Ashlyn Chronicles 1: 2287 A.D.

by Glenn Van Dyke

  Exposed circuitry sparked and crackled in a half-a-dozen places.

  The fighter’s wing-flaps rattled like the doors of an old barn during a winter storm, and the rear-rudder was no more useful than the ragged tail of a homemade kite. Adding the fact that she had held her craft steady with two of her three engines destroyed. “They say Jesus walked on water, but you, Foxy Lady, have the wings of an angel.”

  It was then that he noticed an expanding crack in her cockpit’s canopy. “Ash, your canopy is about to blow!”

  Knowing he had to roll the dice, his computer not yet having gotten a final read on her cabin’s internal pressure, he took his shot. “Gena, extend shields around Ashlyn’s fighter!” shouted Briggs.

  In the fraction of a second that it had taken him to give the order, Ashlyn’s craft exploded in a thousand pieces.

  ***

  “Reduce all ship’s functions to minimum, including life support. Evacuate and darken crew’s quarters. Shut down all non-essentials,” said Steven.

  “Aye, sir,” said Mr. O’Brien. “Sounding evac on decks three through five. Reducing life support to minimum on all remaining decks. Sir? How about if we divert the Sharkfin energy cores? It isn’t much, but combined, they may add two or three million terra-watts to our available supply.”

  Steven gave Mr. O’Brien a half-smile of acknowledgment. “Damage control, get all available teams down to the Sharkfin launch bays. Divert the power from the Sharkfin energy cores into Avenger’s supply. I also want you to clamp the Sharkfins down. The concussion might be too much for the magnetics alone.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. On our way. We’ll get it done.”

  “Jenkins, send two waves of three Intercepts at the nearest point of the wave directly behind us, thirty second separation, 4 degree spread. Perhaps we can punch a few holes in it.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. Loading intercepts. I’ll have to detonate them manually!”

  “Give it your best shot, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, sir. Launching.”

  “Sir, when the shields go off-line for reconfiguration we’ll be vulnerable to a hull breach. I recommend using the forward laser array to clear a path,” said Mr. O’Brien.

  “Negative, we can’t spare the energy for the shields or the laser. You ever play chess, Mr. O’Brien?”

  “Don’t you mean poker, sir?”

  “Not at all. A great poker player is nothing more than a lucky liar. Chess, however, is a game for gentlemen. It is a game of skill and calculated maneuverings. We will not breach, Mr. O’Brien. You have my word on it.

  “Helm, ETA?”

  “Count is three minutes and two seconds.”

  “Comm, open the ship-wide address.”

  “Channel open, sir.”

  “To all hands, this is the admiral. We have successfully destroyed the enemy fleet and the missile launched at Earth, but the missile’s shockwave is now chasing us. I need you to shut down all energy sources that are not critical to Avenger’s survival. A final warning alert will sound thirty seconds before impact. Batten down. It is going to be a rough ride. May God watch over you my friends; you have performed beyond all of my expectations.”

  Steven felt hypocritical speaking of God and yet he knew that for those who still had faith, the words were appropriate.

  “The shields are off-line,” said Mr. O’Brien looking up from his science monitor. “And the laser’s generator is now tied in with the main power supply.”

  With the shields down, dust and debris grated against the hull. Shrill screeches reverberated throughout the ship like the scream of an angry banshee. Driven by anxiety and fear, everyone on the bridge turned to look at Steven, whose calm demeanor instantly assuaged much of their concern.

  “Time to impact, one minute and thirty seconds,” said Mr. O’Brien.

  ***

  “Sea Base, this is Briggs. We lost Ashlyn. Her ship—” His anguished voice failed him. His head dropped. He felt like someone had just kicked him in the balls. It seemed an eternity before he spoke again, “We’re returning to Sea Base. Requesting permission to have the 2nd team take our watch on laser detail.”

  “Permission granted,” said Stratton. His heart was heavy, his voice as dead and tortured as Briggs’. His thoughts went to Steven, wondering if even now Steven could sense that Ashlyn had died.

  ***

  “Intercepts arriving in 3—2—,” said Jenkins, his finger pushing the button that detonated the missiles. Through the rearward-view monitor a series of tiny bright flashes erupted, only to be swallowed instantly. “The first volley detonated 120 meters in front of the wave.”

  Jenkins turned to look at Steven, almost as if he expected to see an affirming smile of well done. Instead, he saw that Steven was white as a ghost, his eyes closed, his brow tensed, and his clawed fingers gripped the armrests.

  “The section of the wave behind us has weakened by 4.7 percent,” said Mr. O’Brien, peering into his monitor.

  “Sir? Admiral? What is it?” said Jenkins.

  “Something’s wrong!” said Steven. “It’s Ashlyn.”

  ***

  “Warning. You are under attack,” announced Gena.

  “What the hell?” Briggs studied his scanners and saw nothing. “That’s impossible! We’re the only ones up here!” Another possibility dawned on him. “Gena, activate my underside hull camera. Highlight the area where the attack came from.” Briggs searched the region Gena had highlighted. It was a mess. Sea Base’s lasers systematically targeted the largest pieces of streaking meteoric debris.

  Suddenly, Gena zoomed in, locking onto a small, red fireball. “Target located.”

  It was smaller, slimmer, than Briggs had expected. It reminded him of a soldier during a dropping exercise.

  “She’s alive!” he yelled over the open comm. Hitting the turbo, he raced after her. Her speed was already intense and he was unsure whether he could catch her in time.

  Almost in unison, his team boisterously insisted that he was wrong, that it was impossible. He knew they were right; it was contrary to all logic. Sea Base’s pilots wore no armor, no official uniform, and out of all the pilots, Ashlyn wore even less. The team, as they did each morning, attended a short briefing before heading out. Each member of the team made a point of engaging her in conversation, stretching out the moment so they could ogle her. That day, like the others, Ashlyn was not wearing any under garments, and her tight, thin, black exercise stretch was teasingly see-through in all the right places. As always, she left them panting. Knowing that she wore so little, it was hard to fault the team’s logic. She couldn’t be alive. There was not a single reason to believe what his eyes told him—only his gut instinct declaring that it was a controlled flight.

  He tried the comm, hoping against hope that she could hear him.

  Briggs had narrowed the gap to two kilometers when he realized he was running out of room to catch her. Not forgetting that she had been blinded, he knew there was nothing she could do to help herself. It was up to him.

  Dropping the limiters on his craft, he pushed hard. His craft glowed red; the nose of his ship was in flames as it super-heated the air before him. To the members of his team, who were watching, he appeared as little more than another fireball shooting through the sky. An alarm started to sound, warning him that the heat shielding on the nose of his craft was beginning to disintegrate.

  Within moments, he was beside her. He tried to extend his shield around her, bringing her inside.

  “Unable to comply. Material composition is unknown.”

  Unknown, he repeated to himself. “Gena, time until impact?”

  “Twenty-three seconds.”

  “Gena, disarm warhead and fire Intercept—now!” Briggs saw the Intercept race ahead of him. “Gena, detonate launched Intercept!” As he rocketed through the area of the explosion, he grunted, pulling hard and fast on the controls to bring his nose up.

  “Good luck, Foxy lady. It’s up to you now.” His ship swoop
ed low, pulling up just twenty-eight meters above the surface. “Gena, track the unidentified object, and note the object’s point of entry into the ocean.”

  ***

  Ashlyn had hoped that someone had seen her signal. She’d taken a few dozen random shots with her armor’s laser, hoping to draw attention. All she could do now was wait. She focused her senses, trying to take the path of least resistance, trying to create as little heat buildup as possible.

  She had never expected to have reason to use the locket Tynabo had given her on her 24th birthday. Now, she was thankful for his insight. The locket held a technology that was banned for more than a century. Tynabo had said little when giving it to her, starting the conversation with, ‘Don’t ask questions.’ He then explained that it was designed to work exclusively with her brain’s wave-pattern and that it was for emergency use only.

  When she had pushed its center blue stone, activating it, she was mentally crossing her fingers. The speed of the device surprised her. The adaptive nanotech built a slender, form-fitting, armored suit around her just a fraction of second before her craft exploded.

  With her blindness making it impossible to see what abilities her armor offered her, and realizing that there was no transmitter, Ashlyn rattled off several more voice commands before she stumbled onto one, which the minimalistic AI could recognize and respond to. “Activate laser.”

  Ashlyn could sense the nanotechnology fighting to replicate and replace the armor’s shedding, outer layers. It was a race. So far, the armor was winning.

  ***

  “Is everything all right, sir?” asked Jenkins.

  “For the moment.” Steven smiled at the young man.

  Returning to his monitor, Jenkins’ gave the update, “Second volley arriving.” A moment passed. “A bit better, 109 meters this time. The wave has weakened another—6.2 percent.”

  “Engineering, how is the shield configuration coming?”

  “We’re working on it, sir,” replied Brooks.

  “We have little more than a minute, Commander!”

  “Aye, sir.” The fact that Brooks was under pressure from the time constraint was hugely evident in his voice.

  “Sharkfin generators are on-line. Reserves are at 59 percent and rising. Sir, even with the ramjet particle accelerators at maximum, radiation is beginning to seep through the outer hull,” said Mr. O’Brien.

  “Understood. Comm, open ship’s channel. All personnel should move to the interior of the ship—away from the outer bulkhead. External radiation is reaching critical levels. Close channel.”

  The final warning alert sounded, followed by Mr. O’Brien’s announcement, “Thirty seconds until collision, all hands brace for impact.”

  Those who had not already done so, including Steven, fastened their harnesses. “Commander?” said Steven to Brooks in Section 2, with growing concern.

  “We’re trying, sir. Gena’s safety protocols won’t validate the design.”

  "Gena, implement Admiral’s Executive Priority One Protocols to remove all ship’s safety limiters. Password, Zechariah Sitchin,” said Steven. “Try it now, Commander."

  “Radiation is still increasing,” said Jenkins with anxious concern.

  “Strengthen the ramjet and shields by twenty percent,” ordered Steven.

  “Sir, ramjet heat tolerance is already six percent over critical! And the shields are at maximum.”

  “The safety limiters have been removed. Follow your orders, Jenkins. Now!”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Shutting down main drives. Routing all available power to the mainframe auxiliary control in Section 2. Wave impacting in 7 seconds, 6—5—,” called Robbie on the helm.

  Steven’s perceptions suddenly sped and time itself seemed to slow. He saw everything around him as if it were in slow motion.

  It was then that he noticed that Jenkins was staring at him. The fear in the young man’s eyes was total and complete. Jenkins had been the childhood friend of the president’s son, and he had been traveling with the family when the transport picked them up in Rome fifteen years ago.

  Initially, the Challenger Deep Sea Base was the staging area from which the Avenger would be launched. Over time, it became a town, a city. After the attack, they all came to think of it as home. Families were now the norm, not the exception.

  As for Avenger, originally called Columbus, she was to be a planetary exploration vessel. While she was certainly capable of defending herself, her basic design was for that of scientific research.

  "4—3—."

  “Come on, Brooks!” whispered Steven.

  “Shields are on-line!” Mr. O’Brien shouted.

  The wave hit, the lights dimmed, the alarms sounded. The wave buffeted Avenger violently, more violently then anyone believed she was capable of enduring.

  Renee, forgive me for not coming home to you, thought Steven, his sadness overwhelming. Ashlyn, I’m sorry.

  ***

  To the sound of an explosion, Ashlyn ordered the activation of the suit’s dampener field. She smiled, comforted, as she felt the dampener activate. As innocuous as it was, she hoped the explosion was the signal for which she had been waiting. She simulated a roll, until she could feel gravity pulling her feet first. She waited, knowing that an impact was coming, but unsure of what to expect. No one had ever told her whether a water landing was similar to that of landing on land or not. Would it be gentle, or—?

  The jolt wrenched her hard. She heard the sound of the splash, and her superheated suit interacted with the cold water. She mentally envisioned a plume of steam rising from the point where she had entered, not knowing if it was an accurate depiction. She had no idea how fast she had hit the surface or how deep she was. Would she sink, or would she float? Was the suit watertight? Did the nanotechnology have a sub-routine for a situation such as this? She didn’t know.

  Within seconds, she heard the low-pitched hum of an approaching Sharkfin.

  ***

  Even in what he believed to be the waning moments of his life, Steven searched for an avenue of escape. The warrior within him refused to surrender even when staring into the eyes of defeat. His determination induced his mind to release an enormous wave of adrenaline. The surge expanded his conscious mind a thousand fold. With profound clarity, he could see everything around him. He could see Avenger and the wave shaking her, and though he did not know what he could do to protect her, with every ounce of his being he willed for Avenger to survive.

  ***

  Ashlyn winced as Steven’s sorrow-driven adrenaline stabbed her consciousness from across the depths of space. It stunned her as surely as if he had thrust a knife into her cerebral cortex.

  From her world of darkness, Ash reached out, seeking the fringe of Steven’s mind. Through him, she saw Avenger’s turbulent shaking and loss of power. She saw the darkness engulf Steven, the ship’s gravity waning as Avenger’s structural integrity began to fail, torqued far beyond tolerance. She heard Avenger’s mournful wail that signaled her imminent death.

  As the turbulence condemned him, Steven’s thoughts betrayed him. Ashlyn saw in his mind a collage of images, each attached to a heart wrenching emotion. She experienced them as if they were her own. She could feel Steven’s love for his wife and their shared moments of intimate happiness. She saw him laughing on the day they had been married and his eyes tearing during the birth of his children.

  She saw everything about him, including the future that lay ahead of them—a vision of their destiny.

  ***

  Such was the depth of his concentration that it took him a moment to realize that Ashlyn was standing beside him, watching him. Ashlyn! His heart sped. Seeing her standing beside him started a blazing fire within him. In her eyes, he saw a woman that was tenacious, intelligent, and compassionate. He also saw a twinkling calmness assuring him that everything was going to be all right.

  “It looks as though I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar,” she said wi
th a sexy smile and hint of a laugh. “I apologize for my intrusion, but in your distress, your mind summoned me to you. First, let me say you have no need to fear for Avenger or the lives of your crew. Our destiny—yours and mine—is starting to become clearer to me. I have glimpsed certain future events that, for the time being, assure your safety. I believe this ability is one of the herculean gifts to which Tynabo alluded. I thank you for sharing Tynabo’s recording with me. Even that small glimpse of the man I called father has been a comfort.”

  Then, in a tone that bespoke a more intimate connection between them, she said, “As regards us, these last weeks apart have been extremely difficult—as much for you as they are for me. So please know that you have not been alone in your suffering. In your mind I also saw your desire to know exactly what it is that has been happening to you, to us, each night. In short, what you see, I see. What you feel, I feel. The fugue is creating its own reality for us, albeit on a more esoteric plane. I think you will agree that there is nothing lost in the translation between the fugue—and a true physical reality. However, as Tynabo had warned us, it is becoming harder each day to hold on. Each day apart for us becomes more unbearable. Because of this growing need, I fear it will not be long before the fugue creates situations that would be quite embarrassing were they to happen in public. Because of this I ask you not to delay your return to Sea Base any longer than necessary.”