The Specter Rising

by James Aspen

  The second fire team guarding the door scattered deeper into the second launch bay before he could bring the ship around. His scanners showed a small cluster inside, behind another barricade, but they were out of his firing range. Edolit would have to deal with them on her own. He ignored them and spun the ship back around towards another hatchway. Varanul and what he assumed to be crewmen of another species were streaming out into the hangar bay. Paul concentrated his fire on the new threats as they scattered around the hanger, splitting his focus.

  A few seconds later, Zyp chimed in. Omaro reports they have reached the exit hatch and are ready for extraction.

  “About time!” Paul squeezed the trigger and cut down a group of crewman inside another hatchway. The hatch doors became free from their housing and half closed, blocking easy entry from the corridor beyond.

  They report two wounded, evacuation will be slow.

  “I’ll get as close as I can.” Paul stopped firing and looked at his tactical readout, using it to guide his counter-thrust back towards the entrance as best he could. He ignored the steadily falling shield value as the dozens of surviving crewmen and Varanul pelted his shields. As long as he was drawing their fire, they wouldn’t be aiming for the wounded. He kept the ship hovering above the deck and cut thrust. He wasn’t confident he could get any closer.

  “This is the best I can do. Send them a full tactical display and let them know we’ve got heavy fire.”

  Done. Lower boarding ramp, they’re coming.

  With a flick of a switch, the ramp lowered and the chaotic sounds of the hangar bay flooded through the calm of the ship. Shouted commands cut through the blaster fire. He gripped the throttle and stick tightly, trying to keep the ship as steady as possible and ignoring the urge to shy from the steady torrent of concentrated fire. The shield value decreased faster as more crew joined the fight. He evened the shields out with a press of a button.

  “Hurry, we’ve only got a few more seconds!”

  ***

  Private Numoh had expected carnage in the hangar bay, but he was still unprepared for the chaos he was met with as he stormed through the doors. He dove to the side for cover. The guards who had been flanking him got mowed down by strafing fire from the transport and the doors clanked half closed behind them, dislodged from its housing.

  Scattered around the hanger, what remained of his security force shot towards the transport ship as it backed towards the entrance to C deck. Battle formations and command structure seemed to have collapsed. The remaining Varanul seemed to be aiming to punch through the shields and damage either the engines or the viewport, depending on their fields of fire.

  With a moment’s assessment, Numoh knew they wouldn’t be able to stop it. Too many of the heavy pulse cannons had been destroyed. He also knew the starfighters were still too far away to make it in time for effective pursuit. Ducking from the chaos, he scanned the undamaged section of the hangar for options. Relief ran through him when he saw one troop transport shuttle was still undamaged. If I can get to that, I can disappear.

  A flash of indignation coursed through him. His sense of duty bristled at the thought of abandoning his task. He knew he was going to be sent off to a menial post on the most backwater of worlds if he stayed. At worst, he would be executed, especially the way the battle seemed to be turning. The transport settled beside the entrance and lowered its ramp. Numoh took the chance to run towards his only salvation.

  A sudden burst of light caught his attention, and he turned to see the entrance to C deck opening. Edolit waved the other two members of her team forward while she fired back towards a flanking crewman. The hulking Scyllarian helped the armless Grr’alis move quickly up the ramp. Numoh had a clear shot on all of them. Maybe he could redeem himself.

  The chitinous Scyllarian turned towards him as he brought up his blaster to fire. He could see from the way it moved that the hulking Scyllarian recognized him. It let out an angry roar that shook Numoh to the core and heaved toward him until Edolit pulled it to a stop with the stern bark of an order.

  Private Numoh dropped his weapon and ran towards the troop transport, dropping any aspiration of redemption along with it. Numoh realized how poor of a shot he was. Without a perfect headshot, the rifle would do little but slow down the creature he had tortured. Numoh kept running, not stopping to see if Commander Vyn’s orders had kept the Scyllarian from running him down and ripping him apart.

  ***

  Paul turned at the harsh sounds of boots pounding against the deck of the ship. For a moment, the horrible thought of Varanul storming the cockpit and tearing into him with their talons made his heart race. Instead, a huge alien covered in chitin armor burst through the cockpit, oozing blood and covered in burns. It pointed out the viewport with its blaster at one of the gangly gray aliens running away.

  “Blast that one if you can, it’s the captain.” The alien’s voice came from two places at once, a chittering noise from its face and a louder translation from its Ambra mounted in its colossal, armored arm.

  Before Paul could reply, it disappeared down the hall and helped two others onto the ship. Paul watched anxiously until he saw Edolit stumble through the hatchway. She looked terrible, but relief coursed through him.

  “We’re all here, let’s go,” she shouted. She leaned against the inner wall of the ship and punched the hatch release, closing the ramp. She collapsed to the deck, her back to the wall.

  Paul pressed the throttle forward and headed towards the launch bay.

  The captain appears to be heading towards that troop transport. Zyp made the outline of the ship flash in his HUD. An icon flashed on the copilot’s station next to him, and a stream of laser fire burst into view from above him.

  That giant lobster-like alien must be on the dorsal turret, Paul thought as he swung the ship around toward the transport. The gray alien was almost to the ramp of a large transport ship. Blaster fire from the Specter’s dorsal turret burned holes in the deck all around the lanky creature, tracking its desperate movements closely.

  Paul did not know what armament the troop transport had, but he didn’t want to find out. He lined up his shot and fired, burning through the rear hull of the vessel. The alien skidded to a stop just before the ramp, and Paul kept firing. Explosions tore the ship apart in a burst of flame as Paul’s blasts hit the transport’s engines. The blast caught the alien unprepared and sent it tumbling to the deck. It struggled to rise until a quick series of laser blasts from the Specter’s dorsal cannon caught it in squarely in the chest. Paul cringed at the gory pieces of the creature splattering over the hangar.

  Paul aimed the ship towards the twinkling stars at the end of the launch tube and set the throttle to full. He was about to turn on the cloaking device when he saw multiple ships appear on the combat map. The ship’s nose outside the viewport disappeared when he flicked the device on, anyway.

  Great, the starfighters just got into sensor range.

  Cut thrust… now!

  Without questioning, Paul cut the throttle to zero and shut the engines off. The speed they had built up in the launch tube sent the ship bursting into the void of space. The chaos of the hangar and the hulking cruiser faded behind them. Paul braced himself, waiting for the cruiser’s cannons to tear the ship apart.

  The shots never came. Zyp had gotten him to cut thrusters in time to avoid detection by the gunners. They’d made it.

  A pair of bright drive plumes caught his attention. The starfighters were close enough to see the glow of their thrusters as they streaked towards their base ship. He resisted the urge to turn and burn hard away from them. He knew they couldn't survive another dogfight, especially with weakened shields. Paul kept the ship drifting forward, hoping their momentum was enough to get them away without detection.

  When the starfighters streaked past, their course unchanging, he finally relaxed and collapsed in the seat, exhausted. He’d made it.

  “Let’s not do that again, Zyp.”

&nb
sp; I concur. Can we please get out of this hellish star system now?

  Paul laughed. “Yes Zyp, I think we can leave now.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  PAUL’S SKIN CRAWLED as the Specter drifted away. He knew the remaining starfighters were close. The urge to know where they were ate at him, but he forced himself to keep the cloak engaged. He couldn’t help feeling that the ship would be spotted and vaporized at any moment, though he knew the likelihood a pilot could see the shimmer of the ship’s cloak field against the backdrop of space without thrusters engaged was slim to none. He’d spent days facing one crisis after another, and now he couldn’t shake the feeling. His entire nervous system was overloaded, primed for action and unable to shut down.

  According to sensor readings before cloaking, the chance of detection is essentially zero. You should check on the status of the others and take a break from the cockpit. Don’t make me give you a sedative again.

  Paul was too exhausted to react to Zyp. His legs were stiff from sitting with his tension for hours. The sounds of scrambled movement and muffled groans in the main hold behind him were disorienting. He’d been alone for days, with no noise but the sounds of his own thoughts and Zyp’s voice in his head. The noise of other beings on the ship was a welcome change.

  “Okay, I’m going to go check on them.” He yawned and stretched, surprised at the aches he felt from tensing his muscles throughout the rescue. He took one last look at the sea of stars and headed to the rear of the ship. As he walked, he ran his hands along the ship’s smooth metal as he went; the Specter was beginning to feel like home, but he was still trying to get to know it.

  Thank you, Specter. As he’d gotten more connected to the ship, it only felt natural to thank it for seeing them through. He wondered if it was a human thing to personify vehicles, or if other species did that too.

  Paul found the three aliens clustered around the medical station in the main hold, looking ragged. Edolit was arguing with the larger, crustaceous alien, who seemed to be insisting she let him patch up her wounds. At first glance, she looked like she had received the worst of it until he saw the thin, pink-skinned alien was missing an arm, her shoulder wound grisly and skin hanging loose over her emaciated body.

  Edolit noticed him walking into the hold. Her skin pulse a vibrant blue. She smiled, her green eyes twinkling in the bright light of the hold.

  “Paul! Good to see you again!” Her voice was ragged, but joyous.

  “Zyp says we got away without detection. I thought I’d come check on you,” he said, rubbing his hands through his greasy hair and shifting his weight uncomfortably.

  The other two aliens spun around. The larger one had a wide grin on his face, or at least Paul thought it was a grin. It was hard to tell what the movement of his facial maxilla meant, but it seemed cheery somehow. The armless one looked weary. Paul walked up and got a closer look at their injuries.

  Edolit was holding her left arm close to her side as if she couldn’t move it and was covered in a dozen wounds of various shapes and sizes, oozing blue with blood. Her previously vibrant, lilac skin looked dull by comparison, like the color had been drained from her. Ripples of dark red radiated from her wounds in a steady rhythm, showing pain, he assumed.

  The large alien had almost as many holes in his chitinous armor plates. Viscous yellow liquid oozed from the wounds, and scorch marks surrounded them. His wounds were no longer bleeding, but a thin film of gristly flesh was growing over them, his Ambra patching him up. The creature’s thin, black eyes drooped beneath the chitin ridges of its face. It was exhausted, too.

  Paul’s HUD flashed beside the creature. [Omaro: Level 5 Weapons Specialist. Species: Scyllarian. Display bio?].

  The small, pink skinned alien was covered in thin, brown bony ridges breaking through her skin, outlining the skeletal edges of her petite frame and extending from the base of her elongated skull. Other than her missing arm, she appeared drained more than wounded and leaned weakly against the wall with a haunted expression.

  [Ja’el. Level 4 Pilot. Species: Grr’alis. Display bio?].

  Paul closed both HUD display windows with a thought. He was getting more used to working with the Ambra.

  “Now that we’re safe, can you help me convince her to let me patch her up?” Omaro motioned towards Edolit and crossed his hulking arms. His body language seemed to display annoyance.

  Paul turned to Edolit and nodded.

  “You look like you’ve been through hell, you should let him.” Paul got an approving nod from the armored alien.

  Edolit sighed and sat down on the exam table. Her face pulsed a deep blood red, and she winced. “Fine, Omaro. You win. Let’s get this over with.”

  “Grab me some gelpaks from the kit, Paul.” Omaro pointed to a panel in the wall while he started wiping the gelatinous blood from Edolit’s shoulder wound with a wet cloth. Paul was surprised at how gingerly the strange creature moved, despite its size.

  Paul grabbed a stack of the packets containing the thin, gelatinous matrix of material that reminded him of Edolit’s stomach wound from the night they met. His stomach churned as he remembered the grisly sight of her body knitting itself back together. Now that her wounds were cleaned, he could see they weren’t healing like before. Without her Ambra, she had to heal the hard way.

  Paul glanced down. Fibrous electrodes and metallic bolts of her Ambra still hanging from her forearm. “Do you have another Ambra, to help you heal?”

  Edolit coughed and shook her head. She winced as Omaro covered her shoulder wound in the sticky film of the gelpak. “No, I’ll be fine until we get back to base.”

  “She just had to be the hero. It should have been me,” Omaro grumbled.

  Edolit smiled weakly. “But you make such a good shield. I got us out of there, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, and you nearly got yourself killed because of it, too,” Omaro said. “At least I blasted that damned Captain Numoh.”

  Omaro spat out the name like a curse and then turned to Paul and lowered his head. “Thanks for the pickup, kid. We wouldn’t have made it without you.”

  Ja’el chimed in from below them, having slid down to the deck while Omaro patched up Edolit. “Thank you. That was some excellent flying. I didn’t think we’d make it out of that one.”

  “Just trying to help.” Paul felt his cheeks burning. He felt out of his league.

  “I’m glad you ignored my order to get through the Gate. You did good,” Edolit said.

  Grief coursed through Paul, hitting him in the gut. The memory of a mushroom cloud breaking through the air above El Paso brought tears to his eyes. “Not good enough. I should have been able to stop all those bombs.”

  Ja’el cocked her head at him. “I don’t think I could manage that, and I’ve been flying this ship for three standard rotations. No one could have stopped them all.”

  Edolit nodded, her skin pulsing a bright green. “You’ve done far more than anyone could have expected of you under the circumstances.”

  Paul felt a fire inside himself, urging him forward. “I want to do better. Take me with you, there’s nothing left for me there, I’m ready to join.”

  Omaro held out an armored hand, his four digits segmented like a crab’s and covered in ridges. Paul clasped the alien’s hand, surprised at the tenderness of its grip.

  Edolit beamed at him. “Welcome to the Resistance, Paul.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  EDOLIT REFUSED TO rest after her wounds were patched up. Medical scans showed she had fractured two ribs, but wasn’t in direct danger as long as she didn’t take another direct hit. She’d taken a minimum dose of pain medication and locked the rest away in her cabin. She didn’t think Ja’el would take too many again, but she didn’t want to take the chance. She’d ordered the Grr’alis to take a sedative and rest; the pilot was worn deep to the core and was asleep in her bunk in moments.

  Edolit wasn’t sure if her friend would ever be the same, but couldn’t worr
y about that now. Omaro was as stubborn as ever, refusing to rest and gorging himself on rations. He was fueling his Ambra’s increased caloric needs to heal himself and assured her he would be ready for battle.

  Paul was watching Edolit as she worked on her message in the cockpit. He’d agreed warning the people of Earth of the incoming battleship was the best they could do under the circumstances. The Specter was out of missiles, and could do little to slow the cruiser down while ten starfighters protected it. The conversation had pained Paul, but he had accepted it. It had only been a few days since everything he had ever assumed about the universe had been shattered; she was proud of how quickly he was embracing it.

  Edolit finished her recording and looked back to Paul for approval.

  “I don’t know if they’ll act on it, but it’s the best we can do. My planet has never been good at listening to reason.”

  “No, they haven’t, that’s why the Gryx seemed prepared to destroy your culture to take the planet. They knew you would be hard to control.”

  Paul smiled. “We can be pretty obstinate.”

  “I know, fortunate for me and my crew.” Edolit smiled and turned back to the comm station, double checking her settings. She made sure it would send on all frequencies and channels she had uncovered during her time scouting Earth. She’d assured Paul it would be picked up by both military and private receivers alike. He didn’t like the idea of the world leaders keeping the public in the dark about their fate. It might cause panic, but she had agreed it was the right thing to do.

  “Okay. Data stream ready to send on your mark,” she said.