The Specter Rising

by James Aspen

  The ship’s wing mates didn’t have time to swerve from the explosion of their flight leader before missiles hit their ships. One exploded on impact, taking a direct hit on a drive. The other spun wildly away, its weapons array severed from the main body and the ship rapidly depressurizing, leaving a faint trail of debris and gases.

  Paul wanted to celebrate, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. He banked right and accelerated, lining up the next bomber. The formations were breaking, scrambling to react to the invisible threat of the Specter. He imagined the targeting computers of six fighters on his left searching for the heat signature of his active thrusters, but he forced himself to stick to the plan.

  Paul lined up a fourth shot and reflexively shot a missile and started lining up another shot before he registered the fifth ship’s motion. He was in a state of flow, his movements coming without thought, the Specter was an extension of his body. The fifth bomber broke right as its wing mate exploded and Paul’s fifth missile launched. His missile missed wide, blasting out into the starry expanse.

  Paul ignored the escaping bomber, knowing it would need time to come about before it was a threat. He took a deep breath and lined up the final bomber in the flight group. Laser fire erupted across the viewport, filling the area around Paul’s ship. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the occasional shudder of a laser finding the edges of his shields, and tried to anticipate the movements of the bomber ahead of him. It bobbed and tried to change course to set up the other bombers for a clear shot.

  Just like Paul thought it would. He smiled and released his missile, pausing long enough to watch the missile explode against the bomber’s launch tubes. The ship was vapor before the fires ran out of oxygen to burn. A wave of relief spread through him. He’d beat all his projections by getting that fifth bomber. He spun the ship wildly to avoid the onslaught of laser fire and switched his weapons to lasers.

  “Now comes the hard part,” he murmured as he turned off the cloaking field. The combat display blinked on, showing him the swarm of seven bombers swirling around his ship. He chose one at random and veered toward it, bright green flashes of enemy laser blasts already filling his viewport.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CAPTAIN NUMOH HELD the deadly edge of Commander Vyn’s blade to the light and examined its fine serrations closely. He switched the blade on and watched its edge blur, the rapid movement of the serrations making the edge waver. A microsecond later, the serrations emitted their brilliant fuchsia glow, super-heated by an unseen energy source beneath them.

  He wondered what metal alloy the blade’s designers had used. Somehow, it could withstand the combined strain of rapid movement and super-heating without losing the ability to slice through ferroucarbon like it was a thin membrane. Such a material would have a wide array of applications when the researchers isolated and reverse engineered it. Numoh imagined he would receive great praise if it led to advances in hull plating and battle armor for their troops.

  He shutdown the blade and turned it over in his hand. It was too large for his grip, obviously not designed for the thin elegance of Gryx hands. Still, it had a sleek beauty even he could admire. He’d watched as the forces under Gryx control used the blades to slaughter entire villages of their own people, even compelled his fair share of the creatures with his own pheromones. Despite his history with the culture, Numoh never imagined he’d see another Hylian Honor Blade, and in a way he supposed he never would. The blade he held was a more advanced replica, an homage to a culture lost.

  The blades, and the Hylian fighting style that accompanied them, had been fearsome for primitives, but they’d never been able to stand up to modern armor. The Council had deemed them too primitive to adopt, and too dangerous to leave in local hands. After the culling and the consolidation of Syndicate control, all the Honor Blades had been melted to slag. This one appeared to be something different, a more advanced weapon modeled off the traditional blades of the Hylian people. Someone had made this blade for Commander Vyn as a deadly tribute to her people’s traditional blades.

  Someone with a creative zeal for complex technology was helping the Resistance. First with the super-advanced augmentation, and then the most effective ship cloaking technology he had ever come across. This new advanced tech was making this small cell of self-proclaimed protectors into more than just a minor nuisance. Now, this group was also being supplied personalized advanced weaponry.

  If the Syndicate didn’t find whoever was supplying these malcontents with advanced technology, things would spiral out of control when they made their move. Instead of a quick coup and restructuring, these resistance fighters would turn the natural consolidation of power under Gryx rule into a protracted civil war. The cost would be enormous, and if the tech he had seen was any indication, the Resistance would be far more destructive than their numbers should allow.

  Who is designing these creations for you? What would it take to take these wonders for ourselves?

  Numoh was confident Gryx engineers could reverse engineer the technology behind the blade, and inevitably the cloaking technology when they capture a craft or a cloaking unit was recovered from the debris of one. The tech he was most interested in, the Ambras, was the one that would make them unstoppable if they could unlock its secrets and produce them in mass levels. Indeed, if he could be the one to discover the source, he would ensure his place in the new regime.

  The entire Syndicate’s significant might had only captured a handful of operatives with these wondrous devices. So far, all attempts to learn their secrets had failed. Between the Ambra’s programming and the tenacity of the wearers, all had been destroyed through various self-destruct mechanisms, safeguards, and triggers. Numoh remained convinced that the only way they would recover anything useful about these devices was through psychological means. Now that he had the esteemed Commander Vyn under his guard, he knew he could get at least one member of her team to break.

  A sharp beep sounded from his terminal. He placed Edolit’s blade on the rack behind his desk, along with the other artifacts of his collection, and accepted the transmission.

  “Yes?”

  “Captain, we need you on the bridge now!” The comms tech was beyond panicked. He made a mental note to find out the tech’s operating number and make sure they received more training on proper handling of operational stress.

  “What is the problem, ensign?”

  “The bombers, sir. They are under attack!”

  ***

  Numoh burst into the bridge, unconcerned with appearances for the first time in longer than he could remember. This was no time for concern with decorum. The loud echo of his voice through the room made every tech, guard, and officer in the room jerk in surprise. “Report!”

  He joined Commander Keul at the tactical station and analyzed the situation. Keul looked up and pointed towards the projections of the situation unfolding near the Terran home world. Half of the bomber squadron had been destroyed and were swarming around what Numoh assumed to be the Resistance transport ship.

  “The transport engaged the squadron from close range while cloaked. Three were down before they even knew they were under attack, another two were lost moments later,” Commander Keul said. The elderly Gryx was grim normally, but carried an even darker glower now.

  “Scramble Alpha Squadron to reinforce the bombers,” Numoh ordered.

  “Already done, but the closest flight group is still 100 clicks away. They’ll get there long after the battle is over.”

  Numoh muttered a curse under his breath. He’d almost had the human once already, but he’d misjudged the primitive’s skill. Now, he’d wrongfully assumed the human’s only option was to get to the Gate and request reinforcements from wherever the Resistance rabble were hidden. He should have assigned a flight group to guard the bomber wing instead of scanning for the transport.

  Another bomber disappeared from the tactical display.

  This can’t be right, even a handful of bombers should be ab
le to beat an untrained human in a direct engagement.... His thoughts trailed off as he peered at the chaos unfolding. A realization flashed in his mind - the Resistance had installed an Ambra on the human. There was no other explanation. The technology was far more powerful than he had predicted if it could make an ace pilot from one of those primitives.

  “How close are they bombers from their launch window?”

  “Uh, sir?” Commander Kuel seemed confused by his request.

  “Now, Commander!”

  Keul hastily read his sensor readouts and looked up. “Five clicks.”

  “Have the flight leader, Beta-3, and Beta-7 break from engagement and start their bombing run. All other bombers will keep the human busy until their payloads are launched.”

  “Sir, they outnumber them six to one. Surely they can handle one ship.”

  Numoh turned from the tactical screen and met the other Gryx’s eyes. “No, they can’t, they’re already dead. This way, they can at least complete their mission. Give the order.”

  “Yes, sir.” Keul saluted and belayed the orders to the comms officer.

  Numoh turned to the lead engineer and navigational officers, standing at attention to his left. He gave an order he’d been waiting to give for two rotations, since the moment he was sent to this backwater system. “Fire up the main drive. Prepare Wildfire to leave orbit. Inform me when we are ready to disembark.”

  The navigational officer saluted. “Right away, sir. Course?”

  “Earth. Set thrusters for maximum drive.”

  The officers scampered away to get their teams working, and Numoh smiled. Even if my bombers don’t launch enough warheads to start the nuclear war between the nations of Earth like we’d planned, the Wildfire will make them bow to us, regardless.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  EDOLIT COULDN’T WAIT any longer. The dull vibration of the ship’s drive powering up was shaking her cell. The warship would soon be on the move.

  Status report?

  Nian displayed her vitals into Edolit’s heads up display. [Health: 75%. Stamina: 25%.]

  Cauterized blaster burns remain unhealed as ordered. Rib fractures set, but still unstable. Thumb reattachment complete and functioning at 85% baseline, Nian said.

  That will have to do.

  I recommend allowing your ribs to heal completely before acting. They limit your range of motion and leave you vulnerable to critical damage if impacted.

  Noted, but we don’t have a choice. The rest of the crew is out of time. They'll start killing them to get me to talk.

  Then I suggest protecting your left side in battle.

  I will. Reset stamina rejuvenation to default.

  Now that her basic injuries were patched up, she needed as much energy as she could muster for the coming battle. The more she relied on Nian to augment her motion, the more exhaustion she faced. She was an excellent fighter on her own, but she knew she would need an extra boost to free her people, especially in her injured state.

  Her plan was fairly simple, to overwhelm the guards dragging her to interrogation and free her compatriots before the general alert sounded. She glanced at the gory mess on the floor in the corner of her cell. Nian had found the blind spot in the security cameras almost immediately. The hard part for Edolit had been finding an angle to chew off her own thumb and slip her wrist out of the binders without arousing suspicion.

  She looked down and moved the reattached digit. It still ached, radiating the rhythm of pain up her forearm. The thumb no longer moved at the correct angle, but it wasn’t useless as she’d feared it might be. She had positioned it as best she could for reattachment, but was off. Nian had healed it, so she wouldn’t bleed out. If she made it back to base, the surgeons would have to grow her a replacement for it to restore full function.

  At that moment, she only cared about saving the remaining members of her team. She glanced down at the binders still attached to her other hand and adjusted them to make her appear bound. Anyone inspecting the security feed closely would see she was free, but she’d have to risk it. The element of surprise was her only chance.

  She turned towards the door. Carefully, she hid the gore from the camera with her body and kneeled, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet and legs spread wide. Numoh knew enough about her people to recognize the meditation stance and, hopefully, would not suspect an attack. She closed her eyes and waited. Part of her hoped the Captain would be waiting behind the door when it opened. Edolit forced that part of herself aside with a cleansing breath. Revenge wasn’t as important to her as her crew.

  She breathed deep and time passed, the cell not quite silent. The baseline hum of the large battleship grew louder as the drive warmed up. Edolit brought calm to her mind and forced her muscles to relax, focused on her breathing and her mission.

  The anxiety of waiting might have made some lose grit, but she was a scout. She was used to lurking in the shadows and waiting for an opening to learn the enemy’s secrets, striking only when an opportunity presented itself. Every moment she waited in her state of semi-meditation, the more stamina she would have in the coming conflict. The urge to check her status to see how much of her resource increased gnawed at her, but she resisted the temptation. This was her one shot at escape. She would have the energy she had and nothing more.

  Nian interrupted her state of semi-consciousness. I detect three incoming guards, two Varanul and one Gryx.

  Engage combat speed enhancement, Edolit ordered.

  Engaged.

  Energy passed through her entire body. It felt like every muscle was vibrating with power. In a way, she supposed, they were. The Ambra’s nanotech was flooding her muscles with energy and neurotransmitters, priming it for battle.

  The door slid open, and she pounced without hesitation, driven by pure instinct. The door wasn’t completely into its housing before she darted through the narrow opening and slammed into the shocked Gryx crewman with the full force or her weight. Her momentum sent him sprawling back, and he hit the floor with a loud crack, his head bouncing on the deck. The world blurred as she spun her leg and caught the knee of one of the Varanul in her sweep. The creature howled and hit the ground with a grunt. Her spin completed, Edolit slapped the weapon from the last guard’s hand with a quick swipe of the binders still hooked to her right hand.

  Still a blur of motion, she brought the binders down harshly across the creature’s face in a backhand smack, catching two of its eyes by chance. She sprang into the air and caught the stunned Varanul’s chin with her knee, narrowly avoiding the blast from the recovering guard behind her. The creature lost its balance and tumbled back, arms flailing. Edolit landed with a roll, narrowly avoiding franticly aimed blasts, and scooping up the guard’s dropped blaster. She stopped her roll in a low crouch and fired two quick shots. The blaster fire stopped, and the Varanul slumped to the ground, two smoking holes bored into its chest. The remaining Varanul had recovered and roared defiantly, extending its talons as it lunged for her.

  Edolit fell away from the creature’s lunge and fired on instinct. Her shot burned through the Varanul’s lower jaw before severing its spinal cord. It crashed to the ground next to her, limbs still twitching with nerve impulses.

  Disengage combat speed enhancement, Edolit thought, her heart racing. She collapsed to the deck, breathing heavily, her chest struggling to rise against the pressure of the artificial gravity. The exchange had only lasted seconds, but she already felt drained. She’d gotten lucky. A third Varanul instead of the crewman, and she wouldn’t have succeeded.

  Disengaged. No alarms detected. Two enemy troops neutralized, one enemy crewman regaining consciousness.

  Edolit scrambled to her feet and checked the corridor out of habit, arm shaking as she held the blaster outstretched in front of her. Though Nian would have detected another guard coming within earshot, her training still made her perform a sweep out of habit.

  The crewman’s dull groan made her spin around and level her weapon
on him. He was a young Gryx, his rubbery gray skin covered in the remains of the gelatinous protein paste from her meal plate, unarmed. She hesitated. No need to kill this one. His glossy black eyes widened as he came to and saw the blaster leveled at him, and he jerked away from her.

  “Where are my crew?” She asked.

  “Please… don’t…,” he stammered.

  “My crew,” she growled, pressing the weapon against the Gryx’s stomach and flashing the pattern of irritation. “An abdominal wound is a horrible way to die.”

  “Those two,” the Gryx said, pointing to two cells down the corridor frantically. “Please.”

  Biometric scan data confirms this Gryx is telling the truth.

  “Key disc,” she growled, holding out her hand and keeping the weapon leveled on the Gryx. Beads of milky white sweat coursed down the crewman’s smooth gray face. Ka’ilk, he’s just a kid. They are recruiting younger and younger these days.

  “Here, take it. Just let me go.” He gave her a small metal disk with two indented sides with data ports.

  “Thanks. Now get in the cell quickly and I’ll let you live,” she said, motioning to her empty cell with her blaster.

  The Gryx didn’t have to be asked again. It scampered into the cell with muttered gratitude. Edolit smiled, pulsed gratitude, and closed the cell doors. She held the key disc to the door panel until it flashed red, locked.

  A quick check of the dead guards and she found the cuff release cylinder and freed her other hand. She scooped up the other guard’s blaster and cursed when she didn’t find anything else useful on their bodies. She’d hoped to recover her blade, but she’d take whatever edge she could get.

  Edolit started towards the first cell, and a wave of dark spots flashed across her vision. She leaned an arm against the wall until the sensation passed, her skin pulsing a sickly ochre.