The Starhawk Chronicles: Rest and Wreck-reation

by Joseph J. Madden

  Laser fire from the Apache was striking the water all around, sending gouts of steam into the air. The sight gave Jesse an idea.

  He slowed his fighter, the Apache gaining ground quickly. As it closed, Jesse angled straight up and threw everything into the thrusters. The kickback wave of water rose into the air just as the Apache was passing through the area. The result was similar to the fighter hitting a solid impediment. The Apache hit the wall of water and began to tumble, end over end, one engine breaking off and skipping across the lagoon like a stone. What remained of the Apache came to rest in the water a few meters from shore.

  Jesse leveled off and circled long enough to see the doused pilot climb out of his ruined craft and wade to shore, before turning back towards Valhalla. He keyed in coordinates for the arena.

  A sudden barrage of laserfire from behind rocked the Demon. Alarms inside the cockpit began screaming at him as the rear shields gave way under the torrent. Several more shots struck home before Jesse was able to redistribute power to compensate, throwing the throttle forward to its stops at the same time.

  As the Demon fled, Jesse threw a look back over his shoulder at his pursuer. The fighter looked to be a customized Harkonian Avenger interceptor. Painted pitch black, with a sleek, flat, ovoid design, the pursuing ship looked like some demonic bat-thing swooping down on its prey.

  I’d bet good money that’s Scarab behind the controls. Jesse thought as he tried in desperation to evade to continuing onslaught. Why do all psychopaths have to have their own custom fighters?

  He pulled hard for clear sky as his pursuer continued its assault.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  There’s just no shaking this asshole.

  Despite his best efforts, the new fighter stayed close on Jesse’s tail. Faster and more maneuverable, the Avenger was able to match his every move. Continuous laserfire was wearing down the Demon’s shields. Jesse was kept so busy evading he could spare no extra effort to maintain the ship’s systems.

  Flames leapt from a panel near his starboard engine as another hit scored against his undershielded ship. The Demon dropped several meters as the anti-grav generator lost power for several long seconds. Desperate, Jesse took his thoughts off flying to reroute power enough to keep the ship in the air.

  Proximity alarms began shrieking, and he looked up to see that his dive was taking him straight at the main tower of the White Star. He yanked back on the yoke, pulling the fighter up hard, but not enough to clear the building. The Demon smashed through the fifteen-story floor to ceiling windows of the resort’s atrium and transportation lobby. He saw stunned onlookers on the different levels and skywalks watch in awe as he rocketed through the area, diving beneath the lowest branches of the massive lannon tree at its center, backwash from his thrusters showering leaves in his wake. Clearing the tree, he piloted out of the building by crashing through the opposite window. The Avenger stayed on his tail the entire way.

  Clear of the White Star, the Avenger opened fire again, a relentless barrage that exploded all around as Jesse dodged and juked to avoid being hit. More and more shots were scoring, weakening his shields, and blasting bits off of the fighter’s hull. Dropping altitude, he hoped to forestall taking any more fire on the pretense that Scarab would not want to harm any civilians. That sentiment died as the Avenger began launching missiles.

  “Curse you, Red Baron,” Jesse said aloud as he evaded, and the missiles went wide, but triumph was short lived as he saw two of them smash into a building below, erupting in a mushroom cloud of flame and flying debris. A third struck amidst several vehicles in the street. While none of them were directly hit, the blast was enough to send one airborne, flipping it end over end before it crashed back down. People everywhere ran for cover.

  Have to get clear of the city, Jesse thought. Now that he’s really good and pissed off, he doesn’t give a damn who he hurts to get at me.

  Another wayward missile lanced past, striking a support pylon to one of the elevated monorail tracks. Two entire sections of track collapsed to the ground. Fortunately, no trains were nearby at the moment. Jesse hoped an alert would be put out before the next one came along or a lot of people were going to be hurt.

  Jesse pulled the Demon hard over to his left, dropping shields completely and transferring the power to the engines, pushing hard for the open plains that lay east of the city. The extra speed helped keep the fighter ahead of the heaviest of the barrage the Avenger was dishing out.

  He cleared the city proper, the tall grasses of the plains parting in his wake; turning ablaze where bursts of laserfire from the Avenger’s cannons scored the ground. Camping, the sudden odd thought flashed through his mind. Next time I take the crew on a vacation, we’re going camping. Won’t be anyone else around to shoot at us there.

  His comm hissed with static, followed by an all too familiar voice.

  “You are a hard one to kill, Forster, I’ll grant you that,” Scarab said. “I would have liked to see who would have died first if given the chance, you or your old man. It’s too bad you’ve decided to run. I would have preferred to face you when I killed you.”

  The words were punctuated by another flash of laserfire. Plumes of dirt, grass and fire spewed into the air from the ground on either side, raining down on the cockpit bubble, threatening to obscure Jesse’s vision. Another burst stuck the portside engine, and the ship jolted as power dropped off. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw black smoke start to pour from the manifold.

  “You’re going to be the lucky one,” Scarab continued to taunt. “You get the quick death. Your friends won’t get off that easy. After I’m done with you, I’m going to see that every one of your crew is rounded up and given my personal attention. I promise you, they’ll all die screaming.”

  That’s it, Jesse thought. You wanted to piss me off? It worked. Coaxing every last ion of power he could from his beleaguered ship’s engines, he threw the throttle to its stops and pulled the Demon skyward into a tight, rolling loop. Leveling off, he was now pointed at Scarab’s oncoming fighter, the distance between them closing at a frightening rate.

  “You want to kill me face-to-face?” he screamed into his headset’s voice pick-up. “Here’s your chance!”

  He opened fire, cannons laying down a stream of laser bursts at the oncoming ship, too fast and too close to bother with the targeting display. He saw his lasers strike home, blasting parts of the Avenger’s armor away.

  Scarab’s arrogance had just killed him. Overconfident in his own abilities, he had kept the Avenger’s power in weapons and engines, sparing nothing for its shields. As superior as the Avenger was, without shields, Jesse’s cannon fire tore through the ship like tissue paper.

  Scarab fired back, wild shots striking only air. A salvo from Jesse’s guns blasted one of the Avenger’s engine mounts, the engine wrenching up and inward at a forty-five degree angle. The Avenger began a twisting, spinning roll from which there was no possibility of recovery, careening out of Jesse’s flight path only seconds before the two ships would have collided.

  Jesse watched as the Avenger corkscrewed away for a few more seconds before plowing into the ground, leaving a trail of wreckage and burning grass in its wake as it barreled through the earth. When it finally came to rest, it was half buried and inverted. A few moments later, the damaged power plant erupted in a fireball that sent the last intact remnants of the ship scattering across the prairie.

  That was immensely satisfying, Jesse thought as he circled the site. No way Scarab’s walking away from that.

  Leaving the plume of black smoke behind him, Jesse turned his ship back in the direction of Valhalla City.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The lift came to a stop and Podo, blinking against the sudden bright sunlight after the darker, subterranean levels of the arena, could see that they were now standing in the very center of what was the facility’s playing field. As his eyes adjusted further, he saw Mynx and some of the others readying their weapons
. He reached out, putting a paw on her arm. “I wouldn’t.”

  Looking about, Mynx saw the reason for his trepidation. Sitting in the middle of the arena’s vehicle entrance sat a tactical-assault hovercraft, similar to an Antares, but more heavily armed. In the stands around them, dozens of troopers in heavy combat gear were dispersing at different levels. As well armed as Mynx’s people were, they were at the disadvantage with Boke’s troops holding the high ground. Any attempt to fight their way out would be a disaster, and she knew it. She gave her people the order to stand down. Grudgingly, they obeyed, lowering their weapons.

  “Sneaker, not now,” Podo said to the drone at his shoulder, who was clearly not in the mood to obey Mynx’s command. His photo-receptors swiveled rapidly, and Podo knew that he was picking out targets. Grabbing one of its appendages, Podo yanked hard, and the drone turned to look at him.

  “Not now,” Podo hissed. After a moment, the drone retracted its weapons, though it continued to track the nearest troopers.

  Morogo rumbled deep in his throat. Podo got the meaning. “I’m with you pal. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

  “For once, I’m inclined to agree with you,” Mynx said, keeping her voice low, and with none of her typical arrogance.

  To their right, in one of the skyboxes above at the stadium’s center-point, another half-dozen troops appeared in the more formal attire of Boke’s personal guards that Podo and Morogo had seen too much of lately. The six stood in a line across the skybox’s railing, then the two in the center each took two steps back and to either side. Arigh Boke appeared to fill the gap, dressed in a stylized variation of the uniform his troops wore. Meant to impress, the image was more comical. Close enough to be a tempting target, for anyone willing to take the shot, but just far enough out of range for any attempt to be futile to all but the keenest marksman. Podo had no doubts that the skybox was shielded as well.

  Boke surveyed the group below him, shaking his head in mock pity. “You poor wretches,” he said. His voice was conversational, but it boomed across the area from every loudspeaker in the stadium. He could have whispered and still been heard in the middle of Valhalla City. “Did you seriously hope to accomplish anything with this futile gesture? I knew that a group of disgruntled saps such as yourselves would one day try to take away from me what I have built here. I was the one that allowed the information to slip that there was an armory on this property. What I did not allow out was the fact that everything was stored in the out-buildings and service sheds surrounding the property, and not the arena itself. The stadium was merely a convenient place to gather you all into one area. Makes clean up easier.”

  “Your little rebellion is at an end. Those that you hoped to liberate from the mine are already dead, crushed by my forces.”

  Podo felt his stomach churn at the announcement. Though he did not believe Boke’s claim, the very idea of Jesse, K’Tran, and everyone else in the mine possibly being dead was disheartening. He saw several others sag their shoulders as well, the fight going out of them with the claim. Mynx looked ill, the tough woman veneer dissolving. Her eyes grew moist with tears.

  One of the side entrances to the field opened and more troops entered, escorting more prisoners; those who had stayed outside to guard the perimeter and survived the onslaught. Battered and bloody, there was less than half the number of people than there had been at the beginning. The troops herded them at rifle point to the arena’s center to join the others.

  “Do not mourn for your lost ones,” Boke continued. “You will soon be joining them. I have no intention of repeating past mistakes.”

  ***

  Godfrey chanced a look back across the Starhawk bridge at where Kym was lying on the deck, waist-deep inside one of the power grid panels, while he struggled to keep the ship on an even keel. Metcalf sat in the gunnery chair, knuckles white from gripping the firing controls so tight. The ship was bobbing up and down like a boat on windy seas. While he had piloted a craft a time or two in his day, Godfrey had never had to handle a ship of this size. “I’m really not comfortable doing this!”

  “Just give me another minute or two,” came the engineer’s muffled response. “Doing the power re-route is easy, but if I’m not careful about my connections, I could just as easily blow up the ship!”

  “T-take your time then,” he answered. He looked out the viewport as he fought with the controls. The stadium was ahead, and they were close enough to see several large military-grade vehicles spread out across the grounds, firing on small groups of beings that were running for the arena, trying to take refuge among the small outer buildings of the courtyard area. Some were standing their ground, only to be taken out by the heavier weapons the vehicles were using.

  “Actually, you might want to go a little quicker,” Godfrey called back. “It looks like our people are having a rough time of it.”

  Kym did not respond, and Godfrey was about to repeat himself when he heard an audible snapping sound, and the bridge lights flickered for a moment. A shout of triumph as they steadied and Kym clambered out of the hatch to join him back at the controls. She scanned her displays and smiled at him. “We’ve got our cloak back.”

  “Just in time,” Metcalf said. “Those tanks will never see us coming.”

  “We can’t use it if we’re going into combat,” she replied. “Too much of a drain on the power systems. We’d barely have enough to keep our anti-gravs and engines going. Weapons are not an option when cloaked.”

  She looked out the viewport at the chaos going on below outside the stadium. “Besides, we’re more than a match for anything Boke’s got on the ground.” She turned to give him a look over her shoulder. “Should be pretty easy pickin’s for you.”

  Metcalf smiled back, taking his hands off the firing controls long enough to crack his knuckles, then began adjusting his sights for ground-based targets.

  The engineer turned to Godfrey, her eyes smiling. “You ready to finish the game?”

  Godfrey returned the smile, then helped her bring the ship into position as Metcalf started to open fire.

  ***

  “Never thought it would end like this,” Podo said over his shoulder to Morogo. Both were looking up into the stands, and at the instruments of death arrayed against them and their companions. “Always knew that getting into our line of work was dangerous. I just thought that we’d all be together when we cashed out in the end.”

  Morogo’s only reponse was an audible sigh as he laid one massive hand on Podo’s shoulder.

  Every trooper in the stadium snapped to attention, their weapons leveled on the group below. Boke smiled, the look of a snake preparing to strike, dragging out the inevitable. He raised a hand above his head. “Troopers, fi—”

  Boke was cut off as the sound of explosions outside rocked the arena. Fireballs rose into the skies past the outer walls. A voice cut in on one of the nearest trooper’s headset, loud enough to be heard by those nearby. “We’re under attack! It came out of nowhere. We’ve got no defen—”

  The transmission cut off by another sudden blast. More fireballs rose up behind the stadium walls, and what was left of one of Boke’s assault vehicles flew through the air. Beyond, Podo caught sight of a familiar silhouette just before it ducked out of view again. He looked up at Morogo, and the look on the Vor’na’cik’s face told him that he had seen it too.

  The Starhawk had arrived.

  At almost the same moment, the two giant screens on either side of the stadium flickered came to life. The image of a dark-skinned, spike-haired Mandasi filled the screen. “My name is Rhasti Averdemnaccium, of the Utopian Liberation Movement. I am broadcasting this message to the Galaxy at large as a plea for help. Everything you have learned about the planet Utopia is a lie.”

  The image split, and a series of pictures began looping on one side of the screen. “These are just some of the images we have obtained showing that the planet Utopia is not the paradise the travelogues make it out to be. Slavery,
extortion and outright murder are the methods Arigh Boke uses to maintain his personal Xanadu.”

  Images from inside the mines—of children and infirm slaving within them, of conditions inside the security center, and the condition of prisoners within—began to rotate every few seconds. “All that matters to Boke is maintaining the illusion that Utopia is a perfect world, but as you can see here, it is not. Men, women, and sometimes entire families imprisoned and even enslaved for the most minor of offenses. Beatings, torture, rape and murder used to keep the incarcerated in line. People die here every day so that the fantasy can be maintained. Accidents are covered up and the details swept under the proverbial rug to hide the facts from the general populace at large. And while innocents suffer, Arigh Boke and his investors grow richer by the moment.”

  “This is an appeal to both the member worlds of the Galactic Confederation and the Harkonian Empire. The injustices here must be stopped. Even as I speak, members of the Utopian Liberation Movement are acting to free those wrongly imprisoned and held against their will. We are attempting to do this with as few civilian casualties as possible, but we need your help. I urge both governments to send a peacekeeping force—”

  The transmission cut short as Boke grabbed a weapon from the nearest trooper and blasted both screens into shards. He turned the rifle to the crowd. “Don’t believe that any help will be coming any time soon,” he shouted. “I’ve been cautious and gained much support from representatives in both governments over the years. They may hear your words, but they will look the other way, I promise.”

  Podo thought his words too self-assured, as though Boke was unsure that he believed his own claim. The look on his face betrayed his nervousness.

  Boke glared down at the assembled resistance fighters and gave a shrug. “Besides,” he continued, and this time his voice held more conviction. “Even if someone does decide to act, it will still be too late for you.”