The Specter Rising

by James Aspen

  A few heartbeats passed before he relaxed. The ploy had worked. He was safe. The ship streaked away from the battle, using the residual momentum of his last thruster burst. His skin itched, and he sensed the last starfighter scanning for him, probably joined already by reinforcements. He’d at least bought some time. He checked his shield status.

  [FORWARD SHIELDS 19%, REAR SHIELDS 11%].

  “That was close,” he muttered. He equalized them to 15% each, not knowing which direction an attack might come from.

  “Do these shields recharge?” he asked.

  Of course they do. 0.5% per second, baseline. But since you cut thrust, they should charge faster. Shall I perform a more precise calculation?

  “No, that’s okay.”

  Okay, so shields recharge pretty slowly. They can’t hold up to a concentrated attack. Good to know, Paul noted. After some consideration, he adjusted reactor power from weapons systems to shields. He wasn’t using them, anyway. Better to refresh shields while he was hiding. He leaned back in the seat, noticing his shirt was soaked with sweat for the first time.

  “Well, that gives me time to come up with a plan.” He got out of the pilot seat and realized he was shaking. His adrenaline had worn off, and he was drained. A sudden rush of nausea coursed through him. He rushed down the corridor, trying and failing to make it to the privy in the main hold before he vomited. Instead, he spewed onto the bulkhead outside his bunk, his body reeling. Paul had survived his first battle. He wondered if it ever got easier to handle.

  You get used to it after a while. Might be longer than most in your case. Humans are feeble creatures.

  “Get Bent, Zyp.”

  Paul leaned against the wall of the corridor. He was shaking, shock and fear finally overcoming his senses. He was chilled and wrapped his arms around himself, whispering repeatedly, “I can do this.”

  He didn’t believe it, but eventually his hands stopped shaking.

  The bright sound of an oven timer made him jump again, and a small icon appeared in his HUD. What now? I’ve got to make Zyp change that notification sound.

  “Zyp, what’s that?”

  Got it together? Kind of? Good enough. Incoming message… Zyp paused, and Paul could hear the surprise in its voice when it continued. From Commander Edolit Vyn.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  EDOLIT’S VOICE FILLED his head.

  “Paul, I’m glad to know you’ve made it so far. I have been taken captive and transferred to the base ship for the Varanul. I’m including coordinates in this data file. As soon as you are through the Gate, have Zyp send out an alert to fleet command for intervention and send all data. Tell them the Gryx appear to have a major role in the Varanul’s mission. Warn all operatives in the border worlds, I believe an attack is imminent.”

  She paused, and he heard a groan. She was alive, but obviously in great pain.

  “Get to the Gate and bring the fleet to the system. This ship appears to be mobilized for action. I’m not sure how much more time you have. Don’t worry about me, I have a plan to escape and free my crew. The Gryx hold them captive here, and together we will do what we can to delay their invasion. Good luck to you Paul, until we meet again.”

  Transmission terminated.

  “Where did transmission come from?”

  Transmission originated near a moon of Jupiter. Likely the base ship she’s been trying to find and destroy.

  “We have to save her.”

  Whoa there, Kulth Ranger. You’re one scrawny human who’s only ever been in one fight, which you lost miserably if you remember correctly. You barely survived your first battle, and now you want to storm a capital ship?

  “We don’t have a choice, we can’t leave her.”

  Sure you can. She ordered you to jump out of the system and bring the fleet. That’s how you help her.

  “There are going to be patrols the entire way between here and the Gate! Do you really think I can fight my way through them all?”

  No, we plot a path using micro-thrusts and slingshot around gravity wells to float you there. It will take weeks, but you’ll slip by their scans.

  “They’ll kill her before then.”

  Maybe, but she knew that when she gave the order. You do realize that by barreling in against her will, you could screw up her plans and make her have to save you, right?

  “I’m not a soldier. I don’t have to follow her orders.”

  I guess not. It’s not a big deal though, it’s only your world’s funeral. Saving your friend obviously takes precedence over 7.5 Billion members of your species. Don’t you have any friends among them, too? What about Rachel? Or your dear old dad?

  That hit Paul in the gut, and he deflated. Zyp was right, but he couldn’t get over a nagging conviction that going after Edolit was the honorable thing to do.

  “Look, we’re stuck right now, anyway. Let me try to think of a plan first.”

  Okay, I’ll interface with the ship and start plotting the safest course to the Gate.

  “First, display the most likely warship the Gryx would use in this system.”

  Zyp let out a very human sounding sigh, and a ship appeared ahead of him. The cruiser was sleek, with soft lines and angular panels that gave it a utilitarian simplicity. It wasn’t flashy, but judging by the armored weapons emplacements along its surface, it was formidable. The front section of the ship was large and heavily armored, with weapons blisters nestled between curving ridges that came to a point like the blades of a hunter’s arrow. The ship was obviously designed for frontal assault, with the heavily armored bow acting to shield the bulk of the ship’s major systems and hanger bay.

  [Xyanthin-class medium cruiser: Level 5 Capital Ship. Threat Level: 8]. Hovered beneath the image.

  Display all details on typical crew, weapons, and starfighter complements, he thought.

  Zyp didn’t even give a snarky comment. The Ambra seemed to be sulking.

  [Xyanthin-class medium cruiser. Length: 500 meters. Crew: 1500 enlisted, 300 troopers, standard complements. Heavy Plasma Cannons: 12. Point Defense Light Laser Turrets: 24. Missile Turrets: 6. Hanger: 12 light starfighters, 12 heavy bombers, 2 troop transports standard allotment.]

  Paul groaned. After taking out two starfighters by sheer luck, that still left 22 more fighters in the system.

  “Zyp, did senor’s detect any other ships in the system when we last de-cloaked?”

  Yes. Would you like a map of their last known locations?

  “Yes, display next to the cruiser.”

  You didn’t say please, Zyp said.

  “Didn’t know I had to,” Paul said.

  You don’t, but it is polite in most galactic cultures. Except the Gryx, they’re renowned assholes.

  “Please display the map, Zyp,” Paul said with a sigh.

  A top down map of the solar system appeared, and he studied it. The Gate was above the plane of the planetary bodies, just beyond Saturn’s orbital path. He spotted the ten fighters spread between the Specter’s location near Mars, and the path to the Gate. He’d expected that.

  What he didn’t expect were the twelve other ships in four tight cluster formations halfway between Jupiter and Earth.

  “What are those ships, Zyp?”

  Last scan indicates twelve ravager-class heavy bombers.

  “Can you determine their projected course?”

  Of course.

  “Do it and display it on my HUD,” Paul paused, and the silent sensation of annoyance tickled at the back of his head. He rolled his eyes. “Please, Zyp.”

  The map lit up with yellow lines connecting all twelve of the bombers to various points on Earth. Paul’s heart sank.

  “Zyp, we don’t have time to rescue Edolit or reach the Gate. They’re starting the invasion now.”

  ***

  Paul was up and running back to the cockpit before he realized what he was doing. He vaguely registered Zyp’s voice, trying to get his attention and raising objections, but he didn’t care.
He didn’t know what kind of ordinance those bombers had, but he knew it had to be terrible if that was all they were sending. He clamored into the pilot seat and strapped himself in. This would be a bumpy ride, no matter what he did.

  “Zyp, compare bomber locations with this new scan and give me a projection on bomber speed. We need to plot an intercept course.”

  Paul hit the switch to de-cloak, counted to three, and flicked it back on. He held his hand on the throttle, expecting laser blasts to hit the ship at any moment.

  The solar system map updated. The ten starfighters were further out in the system now, and the lone survivor from the last battle had joined another flight group. The bombers had progressed towards Earth, but not by much.

  Good, they’re slow moving. I might get to them in time. He also knew that the fact that they were so slow meant their weaponry likely included massive bombs.

  The map updated with an intercept route. He’d reach them with just a few minutes to spare before they were in firing range of Earth. It was going to be close. He keyed in the intercept coordinates into the autopilot and set throttle to full. Thrusters kicked on, and he sunk into his seat. The inertial pressure pressed hard on his chest until the stabilizers compensated and he could breathe again.

  “Zyp, bring up a tactical readout on those bombers and let me know what I’m up against.”

  A world of pain if those other starfighters catch your thrust on scan.

  “I’ll just have to hope they’re looking in the other direction, won’t I?!” Paul snapped.

  The tactical readout replaced the cruiser and map display. The bomber was less elegant than the fight he had already encountered, clunky but still in a similar three-winged arrangement. Attached to its side was a pod covered in an array of launch tubes, with a fourth drive wing attached to stabilize it.

  [Ravager-class heavy bomber: Threat level 3. Shield Strength: level 2. Armor: level 4. Speed: level 1. Armament: dual HP-43 forward mounted lasers, 8 tp-717 anti-fighter missiles, 6 db-44 heavy fusion bombs].

  “Zyp, what is the explosive power of those bombs?”

  100 megatons, that’s…

  Paul’s stomach clenched. “Twice the size of the largest nuclear bomb on Earth, I know.”

  Paul paled. 72 of those were in the squadron heading towards. Millions would die if even one of the bombers made it to Earth. More, if governments panicked and launched their own weapons at each other; the missiles had been gathering dust in silos for decades, but he was certain they could be launched without delay.

  With a few clicks, he rerouted all the power from all non-essential systems, plus 75% of life support and environmental systems to the thrusters. The ship was flying with only a quarter crew, so the scrubbers didn’t need to work at full. The ship would get cold, but he’d be too distracted to care.

  He needed every extra second he could to stop them in time. He also needed something else.

  “Zyp, how long until intercept at this speed?”

  Approximately 31.2 minutes.

  “I need you to project any simulations you have on file for these bombers, I need a better idea of what I’m facing.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  PAUL WATCHED THE simulation play again. This time he had slowed approach speed to get another round of missiles off before the bombers broke formation. Zyp had taken known data about ravager-class bombers and predicted actions based on various species to give Paul an idea of how they might react.

  Two fighters exploded as he watched, and the rest scattered into loose flight groups. Zyp showed the time it would take for a new target lock and launch, then a third exploded. By then the remaining 9 fighters had spread from their bombing formation and scrambled into an intercept course. One more exploded from a fourth missile before the screen cut out, indicating the earliest possible return fire from the bombers.

  Dammit, I’ll still have to dogfight EIGHT of them. He rubbed his shoulders, trying to release some of the tension.

  It was the best he’d come up while the ship raced to intercept the bombers, and it assumed no ship picked up his drive signature. His entire plan depended on having the element of surprise.

  Congrats, you got one more before they killed you.

  “You’re not helping, Zyp,” Paul growled.

  Excuse me? Didn’t I just come up with a complex simulation on the fly and give you a pretty HUD show?

  “Okay. Point taken. Any ideas?” Paul said.

  Nope. Your planet is doomed.

  “Maybe. I can still take out a few more of those bombers before they get me, though. Each one I destroy is six cities saved. It might give the survivors a fighting chance.”

  Well, you’ve only got ten minutes to think of something. I suggest you spend some of that time having your last meal.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Yes, you are, your blood sugar is becoming critically low. You can’t save anyone if you get the shakes in the middle of a battle, and I can’t help without bio-available energy to burn, can I?

  “Fine, you win.” Paul couldn’t help feeling like he was being scolded like a child, but he let it go. It might do him some good to get out of the cockpit, if only for a moment.

  Paul stretched while he walked to the galley. He didn’t quite understand how anything in there worked yet, so he just pressed the quick meal button. A small brown bar plopped out onto his hand, and he sniffed it. It smelled like the cheap bouillon cubes his mother used to make soup with.

  “What’s this?”

  Everything a growing boy needs. Protein mounted in complex carbohydrates, mostly. Some sugar. Some vitamins. It’s great.

  Paul took a bite and gagged, his mouth flooded with the taste of sugary meat broth with the texture of a bar of moist chalk.

  Good, huh? It was K’tal’s favorite.

  “You’d think an intergalactic civilization would come up with better food by now.”

  Well, you get used to it. At least, K’tal did. Besides, you chose the meal plan for his species, the Grr’alis. It’s quite impressive that you’re eating it at all.

  Paul took another bite and chewed the bar slowly, telling himself it was no different from cheap off-brand jerky from a gas station. It was good to have something in his stomach, even if it the texture was gross. After a couple of bites, he found he didn’t mind the flavor, actually. He walked back to the cockpit, the weird nutritional bar slowly disappearing as he focused on the simulation. It reminded him of countless hours of casually eating garbage while playing games.

  Playing games. He looked at the bar, and a plan flashed into his mind.

  “Zyp, what happens if the missiles don’t have a lock?”

  You don’t hit your target.

  “No. I mean, how does the missile itself work without a lock?”

  They fly straight forever until they hit something and explode, or their explosives degrade. They only have enough accelerant for 60 seconds. Afterwards, they’ll just drift along at a steady velocity.

  That’s it, that’s my chance.

  “Zyp, reload simulation. I want to try something out…”

  ***

  Paul flashed the cloaking shield off, updating his sensor data once more. The last thing he wanted was to miss a last minute course correction and overshoot his targets entirely. His tension settled as he saw the scan results, the course was still on target. No sign of the starfighters scattered around the system changing course to intercept him, bombers still proceeding on their course. Time to engagement, two minutes.

  Zyp, despite his incessant prattling, was an excellent copilot. The Ambra had plotted a course that lined up perfectly behind the flights of bombers with a few well-placed bursts of the thrusters. Now the ship gained rapidly behind their targets, under perfect stealth. No thrusters, just pure momentum pushing them closer to target range.

  Paul mentally prepared his shots again. Flying under cloak without the use of the targeting computer, he’d have to line up his shots perfectly so his mis
siles weren’t wasted. Meanwhile, he would remain hidden from the bomber’s sensors longer. He hoped the trade off was worth it.

  Ideally, he’d take out the first three bombers before the rest even registered they were under attack. He was confident he could destroy more before they scattered away from their clusters and made it hard to line up shots without his targeting computer. At that point, he’d have to shut his cloak field off.

  Then he’d be fighting for his life.

  No, not for his life, for the lives of everyone on Earth.

  No pressure or anything, Zyp said.

  “Right, no pressure.”

  The bombers’ ion drives glowed brighter, and he could see the dark gray of their hulls now.

  Just a few more seconds. Paul took a deep breath and tried to find calm, to steel himself for another battle.

  He’d been resisting the urge to de-cloak and shoot missiles from maximum range, letting the computer do the aiming for him. Every simulation he’d run had told him that wasn’t the way to go, it gave the bombers too much time to react. No, this was the only plan with half a chance.

  He gripped the controls and adjusted the aim to the central fighter of the rear formation with micro-thrusts, guiding the crosshairs between the ship’s ion drives. This was it. There was no going back. The icy calm he felt was disconcerting, and for a moment he wondered if Zyp had filled his system with anti-anxiety neurotransmitters.

  No, his plan was good, and the Specter was a better starship than the bombers. He could feel it in his bones. He waited for two more deep breaths until the ship was growing large in the viewport and fired.

  The bright glow of the missile streaked towards the central ship while he quickly lined up the drive of the second and third ships. With snapshots, he sent missiles towards them. He managed to fire the third missile a moment before the first missile impacted between the bomber’s drives. The explosion consumed the small ship in a heartbeat, and its wing mates shuddered from the shock waves.