by Chris Fox
“On screen, sir,” Juliard said. Nolan glanced up as the screen shimmered. The asteroid disappeared, replaced by a very feline, very angry face. This Tigris had black fur and large yellow eyes. Its shoulders, arms, and chest were corded with thick muscle, and Nolan was thankful they weren’t in the same room. This thing could probably tear him apart.
“You will die for this atrocity, ape,” the creature snarled. When it spoke, Nolan caught sight of wicked two-inch fangs. A thickly-furred tail flicked over its shoulder, as though it had a mind of its own. “The Leonis Pride will be alerted to your cowardly actions.”
Nolan attempted to explain. “We didn’t destroy your science vessel. We—”
The view screen went dark.
“They’ve cut connection, sir,” Juliard said, quite unhelpfully.
“Lovely,” Nolan snarled. He leaned forward in the chair, thinking quickly. “Emo, how close are we to the asteroid field?”
“Not close enough, sir. I’ve plotted the Tigris intercept course. They’re going to reach us about forty seconds before we make that field,” Emo said, glancing over his shoulder at Nolan. Nolan had a hard time taking Emo seriously, and hoped his style of dress didn’t mean the young pilot was bad at his job. They were going to need some top-notch flying in the next few minutes.
He considered his strategy for all of three seconds. Tigris had greater acceleration, which fit their MO. Their vessels had dense tritanium along the spike at their prow, which was perfect for ramming enemy vessels. Once they’d done so, hatches opened all along the tip to allow them to disgorge boarding parties. Tigris loved hand-to-hand combat, and their vessels didn’t have any ranged weaponry beyond their harpoons and dart fighters. That had proven to be more than enough during the Eight-Year war.
“Full burn for those asteroids, Emo,” Nolan ordered. He turned to a dark-skinned man he’d yet to meet. The man was standing at the gunnery station. “You, Lieutenant…Ezana? Bring turrets one through eight online, and prepare for dispersal firing. See if you can make them wary, at least.”
“Yes, sir.” The man bent back to his console.
Nolan punched a button on the tablet the captain had left him, and the view screen shifted to show the pursuing Tigris vessel. It had already exited the corona, and was accelerating toward them.
“Commander, they’re gaining rapidly,” Juliard said, her voice rising half an octave.
“Damn it,” Nolan cursed, knowing they were playing right into the Tigris hands. Should they stand and fight? No, that way lay death. He needed a way to even the odds.
“Commander, they’ve launched three darts,” Ezana shouted. “I’ll try to intercept.”
The entire ship shook as the starboard and aft turrets began firing. Each turret was a miniature gauss cannon, little brothers to the forward-facing main cannon underslung along the hull. Unfortunately, that cannon required them to be facing a foe, and Nolan wasn’t about to risk that.
Three sleek, missile-like ships were rapidly closing the distance to the Johnston. Nolan held his breath as all eight turrets fired. White streaks shot into space—visible evidence of the breakup of the projectile housing, as each turret fired a depleted uranium core accelerated to lethal velocity with powerful magnets.
One of the darts exploded, but the other two took evasive maneuvers. The darts had no armaments, but their massive engines allowed them to rapidly close with their targets. Like their parent vessel, they had dense tritanium armor, which meant that only a direct hit would bring one down.
“Brace yourselves,” Nolan roared, grabbing onto the side of the chair. The ship shuddered, then shuddered again, as both darts impacted.
Unlike the Primo, the Tigris didn’t generally use conventional ordinance. Those missiles were troop transports.
He stabbed a button on the right arm of the captain’s chair to send his voice across the entire ship. “This is Commander Nolan,” he said. “All hands prepare to be boarded.”
3
Hannan
Hannan settled her combat helmet over her bare scalp, flicking the switch that illuminated the targeting HUD. Her Head-up Display could be set to show a variety of things, but for this engagement, targeting was what she needed. She tucked her sidearm into the holster strapped to the leg of her TX-11 body armor, then picked up her assault rifle. Around her the rest of the squad was doing the same.
“Mills, you’re on point,” she said, tucking two more clips into the largest pouch on her belt.
“Sure,” the handsome sniper said. He peered at her with those frosty blue eyes, expression as emotionless as a shark’s. He didn’t salute, and she didn’t ask him to. He did his job, and that was enough.
“Edwards, keep your cool, all right? Wait for them to come to us.” Hannan turned to face the largest member of the squad, a beefy man with a thick red beard and a shaved scalp. The private had a slightly vacant expression, which matched his demeanor. Edwards wasn’t smart, but he was loyal and took orders well.
“Yes, sir,” Edwards said, giving her an eager nod. He picked up his heavy assault rifle, the TM-601. It weighed nearly sixty pounds, about three times her own TM-30.
“Paterson,” she said, addressing the oldest member of the squad. Paterson wore a neatly trimmed beard that was beginning to gray, and had been in the 14th even longer than Hannan. For some reason he’d never advanced beyond private, and seemed happy with that. “I want you to keep an eye on the kid.” She didn’t wait for a reply, exiting the armory and starting up the corridor.
“I’ve got your back, Duncan. Just stick close to me,” Paterson said, clapping the newest member of the squad on the back.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Duncan said, eyes flashing. The kid trotted up the corridor until he was even with Hannan. “Just show me where the Tigris are. I’ve been wanting a new lion-skin rug.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Hannan said, eyes narrowing. “Stay in position, and listen to Paterson. If you get out of line again, I’ll toss your ass into the brig, Private. Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Duncan said, sullenly.
“Sarge,” Mills called from up the corridor. He dropped to one knee next to the hatch leading down to B deck, one fist raised to indicate they should stop.
The squad froze, each making their profile as small as possible. Hannan glided forward, trying to be stealthy as she knelt next to Mills. “What have you got?”
“See for yourself,” Mills whispered.
Hannan peered down the corridor. About forty meters away a bronze spike had shot through the hull. It filled the corridor, and the tip punched through the inner wall. The area around the breach was thick with viscous black fluid, which the Tigris used to prevent attacked vessels from depressurizing. She could see an outline along the metal spike, and knew immediately what it was.
“Boarding tube. They’re going to pop out of there any second,” she whispered. Hannan turned back to the squad, raising her arm and gesturing to the squad. They trotted forward, assuming defensive positions. Hannan waited until they were settled before speaking. “We’ll have contact in a few seconds. As soon as that hatch opens they’ll start pouring out. Let Mills pick them off. When they rush our position, cut them down. Let them come to us.”
A sharp hiss sounded behind her, and Hannan whirled with a curse. The hatch along the spike slid down, and the first Tigris dropped into the hallway. It wore midnight armor that matched its fur well enough that she had a hard time knowing where the armor ended and fur began. The beast was taller than Edwards, and about twice as wide. It cradled a huge shotgun, a weapon the Tigris had adopted during the Eight-Year war.
“End it, Mills,” she whispered.
Mills brought the stock of his rifle to his shoulder, sighting down the scope. The motion was as smooth as it was fast, and less than two seconds later a sharp report echoed down the corridor. The bullet caught the Tigris above the left eye, and blood sprayed the bronze tube behind it as the beast collapsed to the deck.
> Hannan ducked to the left side of the hatch as answering fire came from the Tigris. The corridor filled with the hot smell of gunpowder, and the pings of slugs biting into the other side of the hatch.
“They’re going to rush us,” Hannan called over the gunfire. “Get ready to push back.”
She risked a glance around the hatch, and cursed when she saw the Tigris charging. Four black-furred cats bounded up the hallway, covering ten feet with every jump. She brought up the muzzle of her assault rifle and loosed a three-round burst at the closest target. It caught the cat in the chest, but the heavy armor shunted the impact. The cat was knocked prone, but was otherwise unharmed.
Its companions bounded over it, and the first one leapt through the door. Edwards was waiting, and the deep angry booms of his TM-601 were deafening. The stream of slugs caught the cat in the face, sending it into a backwards spin. It flipped back through the doorway with a pitiful mew, but the next cat was already through. It landed next to Edwards, grabbing the barrel of his assault rifle with one hand.
It yanked the weapon from Edwards’s grip, tossing it to the deck. Then the beast raked his armor with its claws, sending up a shower of sparks as Edwards toppled backwards. The cat leapt, pinning the big Marine to the deck as it savaged his neck armor with those massive jaws.
Another cat came through, but Duncan and Paterson were ready. Their combined fire drove the cat back, then a lucky shot from the kid caught the cat in the face. It slumped to the deck, its body straddling the hatch.
Hannan took a split second to assess, then decided that Edwards was most in need of help. She darted forward, ripping her sidearm from its holster. She planted the weapon against the back of the Tigris’s skull, and squeezed the trigger. The beast’s skull was thick, but not thick enough to take three high velocity rounds at close range. It collapsed onto Edwards, who groaned as he tossed the body aside.
“Thanks, Sarge,” Edwards panted, his face and neck covered in blood. She hoped most of that was from the Tigris.
“Get some,” Duncan yelled. Hannan’s head snapped up, her stomach sinking when she saw what was happening.
Duncan had advanced past the hatch, into the hallway. There was no cover there, and he was completely unsupported. She was still rising to her feet when a black form flashed into view. It leveled its shotgun at Duncan’s chest, and the weapon boomed. Duncan was picked up and hurled backwards, landing in a heap.
Paterson rushed into the corridor, unloading three-round bursts at the Tigris who’d shot Duncan. That Tigris went down, but answering fire from the other Tigris lit Paterson up. His body jerked as rounds punched through his armor, and he finally collapsed to the deck. Hannan knew he was dead.
“Mills,” she snarled. “I’ll lay down suppressive fire. I want dead cats, and I want them now.”
“Dead cats I can do,” he said. It was all he had to say. Hannan knew that Mills had more cause than most to hate the Tigris. His parents had been on a freighter wiped out by Tigris, during the war.
Hannan dropped to one knee, shielding her body with the hatch as much as possible. She switched her weapon to full auto, and sprayed the corridor with a quarter clip’s worth of rounds. There were only three targets remaining, and all three ducked when she began firing.
Mills brought his rifle up. It coughed once. Twice. Three times. All three cats collapsed to the deck.
Hannan stopped firing, her chest heaving as she surveyed the carnage.
“We did it,” Duncan said, stumbling awkwardly to his feet. His armor had been punctured over his right shoulder, which explained how he’d survived a Tigris shotgun blast. His gap-toothed grin made Hannan want to punch him. “We downed a Tigris boarding party. Hell yes.”
“Shut up, kid,” Mills said. “We got lucky.”
“What do you mean?” Duncan said, blinking. He was unaware of the blood coming from Paterson’s body, just a couple feet away.
“These weren’t elites,” Hannan said, wearily. She moved down to Paterson, gently closing his eyes. She gave Duncan a hard look. “These are nothing more than privateers, not true Leonis Pride. If we’d fought elites all of us would be dead, thanks to that stunt you pulled.”
4
Cat and Mouse
“Emo,” Nolan called, rising from his chair and moving toward the pilot’s chair. “I want you to decelerate.”
“You want me to do what? Are you crazy?” Emo said, darting a look Nolan’s way that left no doubt how he felt about Nolan’s sanity. He looked around to the rest of the bridge crew. “Where’s the captain? This guy is going to get us killed.”
“Ensign Gaden, I gave you a direct order,” Nolan snapped. He seized the back of Emo’s chair, the adrenaline surging through him. “Do it. Slow down to seventy-five percent acceleration.”
Nolan spun to face the comm officer. “Juliard, tell Engineering to shut down engine number four.”
“Aye, sir,” Juliard responded, her voice calm. Though her expression showed a healthy dose of fear, she bent to her terminal and began punching in commands.
Nolan released Emo’s chair and moved back to his own, eyes fixed on the view screen as he waited to see if his tactic would work.
“Sir, the Tigris are closing the gap between us. They’ll be in range to grapple in nine seconds,” Emo said, spinning his chair to face Nolan.
“I’m aware of that. When they’re three seconds out, I want you to do a full burn in the three active engines. That should get us into that asteroid field,” Nolan ordered, forcing himself to lean back in the chair.
“Ahh, I see what you’re up to,” Captain Dryker said, ducking through the hatch. He carried a plate of the yellow protein that passed for eggs, but tasted a lot more like styrofoam. “You want them to think we’re more wounded than we are, that their boarding teams disabled an engine. Don’t let me interrupt.”
Nolan clenched a fist, then took a deep breath. Putting him in charge had been the worst kind of recklessness, but he’d only have a chance to be angry about it if they survived the next three minutes.
“The Tigris warship is following us into the asteroid field,” Emo warned. He tilted the stick, and the Johnston bucked wildly as it swerved around an asteroid that dwarfed both itself and the pursuing warship.
Nolan was silent as Emo expertly threaded their way through the asteroid field. They passed within a dozen feet of chunks of rock large enough to crush their vessel. The Tigris warship showed up as a red blip on the mini-map in the corner of the display. It was close, but no longer gaining.
“Juliard, connect me to Engineering,” he ordered, again forcing himself to relax in the chair. His next move was a gamble. If it paid off, they had a chance. If not—well, at least he wouldn’t be around to be chastised for it.
“You’re live, sir,” Juliard said.
“Engineering, I want you to ignite engine four on my mark. Give it everything you’ve got,” he ordered, leaning forward and raising a hand even though he knew they couldn’t see it. Nolan watched the view screen as the Johnston plunged deeper into the asteroid field. Rocks of all sizes flew around them, and it was a testament to Emo’s skill that they survived.
The Tigris vessel hadn’t broken off, but the gap had widened as the cats struggled to keep up. They were bigger and faster, but less maneuverable.
“Mark,” Nolan said, dropping his hand. The ship surged as the fourth engine came back online. “Emo, use that large asteroid as cover, then bring us about.”
“Acknowledged, sir,” Emo said, pouring on the speed. Nolan’s stomach lurched as the vessel passed under the largest asteroid they’d yet seen. He couldn’t actually feel the inertia, but his eyes tricked his body into thinking it could.
They passed under the asteroid and, as soon as it screened them from the Tigris, Emo flipped the vessel. The ship came about, its nose aimed in the direction from which the Tigris would appear.
“Ezana, warm up the main cannon,” Nolan ordered.
“Target, sir?” th
e chief asked, a sheen of sweat covering his forehead.
“Use the turrets to soften up that depression at the base of the asteroid. Fire the main cannon into the rift that opens up,” Nolan ordered, studying the asteroid. “Hold your fire until the moment the Tigris vessel comes into view.”
The next eight seconds were the most tense of Nolan’s life. He’d never been in a real ship-to-ship combat, and he had that eternity to contemplate the consequences of his plan. If it didn’t work, they’d be helpless.
“Fire,” Nolan roared, the instant the sleek body of the enemy ship appeared below them.
The gauss cannons began their staccato, sending slug after slug into the asteroid. A deep hum built within the bowels of the ship, then rose to a high-pitched whine. The Johnston’s main gun—the most powerful weapon humanity had ever developed—fired a tank-sized hunk of depleted uranium into the asteroid with the force of a many-megaton bomb.
The shot sent a magnetic ripple from the barrel, as the cannon dispersed the excess energy. The rift they’d fired into became a canyon; a quarter of the massive asteroid peeled off as the explosion flung it straight into the Tigris vessel. The ship was tough, its tritanium hull strong enough to deal with the stresses of entering a star. But it wasn’t tough enough to deal with the impact of thousands of tons of dense rock.
The Tigris vessel exploded in a brilliant shower of debris, and the bridge crew began to cheer.
5
Egg Breath
Nolan’s chest was heaving, more from adrenaline than true exertion. The clapping died down and he was left staring at Captain Dryker, who was still spooning eggs into his mouth. Dryker stared back, unperturbed.
