him years to create a program big enough to pull off a space mission of this magnitude and if it hadn’t been for the random Callisto discovery in May, the President would still have been be itching his crotch in a nervous twitch that his cabinet, his family, and his Republic – which he had a huge boner for – would still be in the crosshairs of Earth’s coming changes. In short, Slade had saved their damned asses and set them on a course to conquer the stars. Admiral Gentry had fucked it up, just a tidge by opening fire on Callisto; and Fox was half way to Mars in a hot froth about killing Jaxx; but other than that, it wasn’t a total clusterfuck.
“This is a total clusterfuck, Slade.”
“Noted, Mr. President. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”
He pushed through the entourage, ignoring Craig’s mounting quibbles and concerns. He was done with this Jaxx character. He should have killed the archaeologist and Rivkah when he had the chance. He let them linger around him for far too long and only because he had a plan, a script that Jaxx and Rivkah were supposed to follow, and he wasn’t used to people going improv on him.
He tapped on his shoulder comm device. “Andrea Cross. Is everything set up?”
“Yes,” she replied. “We have a private room waiting for you.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
Slade walked into a stairwell and descended a few decks. Pushing the door open into a lobby, he walked with wide steps, his posture strong. Entering a hall, he stopped at the first door and ran his ID across the control panel. The door beeped and slid upward.
“Right this way, Colonel.” A woman, dark brown hair swept up in a chignon, greeted him. She had on a white lab coat, much like the one Dr. Donny used to wear. Poor Dr. Donny, his old hypnotherapy tech and physician, killed by friendly fire down in Underfoot Black.
“Thank you, Andrea.” He strode forward, following her into another room, the door shutting behind them.
She gave him a curt nod. “Have a seat here and we’ll hook you up.”
He took a seat next to an IV stand and Dr. Cross rubbed the crook of his arm with a numbing cream just below his bicep. She slipped a needle under his skin. The other end of the needle was attached to plastic tubing with a medication administration port, roller clamp, and drip chamber.
She exited the room, returning shortly with a bag of blood in her hand, a large white sticker over it with the name, Kaden Jaxx, on the front.
“Are you sure about this, Colonel?”
Slade gave a shallow grin, his deep piercing eyes cutting through Dr. Cross as if he was looking at someone else. “Sure as shit am.”
Captain Richard Fox stood in front of his control panel, his titanium elastic alloy boots magnetized to the floor, his IPR-8 – Ion Pulse Rifle – magnetized to the back of his titanium suit, weapons batteries strapped to his belt, photonic grenades clipped to his shoulder, and two vibroknifes, each magnetically stuck to his leg armor.
To say he was prepared for a fight was an understatement.
The Oospor he’d snagged, however, wasn’t the space fighting type. It could wreak havoc on the ground, but all it had in space was a few lucky shots and speed.
He patted his control panel. “Let’s get back in this.”
Rivkah had shot his craft up nicely and he was out of the chase, far from the pack of Air Wings. The Oospor’s shields and armor held up nicely, but he had to pull out of the fight and let Jaxx go.
He glared at his vid screen, Mars highlighted space in front of him, the Air Wings were like blue dots, getting smaller and smaller. Rivkah was lost in that mess. If Jaxx was going to Mars, then all the better. He could fuck him up there.
He went to push the throttle when a strange frequency code came through his comm line, the numbers showing up on his holographic display console.
51008.
He throttled up, blasting toward the Air Wings. He’d catch up to them soon, seeing that they weren’t flying in a straight line, avoiding weapon’s fire, dog fighting, and evading each other.
He patched in 51008. “Who is on this line? Clear.”
The comm line replied with static. Why would he be sent this frequency code?
An image popped up on his vid screen. “An energy vortex?”
He typed in 110 on his comm line, wanting to speak with Mission Control. The comm line went right back to 51008.
“What the fuck? I need Mission Control.”
He patched in 110 again. For a moment it stuck, then went right back to 51008.
He scrunched up his nose, confused, and veered toward the vector coordinates for the energy vortex. He attempted Mission Control again. For a moment, 110 stuck.
“Am I being asked to rendezvous at coordinates – ”
The comm line bounced back to 51008.
“I must be.”
He throttled to Sub-light 3.1.
Ten seconds to rendezvous point.
The pack of Air Wings flew right through the coordinates – the energy vortex – then some banked right and some banked left, circling the coordinates Fox was heading toward. Yet, they were confused. What was going on? Where was the dogfight?
Almost on top of the coordinates, he slowed his ship. An instant later, his Oospor was surrounded by electricity; bolts of lightning splintered in front and all around him.
The craft shuddered, then zipped forward as if being pulled. He reversed thrusts, but nothing happened, his controls were out of fucking control.
The space in front of him changed from starlit black and facing Mars to a tunnel of blue electric energy spinning around like domesticated lightning. His comm line still held the frequency code, his holographic dials spinning rapidly.
He pulled back on his control stick.
Nothing.
He dropped his arms by his side, his cockpit lighting up in white and blue. He shifted on his feet and crossed his armored arms across his metallic chest. He guessed he had to wait it out. He’d been through too much combat to be in anxiety over this – the unknown. It was part of his life, a part he no longer feared.
But the dropship, not cooperating, really irked him.
His craft stopped and clouds of energy – reds, yellows, greens, and golds – dispersed outward as his dropship came to a full halt, caught by something; something energetic and powerful.
A beep came through his comm line. “Welcome, Captain Fox. Remember me?”
19
Charlotte, North Carolina ~ Earth
Whapooh! Whapooh!
Two stationary tanks let loose in the city street. Drew, Mya, and Camila, the
baby bundled in her arms, leaned against a laundromat building, the cement wall shook, and smoke rose from around the corner building, its front caved in from a direct hit.
“Go!” said Drew, prodding Mya and Camila forward. They ran, crossing the pocked road and ducking behind the next building. They’d only made it a few miles from Drew’s house.
“Me cago en la madre,” said Camila, throwing her words in Drew’s direction. “Hijo de la gran puta, Drew. You brought us right in the middle of danger.”
“Keep running and follow me.” That’s all Drew could say, other than questioning her about what the hell she just called him. Drew hadn’t foreseen a military battle on his way to his friend’s business. He also didn’t believe a country would ever invade the United States, yet they had, so what else could be pulled out of the holy-shit hat?
There was a moment of quiet, but he knew it wouldn’t last, then Bvvvvvvv as a tank rotated its turret, readying another shot.
Whapooh!
The side of a building across the way sunk in, cement and wood crumbling from the explosion. Soldiers ran out of the building, letting off some rounds with their rifles, then hustled around the corner, disappearing from view.
A US tank pulled forward from behind the building.
Bvvvvvvvvv! Whapooh!
Bratatatatat Ratatatat!
US Marines emerged from another building and raced by Drew. One soldier waved them down, urgent and angry and pissed at the world. “Get the hell out of here!”
It was like they were in a war zone. The United States didn’t have war zones. This wasn’t right. This just didn’t happen.
Another missile landed somewhere in the middle distance. All Drew knew was it hadn’t landed on them. Not yet, anyway.
Car alarms joined the fray, going off like a tone-deaf symphony.
He led Mya and Camila around another building. They stopped, pressing their backs against a wall, Camila holding the duffel-bag tightly to her side as if it was their lifeline, her mouth drawn in a straight line. She rubbed her shoulder. “You trying to kill us?”
Atlantis Quadrilogy - Box Set Page 36
