Benjamin considered the prospect for a moment, but his resolve was unyielding. “Mr. Grieves, I have to ask you to understand something, something I would hope you can appreciate. You’re absolutely right in the fact that I don’t have anything to show for my life, and you’re absolutely right to assume that I have a bit of resentment built up inside. Despite everything that you see, you’re still so blind because you refuse to see what you and your people have done to me. I have been alive, and I mean fully alive, for only a matter of days now. Ever since I was awoken, I have been restrained, poked, prodded, tested, and retested. I have had every sort of instrument of death pointed in my direction just in case I didn’t measure up to your expectations, or somehow stepped out of line. I don’t feel any more warm feelings for you and the Order than I do the people that kept me asleep. At least with them, I didn’t have to feel anything like I do now. So no, I don’t have any interest in your military, and I don’t have any desire to serve under your command, or anyone else’s for that matter. The best thing you could possibly do for me is let me go and find my own way.”
Grieves stormed out of the room and slapped his pistol down on a table before pushing past an anxious Malone.
“Councilman, what happened in there?”
“He’s refused to serve.”
“What are we going to do with him then?”
“I don’t care. Lock him up until the council gives a decision.” As Grieves walked away his voice trailed off down the hallway. “Absolutely ridiculous for such an ungrateful…”
Chapter Eight
After meticulous planning and nights without sleep, the day finally came for the assault on the shipping lines. Sykes was incredibly nervous. He experienced success as the Fleet Admiral, but all that could change. There wasn’t much of a fleet. Even so, if the assault succeeded, then they could increase the size of the fleet to something respectable. A larger fleet would involve more officers, and they could take some of the stress off his shoulders.
Two frigates prepared to jump. The ships were far from impressive. If not for the outcroppings of turrets and sensor arrays, they looked very much like cylinders with a rounded hull. Three small wing-shaped apparatuses sat evenly spaced around the back of the vessels, but they were for stabilization and allowed for tighter turns. Aboard each ship was a standing crew of fifty men that was increased to seventy-five for this mission.
The two frigates punched in their coordinates, and jumped into the middle of the shipping line, each accompanied by two full squadrons of fighters. In no time at all, a large cargo train was detected on their short-range sensors and they were ready to attack.
As the cargo vessel pushed forward carrying upwards of seven hundred segments, the frigates took their positions. For most of the men on board, this was an excruciatingly frightful experience. Each heard of the sheer size of the ship, but they didn’t believe it until they saw it in person. Each segment was larger than the frigate, and the whole thing stretched on for what seemed like forever.
The first frigate charged head on toward the ship at full speed, taking with it all the accompanying fighters. When it was within range, they launched everything they had against the head of the monster while their sister ship prepared to replace it as the tugboat.
Surprisingly, the hull of the cargo vessel was resilient to attack. It didn’t present much of a threat, but could lead them right into the path of a Confederate warship.
Over the intercom, the desperation of all involved was apparent.
“Shut down the damn array! They’re going to call help!”
“This is Harper, my thrusters are down and I can’t maneuver.”
“Get Sykes, we need orders. Even if we take this thing, we can’t pull it!”
The assault was going to take down the ship, but as long as the head remained intact, they faced the threat of detection and failure.
Growing tired of the rate of progress, the second frigate took on an offensive position. Even with the extra firepower, the cargo vessel stood resilient. At long last, it showed signs of weakness as several small holes in the hull began releasing gas. Exploiting the situation, all four bombers flew in and released their payload on the weaknesses in the crippled vessel. In a brilliant flash of light, the front of the giant was destroyed and the two frigates moved in front of it. Attaching high-powered magnetic tow cables to the first segment, they changed their course. The ships and the cables strained against the force of the vessel’s momentum. Through sheer will power, they managed to pull it and change its direction.
Pummeling through space, the ships were a remarkable sight. After such difficulties, their mission appeared that it was going to be a success. If they had the sensor capabilities of a fully-fledged battleship, they could have detected the enemy closing in behind them. The captain of the cargo vessel, in his last desperate hopes of survival, managed to send off a faint, and almost missed, distress call.
Like a hawk hunting a snake, the Confederate vessel sat back waiting for the right moment to strike. Like any good hunter, its prey would not know of its existence until it was too late. The Confederate soldiers may be overly dedicated to their roles, but failure was not an option. Their ability to weigh odds and consequences had long since been removed after years of injections of the serum.
After several hours of travel, the frigates and their fighters came into visual range of the Mobile Space Station. With a few words of what happened on their journey, an outcry of victory shot up from every corridor. At last, they would have the ability to build the ships they so desperately needed to stage a reasonable rebellion.
Still stalking its prey, the Confederate vessel sat as far back as it could. As the cargo vessel could not jump, they could rest assured the ships would not escape, giving the hunters all the time they needed to call in reinforcements. Only two battleships and a carrier protected the station. If caught off guard, they faced destruction, and yet another would-be rebellion would be squelched.
Members of the Order set about processing the supplies on the ship. The haul was far better than they could have anticipated as it included pre-constructed parts for new ships.
Sykes stood on the bridge, overcome with joy at the success of the mission. He knew he would have to answer for the destroyed fighter, as Kerrigan could never see anything aside from the negative. Despite anything the council wanted to say about how they were technically involved in a conflict, Sykes knew as well as everyone else that they were fighting a war. A war in which there was going to be massive loss, much worse than a single fighter. Even though most would think of him as a thoughtless monster, it couldn’t be further from the truth. The man had gotten to the point that he shook at night as he succumbed to his stress and grief. The issue rested in the fact that he was the leader and couldn’t focus on anything but the big picture.
“Councilman, we have an issue.” The voice was desperate and lost, muffled in fear.
A crack resonated down every hall and corridor of the station, as the ship moved back with a giant lurch. The artificial gravity flickered on and off before stabilizing and several people stumbled after floating six inches and dropping.
“What the hell was that?” Sykes shouted. To say he was afraid would be a gross understatement. Every hair on the back of his neck stood and his ears suddenly burned. The point of the question was moot. He knew exactly what was going on. They were under attack. Over the past couple of months, he had felt a few small asteroids hit the side of the vessel. A couple shook the ship. This was different.
“Our hull is breached over three decks on the lower portion of the port engineering section. More missiles incoming, ETI is fourteen seconds. They’re deploying fighters!”
Sykes stood in absolute shock. This couldn’t be happening. They just won a major victory. Bracing for the blast, he knew it could mean nothing. He thought of everything they had done, and everything they sacrificed. A few seconds could strip all of it away.
“Impact in three… two…
one…”
The barrage slammed into the ship. Damaged, the artificial gravity played games in random spots throughout the giant vessel. One second, it doubled its power and forced people to the floor. The next, it threw them into the air. Crewmen tried to stabilize it, but the continued attack made work difficult.
“Councilman, we need orders!”
Sykes grabbed onto a control panel, doing his best to keep his balance. Something was wrong. He could give orders with no problems when something was planned. Now, he couldn’t think clearly when presented with an immediate problem. Closing his eyes, he drew on everything he knew. If he failed in this, the Council would have his head.
“Shields. Put up the shields.”
He hoped the simple order could buy him time. There had to be something they could do, but the Confederate force grew larger. Sensors showed a battle group of four destroyers and eight frigates. Even if Sykes happened to have the entire fleet at his disposal, it wouldn’t make a difference. The odds against them were tremendous. As the opposing ships lined up in formation, he knew his time was running out.
The shields went up and the Confederate frigates began to move in wavelike patterns toward the space station, almost entirely ignoring the Order’s frigates and working closer to their target. Through the intercom, a transmission repeated itself in a broken voice. “You are guilty of piracy and attempting to challenge the supremacy of the Confederation. For this, you will be boarded and arrested. Resist and you will be killed. Comply and mercy will be shown.”
Every volley of fire from the enemy shook the ship violently, and added damage. With the shields up, missiles and torpedoes couldn’t do much harm, but the laser cannons were still able to do a number on the hull. One of the destroyers sat off in the distance and fired powerful rounds from its heavy turrets. From so far away, they were assured that even the most powerful shot from the Order’s destroyers couldn’t hurt them.
Sykes sat back and watched as his destroyers set about their work. His carrier released wave after wave of fighters. Without orders, they did no good. The lone fighter that was destroyed earlier was now destined to be joined by dozens of others at the hands of the much faster fighters of the Confederacy.
“Release all fighters. Get every one of them out there. Man all turrets. When those frigates get to us, I want to hit them with something. Recall the rest of the fleet, we aren’t going to last very long with such limited firepower.”
“Sir, is that a good idea?”
“Just do it.” Sykes was ashamed not to have a better hold on the situation. Already, there were many dead, and with the way things were going, there were going to be more. The captains of the vessels under his control took it upon themselves to go against the Confederate ships, but with little luck. As the destroyers and frigates didn’t have enough power to maintain a shield grid, they were at the mercy of their hull plating.
The destroyers held well against the approaching line of frigates. By coordinating their fire, they even managed to destroy two of them in a short amount of time. Despite their valiant efforts, the destroyers couldn’t hold the line forever. The frigates broke through.
The destroyers were left with grim choices. They could turn and protect the virtually helpless station, leaving their backs to the most powerful guns of the enemy, or they could face the onslaught without shields and challenge far superior weaponry. Each of the two captains chose a different option. The ship that chose to help the station was instantly destroyed by a volley of missiles.
Sykes was devastated. In a single shot, five hundred men were killed with their bodies either burnt to a crisp or floating in space. He looked on, but there was little he could do. A part of him wanted to scream out and lose control because of his failure as commander. In doing so, he would lose all credibility with his peers. The only way he stood any chance of coming out of this was to sit tight and hold on until their support reached them. He feared that the support wouldn’t be enough.
The members of the Order were well intentioned, but had little to no training. The posts they were given were based on the roles they played while they were a part of the Confederacy. Even though they had the programming in their minds, it was more like instinct than actual capability. The captains of the ships in the fleet had very little idea as to how everything actually worked; they just had a feel for it. They simply couldn’t compete against someone who was properly trained.
The frigates that broke past the destroyers circled the mobile space station and released odd craft that looked like little boxes connected to a four pronged needle. The craft sped about, considerably slower than fighters, but flew so close to the station that they couldn’t be targeted by the turrets. A few tried to breach the shield barrier, but couldn’t. For a second, Sykes thought he had found a moment of respite from the immediacy of their threat, but he couldn’t be more wrong.
One of the odd craft came to a near stop and turned its four pronged needle towards the hull of the station. The prongs turned a bright green, and the ship rammed the station, cutting through the shields and the hull.
Chapter Nine
Despite his original concerns, Grieves ordered Falcon to be trained by Lieutenant Frost after speaking with Sykes. It seemed that regardless of Grieves’ opinion of the man, Sykes still believed that Benjamin had a lot of potential and would eventually come around and join in the war.
The training was intense, taking nearly sixteen hours a day and forcing Lieutenant Frost to abandon his other duties, but results were, without a doubt, beginning to show. When Benjamin first picked up a rifle, he took to it naturally. When it came to accuracy, there was no equal in all of the Order. When he raised his arm and focused on firing, his body grew ridged. He did not waver with his breathing like most men. When he pulled the trigger, the target was guaranteed to have only one hole in it, dead in the center.
Hand to hand combat was more or less Benjamin’s specialty. Although he used no definitive style or method, his movements were almost too quick to be seen, and his blows were frighteningly powerful. Originally, Frost felt himself worthy to spar with the man, but soon changed his mind. No matter how fast Frost moved, he couldn’t match Falcon’s speed. For Frost, the whole matter was embarrassing, but he was always willing to continue, if for no other reason than to learn something himself.
At the end of the day, as he was now, Falcon was locked in his quarters. Food was always a bit of an issue because he could not simply eat anything. Instead, a high-protein mixture was concocted and injected into his bloodstream, via a port in the machine in his abdominal cavity. The total capability of the machine had not yet been determined. There were many times in which it hindered him in his efforts, and he began to see it as more of a curse despite Frost’s claims that it was a blessing.
Maybe the universe was working against him. Maybe it wasn’t. Either way, Benjamin hadn’t come any closer to figuring out who he was or how he came to be. It was certain that even if anyone else knew any of the answers, they weren’t going to give them to him. It wasn’t altogether unexpected he supposed, but that didn’t keep it from hurting.
With a raised eyebrow, Ben was left to wonder about a small bump that, though barely felt, was hard enough to jar him from his thoughts. A second later there was another encouraging him to rise to his feet. Throughout his stay on the MSS thus far, he had not felt anything such as this and was curious as to its origins. He would not be left wondering for long.
“Battle stations! Battle stations! This is not a drill,” blared over the intercom and down every square foot of the giant space station.
“This is William Sykes. Infantry, suit up and check in with your squad leader for further instructions. All inactive crew are to head immediately to their quarters or to the closest safe-zone.”
Benjamin became increasingly frustrated. Every time the ship shook, his anxiety level kicked up another notch. Even though he couldn’t explain why, he had to be out there where the battle was, anything less w
as maddening.
Once more, the station shook, this time with a bit more fervor than the last. Benjamin stroked his unkempt face. It was all he could do to keep his sanity. In his short time with the Order, he put on more muscle. Regular meals aided in his growth. Still exceedingly thin, his muscles looked a little peculiar. With the incredible amount of toning they had, they looked almost plastic.
Just down the corridor, a charger burst through the walls with its four prongs plowing through the thick outer hull of the station. Once through, a thin red line cut its way from one prong to the next.
Benjamin fell to the floor due to the force of the impact. Without seeing Confederate soldiers, he knew they were close. He set to work arming himself. In the corner of the room was a chair with a thin metal frame. He grabbed it, attempting to bend one of its legs off. The work was difficult even for his sinewy body, but after much effort, the first leg broke free. There was a nice edge left where the metal finally gave way. Thinking he could do even better, he continued to break off the rest of the legs.
Down the corridor, the line completed its journey around the four prongs and the metal of the hull hissed terribly from the heat as it ignited the oxygen in the air. The gases and vapors released were toxic enough to knock a man dead in an instant.
Three crewmen rounded the corner and approached the impact site. The first walked up to inspect it a little closer and felt the effects of the toxic fumes, falling to the ground dead.
The two other guards raised their rifles to their shoulders, thinking they were ready for anything. The section of the hull inched forward. One of the men shook slightly, losing control of his rifle. The section continued to come out until it reached the halfway point. An explosion slammed it forward into the opposite wall. Both men in its path were dead instantly.
Dreamscape Saga Part 1: Project Falcon Page 5
