by Greg Dragon
He reminded himself that it wasn’t just their lives at stake, but the lives of the billions living on their allied planet. The Meluvian people were kind, and one of the first to aid Vestalia during the invasion. Meluvians were a major presence in the Alliance, and many members of his crew had family there.
“Never again,” he muttered, not realizing that his elbow rested on a live communicator. Genevieve had accidentally left it on when she made the announcement to the ship. “Never again,” came his voice over the Rendron’s PA system, his thoughts now becoming a battle cry.
All across the bridge, the crew stood up and shouted, “Never again,” some saluting, some looking at him with what he could only read as determination. It carried on throughout the entire ship, from the bridge to the wounded in sickbay.
Retzo eased off the communicator, tempted to throw it at the deck. It had startled him. What if I was up here spreading grave news? he thought. “I’m so sorry, Captain,” Genevieve whispered from her chair, and grabbed the communicator and placed it in its dock.
He looked at her, disappointed, but his comms buzzed in his ear. It was a private call from Dino Centuri. “CHENG,” he said. “What did you find out?”
“They’re just like us, Skip. The lizards have no defenses, not while their ships are cloaked.”
“Mr. Ranks,” Retzo said, shouting. “Slow us down and arm torpedoes.” He waited for the crew to comply with his commands. He nodded at Hanes to send the coordinates to the Tactical Action Officers. “Let me know when we have a lock on that destroyer playing hide-and-seek.”
“Target locked, Captain. On your command,” Lieutenant Noe Ranks said.
“Let fly,” Retzo said, not sparing a second’s delay, and moved to a window where he could observe the end results.
Four flashes of light flew past the Aqnaqak and struck an invisible force that was the destroyer. The cloak was obliterated. Then the salvo shook the ship, and as it came into view, Retzo could see that it was severely damaged.
“Direct hit, Captain,” shouted Noe Ranks.
As Retzo made to order another salvo, the Inginus moved on the destroyer. Its batteries poured forth a streamer of death, splitting the vessel in half.
Seeing an opening, the other destroyer retaliated and fired missiles into the Inginus’s freshly exposed hull. Retzo grabbed his ear where the comms was clipped and called Tyrell Lang to give him a piece of his mind. “Are you mad? I gave you an order. Charge your shields, that’s what I said. You are going to die, Lang, do you understand? You’re thyping exposed, you bloody fool.”
As the remaining Geralos destroyer turned its firepower on the Inginus, Soulspur tried to intercept by moving between the two ships. Retzo watched in horror as the destroyer shifted location. Its aim was to break the Inginus no matter what.
“Jit,” said Retzo, standing up straight and brushing off his uniform. “How are your engines? Are you still stalled or can you move?”
There was a pause on the line as the commander consulted his crew. “Thrust is online, Captain, and our shields are at forty percent,” he said.
“I want you to shunt your shields and drive into that destroyer,” Retzo said. “Push it past the reach of the battleship’s batteries. We’ll have to take it out with phantoms if you can’t get Marines on board.”
“Yes, my captain,” said Jit Nam, bitterly. It was to be expected since he was being asked to disable his ship. The collision would damage the Soulspur badly, but would do more to the Geralos ship. If they punched a hole in her hull, then Marines could board and bring the pain internally.
The least that could happen was the shields would drop to critical condition, and then a squadron of fighters could finish it off easily. Retzo contacted Tara Cor. “Captain, I am going to attempt to come about that battleship to rescue my infiltrator. We will be in your line of fire, just behind that thing, but I doubt that it will last long between two Alliance warships.”
“Do it, Strut. This is getting hairy, and Alliance central is taking their time on reinforcements for this ship,” she said. “They mentioned the Scythe and I was like, ‘seriously, an old warship? Never mind if that’s all you have, Strut and I will handle this ourselves.’”
“Thype them,” he whispered. “Our Marines are enough.” He could almost see the smile that crossed her face when he spoke those words. Tara Cor was a great captain, and loved the idea of leading men. But even more than leading, she loved glory, and the greater the odds, the better.
“I’m going to buy you some time, Strut. Don’t let me down,” she said.
“Have I ever?” he said, and got off the comms before she could answer.
“Mr. Hanes,” Retzo called as he stepped quickly over to navigation. “I need us here,” he said, placing his finger near the damaged destroyer.
“Listen up, TAO. When we come about, I want that destroyer vaporized. Then I want to focus our batteries on the aft region of that battleship. Genevieve, contact Commander Lang and tell him that he is to prepare his ship to dock with Rendron. Commander Nam is to do the same once that destroyer is a debris field. Am I clear?”
“Aye aye, Captain,” she said, and jumped back on her comms.
“Captain!” Noe Ranks shouted, and Retzo spun to see what he wanted. On the large monitor above the window was a close shot of the Inginus. The infiltrator had been split in half and was drifting in two separate pieces.
“No!” Retzo shouted. “What happened there just now?”
“Trace laser from that destroyer, sir. They didn’t have a chance.”
The emotions that shook Retzo Sho’s very core had a source that he couldn’t pinpoint. Was it the deaths of all the spacers that called the Inginus home, or was it the rage from losing a part of their fleet? “Commander Lang, what is your status?” he said into his comms, and he stood there waiting for him to answer. “Lang, come on, just answer your comms,” he whispered.
“Captain, I’m here,” Lang said, and then the connection died.
“Change of plans,” Retzo announced to the bridge as he walked towards the center. “That ship has shields to hold us off until more reinforcements show up. It showed its hands just now by trying to sneak in destroyers when we were sleeping. Two Alliance warships aren’t enough, and we’re uncertain if another warship will make it here in time to help us. Aqnaqak is in bad shape, and our shields are at eighty percent.
“This is new for most of you. I’ve kept us out of the heat for too long. But this isn’t new to our infiltrators who are now being taken apart. I know it probably seems hopeless, and some of you will want us to jump away. But that’s Meluvia down there, and she carries billions of good people, just like Vestalia did. Now, I don’t intend to sit here while we slowly lose shields. I need support and strength from everyone to make the right decisions for us to win.”
The chants of “never again” started as Retzo walked off the bridge. He needed to think, and the passageway was a welcome respite, but as he stepped through the doorway his eye caught a glimpse of one of the screens.
As he had ordered, the Soulspur rammed the destroyer with tremendous results. It not only killed the shields, but put a hole in its hull, and the damage to the infiltrator seemed minimal. “Hell yes, Jit. Hell yes,” he growled. It was a little slice of hope, and it was what he needed as he stepped into the passageway and closed the door.
31
Long hours of fighting followed for Helga Ate and the Revenant squadron, as the Geralos seemed determined to take the country. After a day of fighting, they parked their ships outside of a Meluvian Army bunker near a space station. There, they set up camp with individual tents pitched in a line and a bonfire built on the side farthest away from their spacecraft.
It was a quick setup that impressed Helga, since the teamwork was focused and effortless. They had started at sunset, and by the time it was nighttime they had everything prepared to accommodate them for the night.
The final touch was for a few of the aces to borro
w crates from the bunker. These they used as chairs, forming a jagged circle around the fire.
As they sat around joking, Helga took note of all their faces. They were twelve survivors of the original twenty-six that comprised the Revenant squadron. Most had died when the Inginus came out of light speed, but there had been no more casualties on the planet’s surface.
She noticed that they all had what Cilas would call “the stare of death.” On the escape ship during one of their frequent bouts with boredom, he had confided some things with Brise and herself. He told them that officers were trained to notice that look because it was a turning point in a spacer’s career. They would monitor the afflicted to see how they’d changed, to know whether or not they could go on.
Helga knew that she had gained the look after their first fight on Dyn. She knew because she’d noticed Cage Hem giving her looks. Now as she took in these aces, she felt a deep sense of pride. Every one of them had seen friends die, yet here they were after a day of combat, joking around like brothers and sisters.
She found herself missing Cruser and the rest of the Nighthawks. She remembered that their camps were very much like this. The dumb questions she would ask, and Cage kindly brushing them off to save her from Wyatt’s wrath. The thought made her smile. They had been her big brothers.
Thinking about them now brought a familiar pain to her throat, but she had cried enough to wash their bodies a hundred times in the afterlife. Now it was just a numbing throb that, left unchecked, would drive her to the darkest place. On Inginus, the cure had been lots of alcohol and joking around with Joy, her would-be twin.
She looked around for the lieutenant, and found her by the ships, squatted down, hand to her ear, speaking on her comms. I bet she’s talking to Cilas, Helga thought.
She glanced up into the sky to see what colors would be there now. Meluvia was the most colorful place, and its sky was something that fascinated her. Sunset had been a painter’s palette, blues spilling over into red, but now it was black as night had come, and with it the sounds of the forest.
The sky was clear enough for her to see clusters of stars, and the battle going on between the warships. When she’d jumped to Meluvia, things had looked bad for the Inginus, but she reasoned that all the lights that she saw meant that the fight was still going on.
When she lost her focus, she could hear Millicent talking. She was saying something about Commander Lang, and the rest of the Revenants were laughing. “I am not joking,” she said, “He has a family here. That’s not the scandalous part though, from what I hear, he has a really big house, with servants and everything.”
“Did he tell you that before or after you thyped him in his cabin?” Jessica Orda said. She was one of the better aces, short and stocky, just like her temper, and possibly the bluntest woman Helga had ever known. She watched Millicent’s face, gauging her reaction, but the pretty mask that she presented to Jessica stayed surprisingly aloof.
“Gross,” she whispered, her face still unchanged. “Don’t put your fantasies on me, you hard up cruta.”
Here we go, thought Helga, wondering how ugly the fight would get. But Jessica laughed, then threw some dirt at Millicent, who in turn began to smile and shake her head.
One of the men, Darius Gan, did not seem to like what he was hearing. “That’s bogus,” he said. “He’s the commander of an infiltrator. The man can’t have a life outside of what the Alliance gives him. When would he have been able to come down here on his own, marry a Meluvian, have a bunch of children, and purchase a mansion and land? Come on. The man paces a warship that stays at war, constantly. I’ve heard some ridiculous rumors in my time, but this one? This is the king.”
“Commander Lang takes shore leave every year at the same time, and he has been doing it since he took over the helm,” Jessica said. “Who here wouldn’t choose to be a commander and devote your life to a ship if you were promised a family and home for two happy months out of every year?”
The aces grew quiet as they considered her words, even though it was both a dream and an impossibility. There was no way they could get enough credits to afford a family, and real planet property. They all looked stunned, some perplexed, and others outright jealous. Being the commander was a big deal, and though they laughed at the joke about him having no life, they all could agree that the position had its perks.
The commander having a life on Meluvia, with an alien woman? It was feasible; he liked women—a bit too much, if you asked enough of his crew. He was also a powerful man who could use his influence to befriend powerful Meluvians.
Meluvians that were landowners, with so much money that a house was nothing to gift. They would give him a home, this powerful Vestalian commander, who would in turn patronize their planet and live there once he retired.
Meluvian tourism would benefit, since this powerful commander would invite all of his starship flying friends. Helga imagined that they were doing something like this. Something that made sense as an answer for why he’d have these things.
For some reason her mind went to Ina Reysor, the Louine rescue, and the pirate ship. Would Tyrell Lang be involved with selling off soldiers to pirates? she thought. Was it a lucrative venture? No, it just wouldn’t make any sense.
As she racked her brain for an explanation, Helga saw something out of the corner of her eye. It turned out to be Joy Valance, walking up to take her seat. It was dark except for the fire, but she could see that the lieutenant was crying. It wasn’t tears or a grimace that gave her away, it was the way her eyes seemed so unsettling.
“Everything okay?” Helga asked where only Joy could hear, and scooted in close to be next to her friend.
“Cilas is on the Inginus. Can you believe it?” she said. “That thyping jerk ordered him to stay.”
“You good over there, Lieutenant?” said one of the other girls.
“Great. Just going over things with Ate,” Joy lied.
They went back to gossiping once Joy had gone quiet, but Helga did notice that Lang was no longer the subject.
“What jerk?” Helga whispered.
Joy shot her an impatient look. “Lang of course. Who else? He did it on purpose, Ate, I know he did.”
Helga listened to her go on about how Tyrell Lang had it out for Cilas. She didn’t give a reason why, but from the way she spoke, she really didn’t have to. Joy had either slept with the commander or there had been a relationship. Either way, he was jealous, and was using his position to punish the man she loved.
On top of this, Tyrell Lang hated outsiders, and though they were from the Rendron, it didn’t matter. Neither she nor Cilas had been visited by the commander; not even a quick call to check on their condition. He had given Cilas a hard time, and now he was stopping him from doing what he was commissioned to do.
“That’s pretty selfish of him,” Helga said under her breath.
“Oh, it gets better. That call that I just made? Cilas couldn’t stay on for long because half the ship was drifting away from where the Geralos split them. They are struggling up there, but they haven’t called for us. You would think that we’d be needed up there,” she said.
“Oh, no, Joy, I’m so sorry. Is Cilas injured?” Helga said. “I tried to reach him earlier, but he wasn’t answering his comms.”
“He says they’re good but the place is in shambles. He would never admit it but I know he’s feeling helpless and alone up there,” Joy said. “He says the Rendron disabled a destroyer using torpedoes, and Captain Sho ordered the Soulspur to ram into another,” she said.
“Ram a destroyer. Are you serious?” Helga said, taken aback. The Retzo Sho she remembered didn’t seem the type to order such a move. It made him even more attractive, now that he had an air of mystery.
Who was this man? He had always seemed like a by-the-book sort of officer, but ordering a ram? It was hard to believe. “Way to go, Captain,” she whispered. “When the admiral finds out, he is going to flip. Heh, I bet our captain was a bad boy ba
ck in the day, pulling pranks in his Vestalian Classic.”
“Can you imagine it? I can’t see it,” Joy said, and they both began to laugh. It was the first rule in their textbooks: do not use your ship as a blunt instrument. Doing it with a fighter was suicide—though many aces claimed to have pulled it off successfully—but an infiltrator filled with people? It was positively unheard of. Not only was it illegal, but Retzo could also be court marshaled if the crew complained.
She placed her hand on Joy’s knee, and then took her hand. It was cold despite the fire, but Helga knew that the temperature had little to do with how she felt. “Joy, Cilas is a freak. There’s literally nothing that can defeat that man. I saw him take a shot in his chest from a Geralos drone, and he was back shooting it out with us less than eight hours later. We’re talking about someone who singlehandedly took over a pirate ship.”
“You were with him throughout that whole thing—at least in his version of the story,” Joy said.
“Well, yeah I was, but it was Cilas who was doing everything,” she said. “What I’m telling you is that he’s a survivor. He was before he met you; it’s how he’s wired. So don’t worry. No matter the odds, the lieutenant will always find a way out.”
“You love him, don’t you?” Joy said with a smile, and Helga snatched back her hand.
“What?”
“It’s okay, sister, I can see it in your face. I knew it from our first drink in the bar when you sat there and lied about how you felt,” she said.
“Thype you, cruta,” Helga said dismissively, but it wasn’t enough to hide her embarrassment from Joy.
The others were still swapping stories over the fire, but Helga didn’t trust that some weren’t listening to their conversation. It was human nature to be nosy, and they had been whispering to each other for a while. She pointed towards the phantoms. “I think we should take a walk to my ship,” she said.
“Wait a second, Helga … I meant nothing by it. We’re sisters, remember? I just thought you should know that I know,” Joy said, looking frightened.
