Trespassers: Book 1 of the Chaos Shift Cycle

by Cameron, TR

  “Tactical, set up battle display with enemy forces in green. Project area of influence from the starbase’s weapons and overlay.” Cross watched as the data materialized and decided his initial positioning was optimistic. “Helm, revise destination. Same vector, but keep us within the weapons range of the starbase. Make it so we can strike the enemy,” he paused and did some quick calculations, “with half of our maximum range outside the starbase’s sphere.”

  Okoye’s irritated voice was a surprise when it came through his earpiece. “Cross, I’m helping to coordinate the larger battle from the auxiliary bridge. Keep us out of trouble and follow the plan from the Rio.”

  “Affirmative,” Cross growled in return. He knew the crew from his original command shift that had made it back to the ship would take the duty stations on the aux bridge to support the captain, and he couldn’t think of any other way to assist. He returned to the task at hand.

  The bridge crew was glued to the battle display, watching as the enemy ships crept forward and the defenders interposed themselves between the starbase and the incoming threat. Fitzpatrick added the Washington into the starbase’s command network, which included the commanders of all the military ships and starbase defense control. The captain of the Rio was the senior ship commander present and was coordinating the tactics of the ships in the sector. Cross listened in as Captain Javier Montoya supplied orders to the Rio’s escorts and the newly arrived Mexico City. A signal ordered the Washington to adjust position to fit better into the overlapping defense spheres, and Cross echoed those instructions to his helm officer.

  He noted that the entire bridge crew was primary rotation officers, Okoye’s team. He sent a quick message to Kate asking about the status of his own people. She responded that all were on board and at their positions on the auxiliary bridge. The speed of her response meant she’d expected the request, and he shook his head at her intellect.

  And then they could do nothing but wait as the enemy crept closer and closer.

  * * *

  The battle began without conversation. Hails had been repeating since the aliens appeared on the sensors, but they were apparently uninterested in talking. The incoming force split into four pairs, and each launched a complement of torpedoes before arcing in different directions toward the starbase, one high, one low, one port, one starboard. All the missiles sped along a direct line ending at the Washington.

  Cross grimaced. “Well, I guess they remember us.”

  At this distance, they had almost forty-eight seconds before the missiles would reach them, and twenty before they could launch in defense. The Rio was not as limited by range as her smaller allies and she launched two counter-torpedoes for each incoming weapon. She also disgorged a fighter screen that split in half and raced to intercept the high and low targets.

  The Washington and Mexico City were assigned the port target, and the Rio’s escorts moved toward the pair of enemy ships on the starboard side. The Rio herself stayed in the center, coasting backward toward the base, waiting for the full array of weapons she carried to be in range.

  Eyes on the display, Cross thought time must have jumped forward, placing the opponents instantly within range of one another. All the ships started firing at once. The Rio rotated ninety degrees, bringing her port and starboard broadsides to bear on the enemies going high and low. The fighter screen scattered with computer-controlled precision, opening a lane to each pair, and the Rio fired both of her broadsides at once.

  As with all the ships of the dreadnought class, the Rio boasted an impressive number of weapons of every kind known to the UAL. Her torpedoes fired faster, were stronger, and could fly for longer. Her lasers were half again as powerful as those on the Washington, and her plasma cannons were double the intensity. Plus, given how big she was, there was a lot of room for them. A single broadside included six lasers, six plasma cannons, and twenty-four emplacements, some housing torpedoes and the rest magnetically accelerating orbs of newsteel a meter in diameter at incredible speed toward an enemy. Her disciplined crew managed their tasks well, coordinating the various shooting speeds to maximize the damage of each broadside. A single blast would be enough to significantly wound any ship that the AAN could field.

  They proved less effective against the defenses of the Xroeshyn ships. The strange shields that had generated such an odd gravitic pattern when analyzed, bent the incoming energy of the plasma cannons and lasers, curving it away from the ship and leaving the gunners aghast. Some of the torpedoes fared better, impacting the enemy shields, but in most cases, failing to get through and cause any damage.

  The newsteel rounds, a recent innovation that had yet to see action against the Alliance forces, struck the enemy ships with most of their force intact. Gravitic defenses pulled them off of the direct-line path from their guns, but weren’t powerful enough to stop them. Ablative hull pieces fragmented and fell away from the alien vessels, yet they continued undeterred toward the starbase.

  Clearly daunted by the lack of effectiveness of the first salvo, the commander of the Rio projected a new vector onto the ships’ battle displays. Cross saw he was directing them all to converge on and overwhelm the topmost vessel. He issued the appropriate commands, and the Washington changed course.

  Then he noticed an opportunity. One of the enemies that had gone low was faltering, falling away from its escort as the other seven continued driving toward the starbase. His conversation with the captain about thinking strategically evaporated from his brain as if it had never occurred. He used the controls on the arm of his chair to designate that ship as the Washington’s primary target.

  “Helm, come to 213, 60 low.” The ship altered direction again, and Cross felt the uncertainty of his crew. He had no time for doubt, his own or others’, and focused on his prey.

  “Tactical, keep us safe from random shots, but reinforce bow shields as much as possible. Weapons, try sequential impacts instead of all at once. Space them at one second apart, plasma first, then laser, then torpedoes. Fire once we are inside maximum range and keep firing.” Cross leaned forward in his chair, ignoring the discordant chaos of the command net in his earpiece. It took forever, but finally they were close enough to engage.

  Both ships engaged at almost the same moment. Incoming energy blasts hammered the Washington’s front shields, but they held. The enemy ship skewed, continuing on the same heading but presenting her starboard broadside, which fired as it gained its target. It continued through a full spin, discharging its port broadside as well.

  The Washington’s shields held against the enemy’s energy blasts, but were substantially depleted.

  “Countermeasures.” Cross’s voice was calm and deliberate, a sign that he was in the zone. “Tactical, pick a point.” The shorthand told the tactical officer to mark the enemy ship with the Washington’s targeting lasers, mounted on the top and bottom of the ship right at the midpoint. Once locked on a target, they would maintain that spot regardless of the ship’s movements. “Lock all weapons on the point. Helm, evasive pattern gamma.”

  The Washington careened onto a new vector, incrementally increasing the enemy torpedoes’ travel time to them. Cross saw his mistake as he reviewed the battle display. His racing brain processed the fact that two other ships had peeled off and were closing on the Washington, which had left friendly cover behind. He bared his teeth and gave a head tilt of respect to the enemy commander. Fortunately, there was still time to alter the trajectory that was taking him into the teeth of the ambushing vessels.

  “Helm, new course.” He traced the tightest arc that would direct his ship back into the starbase defenses while avoiding the enemy’s trap onto his display. “Tactical, full power to shields all around, watch for incoming from starboard.” He judged the distances and was confident he had reacted just in time. The commander of the Rio gave him an earful for deviating from the plan and provided new orders. The Washington was now tasked to intercept any escapees from the imminent converged attack.


  Icons came together as seven Union ships attacked the enemy pair. One of them turned, taking the attack head-on and charting a collision course with the Rio. The other enemy ship dove sharply, evading the engagement and orienting itself on the starbase. An array of sparkling items ejected from the front of the enemy ship, and they fired tiny engines to accelerate toward the starbase. Point defense cannons activated, but only defeated one in ten as they were too small for the targeting radar to lock on to. The remaining three ships came in undeterred by the base’s defenses and the harassing fighters and launched their own tiny projectiles, followed by traditional attacks that were absorbed by the starbase’s shields.

  The tiny flickering items adhered to the starbase, then appeared to fall dormant. An astute observer would’ve noted that they’d landed in particular patterns, a spiral on the upper part of the base, and a spiral on the lower part of the base. That same observer might wonder why that pattern, and why that location, since there was nothing in the science of humanity to explain it. This perplexed observer would soon discover what those tiny destructive devices were for.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Captain Okoye strode onto the bridge, projecting calm confidence all around. Cross, who’d turned at the sound of the lift door, vacated the captain’s chair and strapped himself in to the XO position. After almost falling for the enemy trap, he was more than willing to relinquish command to the captain.

  “Status,” Okoye said in his clipped accent.

  “No damage, our objective is highlighted on the battle display, our target is the one running from the Rio and the ships with her.” Cross tapped instructions into the arms of his chair while he spoke, bringing up his personal displays. He hadn’t fully set up the XO station, an oversight that, if he was honest with himself, probably had a lot to do with the way the previous executive officer vacated the position.

  “Very good, Lieutenant Commander. I have the deck.”

  “Yes, sir. You have the deck.”

  “Tactical, any success against their defenses?”

  “No, sir, nothing in particular. A staggered attack may work, but we had to break off before we could try it fully.” Okay nodded in response to Lieutenant Allen Jacobs’s words.

  “Also, Captain,” Cross said, “Several of the enemy ships launched small projectiles toward the starbase, which seem to have struck and adhered. Their purpose is unknown.”

  He looked over as if to say “really?”. Cross shrugged. They were all operating in new territory now.

  The captain turned back to the main screen in time to see the result of the battle at the highest point of the enemy attack. The smaller UAL ships pummeled the target, while the Rio made only one pass then reoriented herself toward the next enemy in line. That single salvo was adequate to reduce the enemy vessel to floating wreckage, the Rio’s broadside barrage overwhelming the enemy’s already stressed defenses. The battle display didn’t show it, but Cross imagined the bodies of aliens cartwheeling through space away from the ship. It offered him no satisfaction.

  All the ships ceased firing as they repositioned for the next round. The Union tended toward a direct linear strategy, moving on sharp vectors. The enemy followed a more organic approach, using arcing paths to approach their targets. Based upon Cross’s assessments so far, the enemy vessels were nimbler than the UAL ships, and carried about the same amount of firepower and better defenses than the destroyers and cruisers. Their single dreadnought appeared to be more than a match for any enemy ship currently in the field, at least over a protracted timeline.

  The remaining seven enemy vessels organized themselves into two pairs and a trio, the latter curving toward the Washington. The captain frowned at the screen. “Did you do something to irritate them, Cross?” The moment of levity in the heart of the battle allowed the crew to release the breaths they had been unconsciously holding. Cross noted this, and remembered what the captain had said about using every tactic that presented itself to benefit the crew.

  “Nothing in particular, Captain. Apparently, I just have that effect on people. Even alien people. Present company excepted, of course.”

  Okoye smirked. “Of course.” He turned back to the main screen.

  “Helm, I don’t think we want to tangle with these three on our own. Please set a path that curves us behind the Rio and her consorts. Tactical, choose one and mark it, then when we’re eclipsed from the enemies’ view, launch all tubes targeted on that mark.” Cross checked to verify that the battle display was showing proper transponder readings, so that the torpedoes wouldn’t hit friendly ships.

  Okoye paused for a moment, then flicked the switch on his chair that allowed him to speak into the battle net. “This is Captain James Okoye, commanding the Washington, DC. We will circle behind the Rio and fire all tubes at a single ship. It is marked on display as echo-one. Request a second flight of torpedoes to launch five seconds after ours, and another five seconds after that.”

  Cross heard the responses in his own earpiece as the commander aboard the Rio designated the ships to assist. The Rio and her consorts adjusted their trajectory to intercept one pair of the enemy ships, and the remaining Union forces oriented on the other pair. The three on the Washington’s tail were ignored.

  Moments later, the foes were within battering range again. The starbase proved ineffective in engaging the enemy ships, which danced and darted around lasers, plasma, torpedoes, and point defense cannons. It served as a distraction at least, causing multiple enemies to be out of position and unable to support the other ship in their pairs. Working together, the Rio, Toronto, and Mexico City made short work of one of those orphaned ships, the smaller vessels again overwhelming the enemy’s defenses and allowing the dreadnought’s weapons to punch through.

  The rest of the Union forces didn’t fare so well in their individual matchups. The staggered torpedo attacks that the Washington had started were ineffective, because the torpedoes seemed to lose their lock on the target and shot off in every direction as they got closer. Okoye sighed and offered, “Anyone that can figure out what kind of defenses the enemy ships are putting up gets The Admiral’s Reward the next time we have shore leave.” The highest informal recognition that a ship captain could provide, the Admiral’s Reward was three nights at the location’s nicest hotel, complete with all the food and drink that a sailor might want. The expense came out of the captain’s own pocket.

  Like a school of fish that had scattered, the enemy ships formed up in a graceful combination of movements, and launched another salvo of torpedoes, evenly split between the Toronto and the Mexico City. Countermeasures bloomed as the aliens again peeled off onto separate vectors, firing their energy weapons at the two ships.

  As the missiles closed in, the other ships in the Union’s defense force attempted to intervene, but they were too distant. The destroyers attempted every evasive tactic they could manage in the short window between launch and impact, but failed to shake the majority of the torpedoes. Cross’s eyes were locked in horror on the real-space view as he awaited their destruction.

  The Rio saved them, coming up from below and interposing herself in front of the smaller vessels. The dreadnought’s shields glowed with energy discharge as they absorbed the enemy’s blasts, and then the ship itself was engulfed in explosions as the torpedoes impacted the barrier. When the surrounding space had cleared, the Rio was still flying, albeit with a large trail of debris that had been blown off her hull. In several sections Cross saw atmosphere venting and supplemental explosions, but she had survived.

  All six of the remaining enemy ships broke off the attack and made one more pass at the starbase, moving at higher speeds than the Union forces had yet to see from them. A glittering storm of the small projectiles rained out again, adhering to the installation’s skin and continuing the patterns of both spirals. The Washington and the other UAL forces raced in pursuit, but couldn’t close the distance.

  A communication came from one of the departing vess
els, and the computer provided an almost real-time translation of it. The crew of the Washington recognized the alien who’d addressed them before.

  “I am Captain Traan Aras of the Jade Breeze, and I am in command of this honor squadron representing the Xroeshyn people.” He paused, his hands clasped behind his back, his wings folded gracefully, and much more in control than the last time they’d seen him. “It seems only fitting that as you’ve taken something of import from us, we’ve taken something from you. Before we leave, and until we meet again, we’d like to send a special message to those that trespassed upon our holy place. You are marked. Your defeat is certain. You will spend eternity in the in-between, serving our ancestors.”

  Torpedoes exploded from all the enemy ships, bearing down toward the Washington. In the next moment, a wave of shimmering color swept through the sector, and the enemy ships were no longer there. The torpedoes remained and were closing fast.

  Okoye snapped orders to his crew. “Helm, evasive pattern theta. Keep our aft to those missiles. Tactical, full power to aft shields, minimal everywhere else. Launch all countermeasures.” The Washington flipped over and hung in space as she fought off the inertia of her original path before pulling away from the torpedoes. Devices intended to block heat seekers, radar heads, and visual locks spread out behind them, failing to distract even a single missile.

  “What the hell,” Cross spoke without thinking, then caught himself and fell silent. The countdown clock in one corner of the screen showed the time until impact of the missiles, currently at twenty-three seconds.

  Okoye was paying attention to the battle net and nodded in acknowledgment of something he heard. “Helm, come to 290, 40 high. The Rio will take out some of those torpedoes.” As the Washington reoriented itself, the Rio’s lasers and countermeasures picked off several of the missiles, and she interposed herself in the path of others. After her efforts, only twenty torpedoes remained locked onto the Washington. Cross was sure their defenses wouldn’t handle that many.