by Nick Webb
Alessandro fiddled with one of the panels on the large gun, and tested the latch on the loading chamber. It opened.
“Well, this just might work,” he said as he examined the tiny chamber. He turned to the stack of crates nearby and lifted the lid off one of them. “Ah. The ammunition. Good,” he said, as he inspected a shell, “I think we’re in business, friends. My vial will fit. But just barely.”
Alessandro fished in his pocket for the vial of anti-matter, and, screwing off the top of the shell, inserted it deep inside.
“Ready,” he said, as he screwed the top of the shell back on and placed it in the firing chamber.
Avery furrowed his brow at the controls. “I can’t seem to raise the barrel. The controls aren’t responding.”
“That’s because I’ve remotely disabled it,” said a voice behind them all, with a tone of mockery.
Jake turned.
Velar. Her arms were raised, holding a gun, and a Domitian control device, both pointed straight at Jake’s head.
CHAPTER NINE
CAPTAIN TITUS STEADIED HIMSELF ON the command console as the Caligula rocked under the barrage of the Phoenix’s railguns. “Status?” he barked at the tactical station.
“Moderate damage on the starboard hull, but no breaches. We’ve lost two railguns and a laser turret.”
Titus studied his console—starboard was their weaker side, having been hit hardest during the battle of Geneseo Station over Earth, and he swore softly to himself as he realized the ship might never recover fully without a complete overhaul at the Praesidium Shipyards.
“Bank to starboard. Show them our left flank.”
“Yes, sir.”
Trajan monitored the situation from the captain’s chair, softly humming some nameless tune to himself. He appeared completely unconcerned with the situation, as if he knew its end from the beginning.
The humming stopped. “Wing Commander? Has our fighter squadron deployed yet?”
A voice answered over Trajan’s comm on the chair.
“Yes, sir. Engaging the Rebel fighters now.”
Indeed, Titus glanced up at the viewscreen as the battle commenced, and he winced as one of their own flared up and exploded.
Trajan continued, “You have authority to engage in the tactics we discussed, Commander. Use the new fighters to their full capability.”
“But sir, we haven’t tested them in combat. Regulations dictate that—“
“Those are my orders, Commander. Execute them faithfully. Trajan out.”
Titus could imagine Commander Burris wince on the other end of the comm as the Admiral emphasized the word execute. The meaning was clear.
Titus turned back to the front of the bridge. Within moments, the effect of Trajan’s words played out on the screen as their fighters began using the micro-gravitics, turning the new technology back on the Rebels themselves. He smirked as one of the enemy fighters exploded as one of their own appeared suddenly behind it out of nowhere.
Trajan thumbed open his comm again. “Chief of security, prepare the cargo holds to receive a large number of prisoners.”
Titus glanced back at him. “Is that not a bit premature, sir?”
An icy cold stare met his own gaze. “It is not. I’ve studied this commander at the helm of the Phoenix, and she stands no chance against us. She is driven by a sense of revenge, and nothing more. I can see it in her tactics thus far. I can read it in her music, Captain. It speaks to me, and tells me she is found wanting.”
Titus nodded once, and turned back to his console. He grimaced as another one of their fighters flared into a brief fireball. It was too early to assume victory on this one—the Phoenix was in far better shape than they’d supposed, and even with the micro-gravitics, their fighters were struggling against the enemy. The Rebels had had several weeks to train with the new micro-gravitic drives. Theirs had only trained with them for a few days.
“Communications. Send the gravitic pod you have prepared.”
“Aye, sir,” came Ensign Evan’s voice behind Titus. Titus glanced at the Ensign inquisitively.
Trajan answered for the young man. “To signal the Sphinx, Captain. I believe they have a grudge against the Phoenix.”
Titus smiled. So, that was the source of Trajan’s confidence. He felt somewhat miffed that the Admiral had not told him about the other ship waiting in the star system adjacent to the Destiny system, but the now sure knowledge of their victory made up for it. Still, he thought it was time to have another word with Evans about keeping information like that secret from the captain of the ship.
“Good thinking, sir.”
Trajan’s previous sneer gave way to a dry smile. “I know, Captain. No need to ingratiate yourself. Now sit back and relax. Enjoy the concert.”
***
Jake eyed Velar nervously and took a step so that he blocked her view of Alessandro.
Velar jerked her arm. “Stop! One more step and I’ll have you on your knees begging for mercy. Or, better yet, I’ll detonate the device in your head, like your friend several days ago. That was great fun, wasn’t it?”
Jake wanted to swear at her. To rip her arms from her sockets and beat her with them to a bloody, quivering pulp. The way she talked so callously of Suarez’s demise made him quiver with rage, but he kept it under control. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to think.
“Velar. Such a pleasure to see you here. I was worrying I’d have to hunt you down. How considerate of you to save me the effort.”
“Save it. Step away from the railgun. Now!” She motioned with the Domitian controller.
Jake took a few steps away. He heard the others follow suit.
“Tell me, Velar. Where is my friend? Where is Ben?”
She laughed. Her long earrings dangled against her neck as she regained her composure. “Mr. Jemez? He fetched quite a price. The most I’ve ever sold a slave for. Double, in fact. I have a certain client who likes a little extra fun that his wife refuses to give him. He’s an artist, you know. At least, that’s what he tells me. You should see some of the designs he’s carved on some of the other slaves I’ve sold him. Truly remarkable. He chains them up, and uses them as his canvas with his blade as a brush. Distracts him from his day job, you see.”
Jake’s lips trembled. “You monster.”
She held her hands up. “Hey, I can’t control what my clients do with their property. He’s a little odd, sure. Maybe cruel, even. But in time, your friend will love every second in that dungeon. All the others did. Eventually. They call him their master. Something about those bots he injects them with. Kinda cute, I think.”
Jake boiled. He had half a mind to race towards her and break her face, Domitian Collar be damned.
But he stood his ground. Would Ben make it? He was made of some strong stuff, but this sounded pretty bad. And it killed Jake that he was responsible. It was his fault. He was in command. All those dead crew members, and now this.
Jake heard a whisper in his ear. “Ready. Go now!”
Without waiting an extra second, Jake sprang forward and charged Velar, who, unflinching, pressed down on the controller.
And made Jake’s head reel in a shock of fiery pain. Pure pain. Worse than the previous shocks. Worse than the bone regrowth injections Doc Nichols had given him a few weeks back. He fell to his knees and held his head between his hands.
“No!” Avery took a step forward, but stopped when he saw Velar point the controller at him.
Jake screamed. A primal, agonized scream—at least, that’s how it sounded to his own ears. It was a pain that he couldn’t comprehend. Like nothing he could even imagine feeling. He tried to speak, to beg Velar to stop, but no words could pass his lips. Only incoherent moaning.
And just as suddenly as it came, it was gone.
He opened an eye, and to his surprise, Velar was scrambling up from the floor where Jeremiah had knocked her down, reaching for the controller. He swung a foot out and kicked it away before lungi
ng at her, but came up short and she bolted away.
Jeremiah started running after, but Jake called after him.
“Jeremiah! No, she could have more guards down there.”
The boy paused, and turned back.
He mumbled, barely audible. “Did she hurt you? I just didn’t want her to hurt you. She couldn’t hurt you. I wouldn’t let her.”
Jake cocked an eyebrow at him, wondering what had inspired the kid’s sudden change of ferocious loyalty, but then winced as he stood up. “No, she didn’t hurt me. Not permanently. Good work, kid.” He spun around to Alessandro. “What the hell, Bernoulli, why didn’t it work?”
The scientist looked flummoxed. “I don’t know, friend. Maybe her model of controller can cut to the front of the queue of commands in the buffer. Who knows?”
Jake hobbled over to the gun, trying to avoid using his sprained ankle. “Fine. So can we get this working, or not? She’s bound to be back any minute with her thugs.”
Alessandro and Tovra bent over the panel of lights and indicators, and within a minute, the railgun pointed towards the drop-panel ceiling.
“You sure that casing will survive impact with the ceiling?” Jake eyed the thing suspiciously.
“Relax, friend. Look. The ceiling is cheap plastic. Nothing to worry about.”
Jake rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s what I said about this whole mission, and look where that got us.”
Tovra glanced up at him. “Well count me as one that is very happy that you came. And Jeremiah.”
Jeremiah had come up close behind Jake, looking all around the room, as if searching for a threat, or preparing himself to defend Jake again. How odd…. Just twenty minutes earlier the boy had tried to rip his throat out, and now it seemed as if he felt compelled to defend Jake like he had defended the boss earlier. He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“All right there, Jeremiah?”
“Uh huh.”
Jake searched the boy’s darting eyes. Not much for words, apparently. Except when going into that trance like he did before. Trance, program … hell, whatever it was. Maybe the kid was just transferring his loyalty from one authority figure to the next. Surely he was watching how Avery and Bernoulli were obeying his every command, and perhaps that triggered his sudden switch. Whatever it was, there was no time to figure it out.
“Just stick by me, kid, and I’ll get you through this. Don’t worry.”
Jeremiah looked up at him, as if undecided. “Ok,” he said, finally.
Tovra hacked and coughed for a moment, and cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose our cover is blown. Is this even necessary? The railgun, I mean?”
Jake opened and closed his mouth. Actually, he wasn’t sure. They had only planned on shooting the vial of antimatter out the railgun to create a distraction, and make it easier to escape to a freighter or a shuttle in the ensuing confusion. But Velar already knew they’d escaped. She’d be ready for them next time.
Bernoulli nodded. “Yes. We continue.”
“Why?” said Jake.
“Because, friend. The massive electromagnetic pulse that this will generate will knock out most of the electronic systems here and for miles around. If we want to have any hope of making it past whatever orbital defense system Velar has in place, we need to knock it out before we fly.”
He turned to Tovra. “Does she have orbital defense?”
Tovra held up his hands. “Well I don’t know that. But she’s got this railgun. Sure, it’s mothballed, but I think we can safely assume she’s replaced it with something else. Something with more punch. She does seem like the paranoid type.”
“Ok. Let’s do it. Al?” Jake turned back to the scientist. “We good to go?”
Bernoulli looked up from the control panel. “Yes. Everyone ready? I recommend we take cover downstairs when this thing fires.” He finished typing in the parameters for the launch of the projectile with the anti-matter vial inside. The long shaft of the gun began to rise up towards the ceiling with an ominous whirr.
Jake nodded. “Let’s go. Everyone downstairs.” He waved Tovra and Avery towards the stairs, and pointed Jeremiah after them. “You coming, Alessandro?”
“One moment….” A few more buttons tapped, and the scientist looked up. “Ok. Run.”
***
Sergeant Logan Jayce shielded his eyes from the piercing white explosion that rocked the shuttle with a giant shock wave. The shuttle bucked and threw Jayce against his restraints. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of Tomaga’s men thrown violently against the ceiling, catching his head on the angled edge of a metal compartment. Blood gushed from the man’s face as he dropped back into his seat, unconscious.
“What the hell was that?!” Jayce peered out the window. Behind the shuttle and to the right were the other two crafts, each streaming smoke from their hulls and losing altitude.
“We’re going DOWN!” the pilot roared, punching his console with a fist as he desperately tried to regain control of the engines.
“What?” Jayce leaned forward and looked at the controls. Power was out. Main engines offline. “Can you restart?”
“The reactor is completely gone. Just knocked out dead, sir.”
“Glide it.” Volaski said, serenely. Jayce rolled his eyes at the bravado.
The pilot’s fingers danced over the controls. “This is a shuttle. Not an airship, or even a fighter.”
“I’ve glided half a dozen freighters down after getting in a tight spot. Just extend the foils and bank to—“
“Look, pirate,” began the pilot, “I don’t give a damn what you—“
Jayce noticed the ground approaching faster. “Private, just give him the damn controls. Now!”
The pilot glowered at him, but unstrapped his restraint and got himself out of the seat. Volaski slid in behind him and his hands danced over the console.
“We’re coming in pretty fast. This is going to get rough.…” Volaski concentrated on his readings and lifted up the bow of the shuttle as Jayce peered over at Tomaga, who nodded grimly.
“Bet you wish you’d stayed behind now.”
Tomaga didn’t answer, but stared out at the rapidly approaching ground. Jayce peered out the viewport at the two other shuttles. Both appeared to have lost power as well and were gliding in, apparently under a little more control than they were. Jayce wondered if the other pilots were more experienced than theirs, or if their shuttle was more damaged than the others. He glanced at the short, brown-haired young man now sitting in Volaski’s old seat. Barely a young man—couldn’t be a day over twenty. Shit, the Academy was sending the little bitches out way too young. Jayce strapped his assault rifle a little tighter to his torso and gripped his armrest a little more firmly.
“Five seconds to impact,” Volaski said. “Coming in at only one hundred kph. We just might make it.…”
***
Senator Galba rushed down the hallway on deck fifteen again, as if reliving his path from the other night. Only this time, the ship rocked from the pounding thuds of railgun fire and secondary explosions. Someone was giving the Phoenix a run for her money. Possibly two someones, from the sound of things.
He had to succeed this time. The Phoenix must be stopped in her tracks. The Plan depended on it. The Emperor and his inner circle had wagered everything, and Old Earth was the lynchpin. The capstone in the arch. For The Plan was like a great arch. Sweeping across history—their future history—and the survival of the Empire depended on its successful completion.
And for that, the Phoenix must be neutralized. Captured, preferably. But destroyed, if necessary. He’d love to see The Plan come to fruition, and possibly gain a seat in the Emperor’s inner circle. But that was a secondary prize. His first prize was the knowledge that he saved humanity. That he saved the Empire. For the Empire was all that was left of humanity.
And so he began to jog. Gods, he hadn’t jogged in years. His knees cried out in pain and his breath escaped his lips in short, pain
ful bursts. But he soon entered the small utility room he’d found before, and locked the door behind him.
Private Ling—nor anyone else—would interrupt his work this time.
The ship rocked, and the deckplates rumbled. The sounds of battle raged distantly in the background as slug after slug pounded the weary hull.
It only took moments. He’d studied the ship’s schematics for what seemed like an eternity ever since Willow gave him a uniform and the bandages that helped him disguise his face. Overloading the power conduits to the ion beam cannons was a relatively simple task. He knew exactly which circuits to trip, which subsystems to order into diagnostic mode, and in a flash, it was over, and he stood up and unlocked the door.
Deck fifteen, in spite of the continuing explosions, was strangely quiet. All the regular crew was gone, of course, it being the recreation deck, leaving only the Fifty-First Brigade. But from the angry klaxons sounding, he supposed they had all been ordered to quarters for their own safety.
Except one man, apparently. Or at least, he was flagrantly ignoring the general quarters alarm.
“Private Ling?”
The bruised face looked up at him. He was sitting at one of the tables, kicked back with an old porno magazine. A paper one, like the ones that only exist in the back alleys of forgotten frontier worlds.
“Senator?” The man flashed a toothy grin. He’d apparently lost a tooth in whatever fight he’d been in.
Galba smiled and sat down next to him.
“I’ll no longer deny it. But there is something you should know.”
The smile disappeared. The magazine lowered to the table. “And what is that?”
“I’m a prisoner here. Like you. And just between you and me, I hate the Resistance. Hate it. Despise it.”
Ling’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Aren’t you the head of the Truth and Reconciliation Committee?”
“You follow politics, soldier?” Galba reached for the magazine. Ling drew it away before he could touch it.
