The Starhawk Chronicles: Rest and Wreck-reation

by Joseph J. Madden

  K’Tran moved off, collecting whoever was armed and willing to leave their meager convoy. When he returned, Jesse was not happy to see who was leading the procession. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

  Raychel looked at him as though he had just grown a second head. “I’m going with you.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s dangerous,” Jesse replied, not believing he had to spell it out for her.”

  “Well when the hell is it ever not dangerous around you?” she quipped back at him. “I’ve lost everything on this damn world. Forgive me if I want to take an active part in taking something back.”

  K’Tran chuckled, as did several of the others who had gathered around and were watching the exchange. “She really is Alyssa reincarnated,” K’Tran said. “And she has a point.”

  Jesse felt like hitting his head against the gun controls. What frustrated him most was that they were both right. Raychel had lost as much, perhaps even more, than the other prisoners that were volunteering to accompany him to the airfield. He would not begrudge them a chance at retribution against Boke. Why should he deny her the same thing?

  Still trying to be the big brother, he thought. Even when you’re not.

  “All right,” he acquiesced. “You get to tag along, but if things go south, you stay out of the way.”

  She gave him a smile so broad, her cheeks threatened to devour her eyes. “Of course I won’t.” She climbed onto the back of the vehicle and seated herself next to the gun mount.

  Sighing, Jesse waited for the others to settle in wherever they could find a seat. K’Tran was back at the controls.

  “Okay,” Jesse said. “Let’s go pay the neighbors a visit.”

  ***

  The anti-grav flatbed truck Morogo was driving parted the mass of beings flooding Valhalla City’s main thoroughfare as they came rushing from the casinos and other venues lining both sides of the venue. Security forces, trying to control the chaos, were quickly overwhelmed by the sheer numbers and eventually gave up, standing by looking helpless. Little or no attempt was made at trying to apprehend the troublemakers, who were quick to disappear into the crowds. Even those who were making a show of things, shouting, screaming, firing weapons into the air were left alone; the guards not willing to risk lives—their own or those of the guests—should a firefight break out on open streets.

  It looks like a scene from one of those old western vids Jesse is so fond of watching, Podo thought, helping some of Rhasti’s people climb onto the craft. It’s probably a good thing that we did this earlier in the day. Hate to think what kind of mess we’d have if the casinos were full. Still, he was amazed at how the casinos could be as busy as they were, even during the early hours of the day. Avarice knows no time frame, I guess.

  The crowds thinned out further down the street as the truck headed toward the more spartan section of the city—the industrial and employee-housing districts—and Morogo was able to open the throttle and turned in the direction of the sports complex. Podo sat down next to a downtrodden-looking Garss. “I never even got to make the speech I had prepared,” the Kleezha was saying. "I was going to make a grand announcement about liberating this casino in the name of the oppressed peoples of Utopia”

  A human female sitting on the other side chuckled. “Poor guy walked in and fired two shots into the ceiling. The place was half-empty before he could even open his mouth to speak.”

  “Don’t let it get to you, Big Guy,” Podo replied.”Sometimes it’s more about deeds, not words.”

  Wetzel, standing behind them, holding onto the back of the control cab for dear life, called back, “At least you kept your word about no civilians getting hurt.”

  The Kleezha’s mood did not improve. Baring his fangs, he growled, “When my future biographers write of this moment in my life, they had better include it.”

  “I’ll be sure to talk to them about it,” Podo said.

  They cleared the main thoroughfare and were joined by two other vehicles full with arms-bearing rebels. Podo spotted Mynx at the controls of one of them. She looked over just long enough to shoot him a glare, then accelerated her vehicle ahead of them. Does the woman ever smile.

  The arena loomed before them, large enough to house one of the bigger starcruisers in orbit above. A pair of troopers stepped out of the guardhouse at the entrance, waving for the approaching convoy to slow down, leaping out of the way just as Mynx’s vehicle smashed through the guardhouse and kept going. She circled the building until they came to the main entrance, made a wide loop in the parking lot and accelerated again, ramming through the main gate and disappearing inside the massive structure.

  Morogo slowed to a halt just outside the destroyed entrance, the other truck doing the same, and the occupants were quick to disembark. Sneaker was on full alert, photo-receptors swinging back and forth constantly, keeping watch while he extended his stunners. Podo looked around with an uneasy feeling growing deep in his gut.

  “This is wrong,” he said as he and Morogo approached Mynx, who was shouting orders.

  “No more wrong than what Boke’s been doing to people for years,” she shot back, giving him the most cursory of glances.

  “No, I mean the whole situation is wrong,” he corrected. “I know there was nothing scheduled to be going on here this early in the day, but where is everyone? There should be staff and support personnel here at least. And no alarms from the guards, or when she broke through the doors? And only two guards at the gate? No more?

  “Boke’s security people are over confident,” she replied, “That gives us the advantage.” She turned away, shouting orders to a group of heavily-armed beings standing nearby. She was directing them based on a map generated by her wrist-mounted holo-pad.

  “What we’re looking for is this way,” she pointed down a long, dimly-lit corridor. “You coming, or do you want to play tourist and take holos of the nice building?” Without waiting for a reply, she started off, several others following on her heels.

  Podo gave Morogo a look and said, “I don’t think Boke’s the overconfident one here.” With a sigh, he hefted his rifle and started off after her.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  If not for the large sat-dish resting atop the roof, the Valhalla City central communications building would have been as non-descript as the rest of the surrounding structures. Dressed in maintenance coveralls, Rhasti, a Rycan female named Kruk, and Bokschh entered through a service door on the side of the building using a stolen code-key. The guard inside the door looked up from his monitors at their entrance. “There’s no scheduled maintenance for today,” he said.

  Rhasti flashed a smile, and his forged badge. “New orders. With everything going haywire outside, Mister Boke wants some new security protocols in place immediately.”

  “I haven’t heard anything from anyone,” the guard replied, rising from his chair. “Unless I get specific instructions through the net, I’m not letting anyone pass.”

  “The net’s not to be trusted,” the Rycan woman standing at Rhasti’s side answered. “With all the havoc in the streets, it’s possible the city-wide net’s been compromised as well. Hard-copy orders only, they told us. Hold on, I’ve got our instructions right here.” She began rifling through the tool pouch at her side.

  The guard’s suspicion did not waver, but he continued to keep his hand away from the alarm switch on his console. He eyed Bokschh. “Maintenance teams don’t usually bring a drone.”

  “Special unit of my own design,” the Rycan continued to fiddle through her sack. “He’ll be able to scan the net faster than any base-unit and tell if any of our coding has become corrupted.”

  Rhasti turned his attention from the guard to his companion. “Kruk, just once can you not lose something in that portable black hole you carry around with you?”

  “I’m finding it,” the Rycan shot back, nose deep in the bag.

  Rhasti shook his hea
d, giving the guard an embarrassed smile. “This happens every time I take her on a maintenance call.”

  Kruk looked up from her bag, brandishing her data pad. “Found it,” she crowed. She extended it to the guard, who took it and looked at the blank screen. “It’s in sleep mode. Just tap the screen twice to wake it up.”

  The guard tapped the screen as instructed. Upon touching it the second time, two metal darts connected to wires shot from the underside of the casing and caught him in the chest. With an electric hum, the guard convulsed and flew back over his chair, unconscious before he landed atop a second console of security monitors.

  Rhasti looked at his companion, jaw agape. “That thing packs quite a wallop.”

  “Didn’t know how big the guard might be. Had to set it to max to be sure,” Kruk shrugged as she pocketed the pad again. She regarded the fallen security man. “He’ll be okay. Probably just be out for a little longer than normal.

  Rhasti moved around the desk and checked the interior monitors. Aside from a tech asleep in the break room, the facility appeared deserted. One screen set to the security feed outside showed a different story. The images switched every few seconds from scenes of empty casinos, to throngs of people wandering the streets. The monorail station nearest the chaos was overcrowded with potential passengers. Yet monitors set inside the resorts furthest away from the action showed normal scenes of everyday life with tourists going about their leisure.

  Rhasti checked a map of the station. “The master control room we want is this way,” he said, pointing down a side corridor. He looked at Bokschh, who had been standing silently by the entire time. “Here’s where you do your part for the revolution.”

  The Starhawk broke atmosphere, heading for the ring of starships that seemed to continually encircle the planet. The ships that had launched after her had been small craft capable of atmospheric flight only, and unable to pursue her for long. Now that they were in space, Kym knew that the Galadorn would be on high alert, watching for their approach.

  She spotted the warship in an orbit higher than all the civilian ships around it, seconds before the sensors began screaming a warning at her. Godfrey checked his screen. “They’ve launched fighters. What do we do?”

  She looked at her screen. Four pre-war vintage Confederation Apache-class fighter bombers had ejected from the cruisers’ underside hangar bay and were turning in their direction. “We evade as best we can, but we’re still heading for that cruiser. Metcalf, do what you can to keep them off our tail. If you can engage and have a shot at disabling them, fine. If not, take them out. I doubt they’d be as merciful to us”

  “Got it.”

  “Just do everything you can to avoid hitting any civilian ships.”

  “You just keep us pointed away from any civilians,” Metcalf came back. “My weapons only fire one-way you know.”

  “Here they come,” Godfrey said.

  Kym evaded the first salvo of shots as the Apaches sailed past. Metcalf muttered something incomprehensible as he returned fire and missed.

  Kym turned the Starhawk in the direction of one of the enormous passenger liners, skimming two meters off of its hull while the fighters gave chase, but did not fire. As they neared the bridge, she could just see the crew of the liner through the viewport reflexively scrambling for cover as they raced past just overhead. Once clear of the great ship, the fighters resumed firing.

  Godfrey had been keeping watch on the Galadorn. “They haven’t launched any more fighters. Guess they think four is enough to stop us.”

  The ship shook from a hit to the shields. “Ya think?” Metcalf commented.

  “Well they’re in for a surprise. Hold on,” Kym shouted. Without further warning, she pulled back hard on the controls. The Starhawk went into a stomach-churning loop that ended only as she twisted the ship into a corkscrew maneuver that sent them hurtling back the way they had come. The quartet of fighters scattered to get out of its way as Metcalf returned fire, scoring a glancing blow against one fighters’ wing.

  “I got one!”

  Kym checked her scanners. All four fighters were turning and resuming their pursuit. “Yeah, but you didn’t put him out of the game.”

  The fire from the rear intensified. They were no closer to the Galadorn than before the fighters attacked. If her plan was to work, she would have to buy them some more time. She needed to get creative.

  She turned in the direction of the heaviest traffic, a knot of liners and other large ships clustered closely together, diving towards the nearest one, and pulling out only seconds before striking the larger craft. Godfrey and Metcalf screamed like a pair of frightened schoolgirls as she wove the Starhawk in and around the orbiting titans through any space which they would fit. The fighters had ceased firing once again, but continued to follow closely.

  Kym grinned to herself. She was actually beginning to enjoy herself. “Hang on tight, boys,” she announced. “Here’s where the fun begins.”

  She began sending the Starhawk through a series of stomach-churning maneuvers, under, over and around the larger ships, dodging between vessels that were already perilously too close together, all the while playing with the ship’s power systems. Godfrey flinched every time they survived another near miss.

  Watching the aft sensors, she saw that the fighters were starting to fall behind. Ahead loomed one of the largest of the starliners. Banking around another freighter, the Starhawk skimmed across the liners’ bulk and corkscrewed into a sharp dive. At the same time, Kym danced her fingers across the controls. The bridge lights flickered and dimmed momentarily. Behind her, Kym heard Metcalf mutter, “Oh, that can’t be good.”

  Adding to his unease, Kym killed the Starhawk’s forward momentum. “What are you doing?” Godfrey asked. “We were outrunning them. Now they’re going to catch us.”

  Kym leaned back in her seat, folding her arms across her chest and favoring him with a smirk. “Are they?”

  A moment later, the four fighters screamed past overhead, and kept on going, with no indication that they intended to turn and attack.

  “What just happened?” Metcalf asked.

  Godfrey looked at her, realization dawning in his eyes. “They couldn’t see us.”

  “I told you this ship would surprise you,” she replied. She worked the controls again, turning back the way they had come. “Now let’s surprise that cruiser.”

  ***

  The commander of the Galadorn was a thirty-year space veteran by the name of Markus Llewellyn, having served aboard all manner of ships back during the war between the Confederation and the Harkonian Empire. Despite his years of service, his career had been one of little distinction, and he had risen no further than a junior-grade Lieutenant before leaving the service. Upon retiring, an acquaintance had told him of an opportunity in the private sector where beings of military background were in demand. He applied, and within a year of being hired, was given command of the Galadorn.

  It was a plush assignment that paid well, where they saw little action, and what they did deal with were hot-shot rocket-jocks that needed the mere threat of force to keep them in line. Never in the five years of service had Llewellyn or his crew had to deal with this. Now the Galadorn’s commander looked to his comm-officer with a mixture of disbelief and contempt. “What do you mean they disappeared?”

  “Pursuit commander says that they lost sight of her just after they passed the liner Aphrodite. No further sign of them. No wreckage. No explosion. Nothing.”

  The woman seated at sensor control turned and chimed in. “Confirmed. After they dove past the liner, she just—went away.”

  “Impossible,” Llewellyn pushed his way past the sensor tech and checked the readings himself. Neither the technician, or the data, were lying. The Starhawk had effectively ceased to exist.

  “Get more fighters out there,” he ordered, turning to his deck officer. “I want a full visual sweep of the area.”

  “Commander,” the sensor tech called.


  “Call traffic control,” he told the comm officer. “Have them disperse the traffic pattern to a wider . . .”

  “Commander!”

  “What?” Llewelyn spun violently on the sensor tech.

  “I think I’ve found our missing ship.” She pointed to one of the hangar bay monitors.

  At first, Llewellyn saw nothing wrong with the view on his monitor. Everything appeared normal. Another flight of Apaches was being moved into position for launch. The main ventral docking bay doors were open to space, and beyond that, several ships in transit and the planet below could be seen.

  Then the ghost appeared.

  It began as a blur, like a wisp of gas had vented past the camera monitoring the bay. As the seconds passed, the distinct form of a ship began to coalesce on the monitor, as the Starhawk dropped its cloak just beyond the atmospheric containment shield, its guns tracking into position.

  Llewellyn’s blood froze in his veins as the four Apaches in the hangar began to transform from sleek fighters to heaps of melted scrap metals. As he watched the destruction the ghost ship began to wreak, the oddest thought sprang through his brain, and he was unaware until later that he actually voiced it aloud to his bridge crew.

  “I think we’re about to lose our bonus.”

  ***

  The moment the Starhawk had fully dropped its cloak, Metcalf let loose with the ships’ cannons, laying down a field of fire that tore up everything in its path. Kym rotated the ship in place to make sure that they covered the other, smaller docking bays as well, not wanting anything to get in or out. Where earlier Metcalf had cried out in fright on several occasions, now he was howling like a madman at the destruction he wrought. He’s having a little too much fun, Kym thought.

  More explosions rocked through the ship as fuel tanks or lines went up in the conflagration. Kym angled the Starhawk down and away from the ship as the area they were in was consumed in the fireball.