The Terminal War: A Carson Mach Space Opera

by A. C. Hadfield

  Babcock eased himself back into the captain’s chair and ran through horan and lactern battle simulations on his smart-screen. He had never expected to be captaining an advanced ship on an intercept mission during his exile but knew when he had accepted the offer to freelance in Mach’s crew, anything was possible.

  Squid Three hovered over his shoulder, extended its tentacles, and chirped.

  “Go to engineering,” Babcock replied. “I’d rather you run diagnostics from there if we encounter any problems.”

  Sanchez smiled and leaned over the back of his chair. “Does your little machine speak, or was that just for our benefit?”

  “Why would it be for your benefit?” Babcock asked although he suspected the big hunter was teasing. “I stopped trying to impress people thirty years ago.”

  “You impress the hell out of me!”

  Squid Three drifted out of the bridge, and the door hissed shut.

  Distant stars streaked across the bridge’s main viewscreen. A 3D image on the navigation console showed a small outline of the Intrepid rapidly approaching Erebus’ heliosphere.

  Lassea deftly manipulated the holocontrols and spun the central cube to the engine systems. “L-jump deceleration in ten seconds. Preparing the gamma drive.”

  The crew ran like a well-oiled mech. Babcock hardly had to lift a finger after he gave coordinates for a rendezvous location agreed upon earlier with Captain Steros. The CWDF destroyer’s L-drive was no match for the Intrepid’s, so they had ten minutes to scan the area before it arrived. This suited Babcock. It gave him a chance to assess the situation before the hot-blooded young captain showed up.

  Tulula activated the laser controls and peered at the target screen. Sanchez did the same at the ion cannon console. They glanced at each other for a brief moment. It was nice to see they had formed a meaningful relationship. Babcock had always believed that coming through adversity together formed stronger bonds between humans and aliens, and these two were living proof of his theory.

  A high whine from the fusion engines descended to a low hum. The viewscreen momentarily blurred and cleared to a view of the immediate area of space in the Erebus system.

  “Scanning for energy sources,” Tulula said.

  The comms system pinged five times in quick succession. Tulula slid across to it. “We’re picking up multiple signals on the galactic distress frequency.”

  “Where from?” Babcock asked.

  “Two seconds.” Tulula scrolled through the streams and turned. Her shiny black facial features contorted. “Escape pods from Orbital Hibock. They’re still in location.”

  “Overlay its position on the scanner,” Babcock said.

  Tulula returned to the controls. A red spherical image appeared on the screen.

  Babcock zoomed on its position. A small energy-reading registered, but nowhere near the size he expected from a vestan orbital. The conclusion was obvious, and it showed on all of the crew’s faces.

  Lassea looked over her shoulder. “Do you want me to…”

  “Set a course,” Babcock replied, finishing her sentence. “We’ll collect any survivors and sweep the area.”

  “You got it, Captain. It’s not far from here.”

  The title never sat comfortably with Babcock, and he’d already told the young former CDWF pilot. But for the sake of brevity, he kept his mouth shut. Everybody who served the Commonwealth had an echo of its formalities in their mannerisms. Lassea’s were the loudest, as she was reasonably fresh out of the Fleet.

  “Make sure you stop a few klicks short,” Babcock said. “We don’t know what else might be waiting for us.”

  The gamma drive groaned, and the Intrepid thrust toward their destination.

  Steros would just have to catch up once his destroyer arrived in the system. Vestan escape pods could survive for a long time in space, but that wasn’t Babcock’s main concern. Cloaked Axis ships might still be in the area or even picking the pods off one by one.

  Lassea engaged the retro thrusters, slowing the craft.

  Babcock zoomed the main viewscreen on the former position of the vestan orbital station.

  Twisted chunks of debris scattered around two huge blast-scarred sections of the dull metallic station. One of the sections gently rotated and revealed the charred skeleton of the forty inner decks. Babcock had seen the aftermath of post-war Axis raids on Orbitals before, and none had gone this far. Whoever attacked had significantly more firepower than a typical horan or lactern skirmish squadron, and they stayed around to complete the job.

  “Holy shit,” Sanchez said. “Looks like they deployed a grand fleet.”

  Lassea spun in her chair to face him. “When did that last happen?”

  The big hunter shrugged. “Thirty years ago. I dunno.”

  “They’ve been preparing for something,” Babcock said. “I never guessed they’d announce their intentions in this part of the Vestan Empire, though.”

  “Why here?” Sanchez asked. “It’s the ass-end of nowhere.”

  Babcock tried to think of a logical explanation. Once he reported his findings back to Commander Tralis, the CWDF Admiralty would scramble to counter the threat using overwhelming force. An Axis show of strength against a small orbital in the outer reaches of the newly extended Salus Sphere made no sense. Every previous grand fleet struck at the heart of the Commonwealth. Something else was going on.

  Steros’ face appeared on the comms screen. “Why aren’t you at the agreed rendezvous point? We’re picking you up at the western edge of the fourth vestan quadrant.”

  “Orbital Hibock’s destroyed,” Tulula replied. “We came to collect survivors.”

  Steros frowned. “I’d prefer to speak to the organ grinder.”

  Babcock raised his hand toward Tulula to stop her responding. She more than any of the crew on either ship would feel the loss of the vestan orbital, but Steros needed handling with velvet gloves.

  “A large Axis force has attacked,” Babcock said. “Head to our location. We’ll interrogate any survivors we rescue and find out enemy strength.”

  “We already knew they carried out an attack,” Steros said dismissively. “I’ll sweep the area on the opposite side of Hibock.”

  “Wait. We knew they attacked a manufacturing planet. This other attack is unreported. What if they wanted to draw us to a specific area?”

  “Carry out your search. Let me know if you need our help.”

  “Stop…”

  The comms screen cut to black. Babcock took a deep breath. He decided to let the young captain’s decision slide for the moment, as Axis forces didn’t have a history of hanging around after striking. But Steros had compromised both ships by splitting in an area of recent enemy activity.

  Sanchez shook his head. “He’ll wind up getting us all killed. Who put him in charge?”

  “RHIP,” Lassea said.

  The big hunter gave her a vacant stare.

  “Rank has its privileges. It’s a Fleet saying. His dad was president. That’s how he rose through the ranks.”

  The corners of Tulula’s mouth drooped as she half-smiled in her inverted vestan way. “Not anymore.”

  “Never underestimate the desire to rush to judgment when confronted with a problem,” Babcock said. “It’s been killing people for centuries.”

  “So what’s our next move?” Lassea said.

  “Proceed to the escape pods and keep our eyes on the scanner. Deflector shield at twenty percent.”

  Lassea raised the shield, and a green outline enveloped the 3D image of the ship on the holographic status display. The Intrepid thrust toward the debris field.

  Tulula and Sanchez both had the scanning screen patched through to their weapons consoles. They searched for any new energy readings.

  Distress messages continued to ping on the comms system.

  Babcock gazed at pieces of wreckage bouncing off the Intrepid’s shield as they neared the two large sections of the shattered orbital. It reminded him o
f a previous mission with Mach when they were tracking down a supposed mythical ship. The myth turned out to be very real, and dangerous.

  Dim lights winked amongst a jumble of floating junk.

  Babcock caught sight of one of the red oval pods and its flashing beacon. It would be easier to send out one of the Intrepid’s drone fighters to pull the small craft in, rather than risk the Intrepid’s deflector shield bouncing them into deep space.

  Sanchez bolted upright from his usual slumped position. “We’ve got company.”

  Two energy sources had appeared on the scanning screen on the opposite side of the orbital, either side of Steros’ destroyer, the Chester. The signatures matched typical readings of lactern frigates. Both closed in on its position.

  Babcock jumped from his chair, not wanting to waste any precious seconds fiddling with his smart-screen, and raced to the comms system. He hit the CWDF channel transmit symbol on the pad. “Steros, put your shields to full and hold them. We’ll be there shortly.”

  A young female officer, dressed in the stiff blue Fleet uniform and cap, appeared on the screen. “We’re searching for a path, preparing to L-jump.”

  She jerked to one side and the image flickered. The Chester must’ve taken its first hit from the lactern cannons. Steros moved around in the background, barking orders at other members of the crew.

  “You won’t find a path,” Babcock said. “There’s too much debris.”

  Steros barged the woman off her chair and leaned forward. “Our shields won’t hold long enough. You’re too far away. We can’t outrun them on photon drives.”

  “You don’t know the Intrepid,” Babcock said. “Hold your nerve and return fire.”

  “This is utter madness. I haven’t got time for this.”

  Lines of static fizzed across the screen again, and Steros grabbed hold of his chair to maintain balance. Babcock knew there was just a single way out of it. “Fire your lasers. Keep your shields up and keep them interested.”

  “Shields down to eighty percent,” one of Steros’ crew shouted in the background.

  “Hold your nerve,” Babcock said. “We’ll get through this together.”

  Steros closed his eyes for a moment. “Okay. Keep the channel open. I hope to God you’re right, Babcock.”

  A distant red glow from Chester's lasers illuminated chunks of debris. At least no other enemy ships had uncloaked. Two lactern frigates were easily manageable. They would be completely unaware of the Intrepid’s power. Only a few people in the Axis knew about the vestan-produced prototype, and they wouldn’t be expecting it to be part of the Commonwealth Fleet.

  “Take us beneath the closest frigate,” Babcock said to Lassea. “As fast as you can.”

  Lassea turned and gave him a wild-eyed look. “How close?”

  “I’ll hit the bastard as soon as we’re in range,” Sanchez said. “Don’t worry about that.”

  Squid Three chirped through Babcock’s smart-screen.

  “They have the Chester in a pincer move,” he replied.

  The Intrepid’s engines ground to a high whine as they thrust forward. The deflector shield battered away pieces of twisted metal in their path until they hit clear space. Lasers streaked across the distant blackness.

  “Shields at sixty percent,” Steros shouted through the comms channel.

  Babcock moved to Sanchez’s shoulder. “How much longer ’til we’re in range?”

  “Thirty seconds at this speed, unless we can go any faster?”

  Tulula didn’t say a word while she focused the crosshairs of the laser’s guidance system toward the ongoing battle.

  “Shields at fifty percent,” Steros said, sounding even more frantic.

  The standard operating procedure for any destroyer was to retreat at this level. Babcock knew it was flawed. When facing enemy ships with faster engines and superior firepower, the only way to defeat them was to destroy them. Running led to a prolonged death.

  “Forty percent,” Steros said. “We can’t keep taking these hits. You’ve left us as a sitting duck. I’m thrusting—”

  “Calm down,” Babcock said in a raised voice. He hadn’t spoken to somebody like that for over two decades, but it worked in silencing the stunned-looking young captain. “We’ll be there in fifteen seconds. Focus on the starboard frigate.”

  The Chester shook again. Smoke curled across the screen.

  “Ten seconds,” Sanchez said and placed his thumb over the fire button. On his console screen, the circular locking target fixed on a lactern frigate and glowed red.

  “Thirty percent. I can’t believe I let you do this.” Steros gasped and turned to a member of the crew. “Prepare the life ships. Order all nonessential crew to board.”

  The Intrepid’s engines roared to their full strength and Lassea thrust left to sweep them below the frigate.

  Both frigates were now visible on the main viewscreen. The locking target on Sanchez’s console screen switched to green. He immediately fired.

  A low boom echoed from the top of the ship. The roof-mounted cannon spat out a bright bolt of condensed energy that streaked across space. A second later it slammed into the hull of the closest frigate.

  The lactern ship’s reading dulled to a faint glow.

  Babcock didn’t need to wait to see the results. He’d seen the Intrepid’s cannon in action before and knew it was one of the most powerful in the galaxy. A lactern ship was no match. Only a capital ship could withstand a couple of hits.

  “Nice work,” Steros said. “I’ll hold the other ship in position, and you take it out.”

  “Great idea,” Babcock replied. The easiest way to deal with the likes of Steros was feeding him ideas and letting him think he made the decisions. It seemed the young captain’s ego couldn’t manage any other way.

  Lassea rolled her eyes from the holocontrols. She thrust to the right and headed below the second Axis ship. Sanchez grunted and locked on to the remaining active frigate.

  “Shields at twenty percent,” Steros said. “Hurry the hell up.”

  An electronic alarm flashed from the scanning screen. The frigate had locked its lasers on the Intrepid. At this range, they would be useless against the deflector shield. Tulula already knew as much and didn’t even attempt to return fire in the opposite direction.

  Two red lines speared across the darkness and failed to register a percentage point of damage on the shield. Babcock thought they’d have turned and fled after seeing what happened to their other ship, but then again, the frigate could have had the Axis equivalent of Steros at the helm.

  Sanchez fired again.

  Babcock gazed up at the main screen and watched the bolt zip through space and successfully strike.

  All lights on the frigate blinked off. Babcock took a deep breath, turned to the comms screen, and wondered if the young captain had any idea how close his destroyer had come to being violently transformed into space junk.

  Steros peered back. A genuine smile had replaced his previous look of terror. “Both enemies are barely registering a signal. Great teamwork, Babcock.”

  “Thanks. Next time, don’t go running off on us like that.”

  “I’ll bow to your experience. What’s the plan?”

  “Pick up any survivors from the orbital’s escape pods. The Fleet needs to know what they’re facing and where they might be heading.”

  “Excellent. You lead the way.”

  Babcock returned a smile but had deep internal concerns. If the Intrepid had been any further away, he would’ve been reporting a lost destroyer back to Commander Tralis. Probably the last thing his old friend wanted to hear after Babcock informed him that an Axis grand fleet had deployed if a survivor confirmed his suspicion.

  Lassea didn’t need to wait for instructions and navigated the ship in a wide arc back toward the remnants of Orbital Hibock.

  “Squid,” Babcock said into his smart-screen, “prepare a fighter drone to retrieve any manned escape pods.”

&nbs
p; Squid Three beeped acknowledgment.

  Chapter 10

  As quick as the pain had arrived, it had gone. The torture device on Mach’s wrist eased its grip. He shook his arm, trying to get the blood running again and ease the ache. He pictured Kortas’ smug face and then pictured it after he had blasted it with his Stinger. The vestan would pay for this one way or another.

  On the ground beside Mach, Beringer lay curled into a fetal position, sobbing quietly through a tense jaw. His right hand shook with the pain. The light on the manacle had changed back to a blinking light and sat visibly loose on the older man’s wrist.

  To Mach’s right-hand side, Adira got to her feet and leaned back against the semi-frozen wall. Her face was passive through her helmet—never a good sign; this was her ‘I’m gonna murder every fucker in the room’ face. She shook her arm, clenching and unclenching her hand.

  “Are you two okay?” Mach asked them.

  “I will be in a minute,” Adira said. She looked at Mach, a silent question on her face that Mach had come to know to mean, ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’ Her single raised eyebrow had the amazing ability to communicate both disdain and genuine query.

  Mach simply nodded to her, knowing she knew he was full of shit. He had no idea how this was going to go down. Kortas seemed out of control for one of the most revered of all vestans. This episode had affected him, and his fellow Guardians, far more than he was letting on. But that was fine, Mach thought, he’d just see this through, one way or another, and get some answers at the end of it.

  Just as soon as he figured out how to remove these damned manacle, or at least find a way of disabling the signal to them. It was situations like these he wished he had Babcock with him.

  Mach looked down at Beringer, who was now slowly getting to his feet, and wondered if he had made the right decision to bring him along after all. Back in the war, Mach wouldn’t have been so sentimental to consider the idea that he owed someone. And it wouldn’t have even crossed the old Mach’s mind to feel that he ought to make it up to someone and bring them along as a way of assuaging their frustrations. Beringer’s mission could have waited.