Remember the Starfighter

by Michael Kan

  “We’re on the same side,” he said, pleading with her.

  The android said nothing, barely moving now, as she ignored his remarks.

  “Haven, my homeworld,” the man continued. “It will be one of the first worlds destroyed by the Ouryan collapser if deployed. Before you arrived, I thought my planet to be dead. But according to you, people still live on Endervar-controlled worlds, is that correct?”

  The man looked at the android, his hands open, begging for a response.

  “Is that correct?” he said louder, not wanting to deal with her silence any longer.

  “Yes,” the android finally said.

  “That’s why I took this mission. I want to stop the Ouryan collapser, I want to save Haven. And with your help, maybe we can do this.”

  “Then why, minutes ago, did I detect you changing our flight trajectory away from the New Terran fleet at Amredies Prime?” she asked.

  “I don’t think it’s safe,” he said. “The Ouryan, he knew my name and rank. They must know we’re heading there. There’s got to be a dozen other Ouryan ships waiting to intercept us if we approach.”

  “This no longer matters. I am intent on returning to Earth.”

  “And do what?”

  “We will prepare contingencies,” she said. “It is clear, we were wrong… wrong about everything.”

  “Well, you won’t get far. As long as that Ouryan ship is out there, you’re in danger. At best, we maybe have a day or two before it catches up with us and attacks.”

  She did not wish to concede it, but the man was likely correct. It would take several more days, perhaps even weeks, before her systems were at full operational capacity. Until then, the likelihood of her survival and her safe return to Earth remained low when factoring in the vessel trailing behind them.

  She, however, knew all this, and wanted to reject it. Her machine part had analyzed the threats, and compiled all-known possibilities. The conclusion was obvious: If anything, she needed to remain here, in the unknown, to try and stop the Ouryan collapser.

  She did not wish to accept this, the human side to her conflicting with every thought in her mind.

  “What do you suggest?” she said.

  “I need control of the ship’s navigational database, along with all intelligence on Ouryan ships, give me that at least,” he said.

  “Why should I trust you?” she asked bluntly. “How do I know you won’t betray me?”

  The man cut through the questions, wanting to settle the doubts for good.

  “I’d rather die than let this mission fail,” he said without hesitation. “I swear I’ll protect you. My homeworld depends on it.”

  His stress levels remained high. But nothing in the android’s behavioral scans indicated he was lying. She could only conclude that his conviction was true, and yet still, she wanted to find another reason to refuse — to continue on course, despite the odds.

  “You’re far more powerful than me,” the man added. “I know. I can see that clearly now. The ship is still yours. It can’t run without you. But just give me access to those maps. That’s all I’m asking.”

  She could not deny the pilot’s logic. The android nodded, releasing control of the select command protocols. The pilot went to his seat, reading through the vast collection of stellar data. He did not speak again for the next hour, keeping his thoughts to himself. But the android monitored the data he accessed, noting that the pilot was focusing on two different star systems, one closer than the other.

  “You may not like this,” the pilot said, breaking his silence. “But I have a plan that with any luck could work.”

  They would never reach the fleet at Amredies Prime. The human had another plan, one that would stop the Ouryan vessel. Julian explained the details, knowing there would be risks. Given the circumstances, the android had to agree. Relinquishing full control of the ship, she returned the Lightning back to pilot’s command. Arendi then began preparing the energy reserve.

  It was not what she wanted. But there was no other choice. Here, she must stay, the android concluded — in the unknown.

  ***

  After following the target’s energy trail, the Ouryan vessel appeared out of hyperspace, with stealth systems fully engaged. The agent, however, soon realized that there was no need for the deception. The Lightning was there in visual range, completely abandoned and bereft of power.

  Perplexing, the agent thought. Stellar charts put its location in Gamma Dyrannus, a destination in the near-opposite direction of the New Terran fleet. The human captain had been wise to avoid Amredies Prime, the system now home to an Ouryan taskforce. But why had the captain come here, only to abandon his ship? No life signs could be found, or any evidence of communication waves. A closer visual analysis showed ruptures in the ship’s hull, indicating a possible attack. Or perhaps more likely, an internal overload.

  What was important, however, was that the entire cockpit section had gone missing. It was then clear that the human captain had been forced to flee the ship in the vessel’s lifeboat. Further scans detected a new energy signature extending out from the Lightning into a course deep within Gamma Dyrannus.

  The Ouryan vessel followed, with shields and stealth systems still powered on. It was not long before the vessel had detected a heat signature, finding the lifeboat in mid transit. A trajectory pinpointed its heading to be a nearby planet, the database listing it as a former Kilanthian colony. An odd choice for refuge, but the agent surmised that the captain had been left with no option. If only they had been faster. Then perhaps, they would have avoided the Ouryan agent’s gaze and their soon-to-be capture.

  As the lifeboat continued on its course, the Ouryan vessel lowered its shields and stealth systems. The ship then fired, not with a weapon, but a tractor beam that latched on to its target, forcing the escaping craft to stop in mid-flight. Despite whatever resistance its engines could muster, the lifeboat was trapped, defenseless to prevent the approaching Ouryan vessel from laying claim to its prize.

  In a way, it was an anti-climactic end. The Ouryan agent had expected at least one last stand-off with the human captain. Inevitably, however, the opposition had run out of resources; all the captain had left was his escape pod. The agent could only watch in disappointment, knowing that this human had met his match, reduced to hiding, and running. The last card the captain had to play was to issue an emergency distress signal, asking for help.

  Pathetic, the agent mused, witnessing the man’s desperation.

  “So much for a challenge,” it said. “Why not just admit defeat human?”

  It would be the last thought the Ouryan agent would think, at least in its current form. As the lifeboat emitted its emergency distress call, a hidden encrypted signal also went off. This was not a plea for help, but instead a coded message containing a series of commands. Hundreds of thousands of kilometers away, the once dead Lightning awoke, responding to the orders.

  It happened in what was only less than a minute. At nearly the speed of light, the SpaceCore vessel came charging at the Ouryan ship, using the last of its stored energy reserve. Not simply to attack, but to totally annihilate, a full-on collision course plotted. In terms of size, the human ship was but a fragment against the mass of the Ouryan vessel. This, however, meant nothing to the Lightning as the craft became a weapon in itself, every fiber of its structure escalating the destructive damage it would bring. When the scans detected the incoming object, it was too late for the agent, the target all too vulnerable with both its shields and stealth systems down. In a flash, the Ouryan vessel shattered into pieces; the once imposing starship had exploded in space.

  Julian saw the impact out from the cockpit’s exterior cameras, feeling the lifeboat free of the tractor beam. For a moment, the craft seemed to spin off course, diving away from the carnage. Gradually, however, it slowed as directional thrusters stabilized its position.

  Behind them, he noticed nothing. The Ouryan vessel’s fiery demise had been co
nsumed by the vacuum of space. The threat utterly destroyed, left to forever wander as mangled debris. Its destruction had come at the cost of the Lightning, a ship now among the pieces trailing behind Julian’s lifeboat.

  He didn't wish to indulge in the sentimentality. While the Lightning may have given them a fighting chance, there was still more work to be done. After viewing the debris, Julian directed the lifeboat to the destination ahead, preparing the craft for re-entry. On the display, he could see a red planet surrounded in white and brown smoke. Gamma Dyranus III was its standard designation, a world that was long ago abandoned by most accounts. But to Julian, the planet had always been known by another, albeit classified, name.

  “There it is,” Julian said. “Legeon Base.”

  Chapter 32

  Julian stumbled to his knees, still holding the salvaged supplies from the Lightning braced to his back. Below him, the desert floor suddenly began to tremble.

  “Watch it,” he said, speaking over the comm in his helmeted suit. “This planet is unstable.”

  The tremor erupted, crashing through the ground. Losing his balance, Julian fell down, his hands almost sinking into the hardened sand. He clutched the clumps of rock, as the quake passed on and rumbled off in the distance. Walking not far behind was the android, who watched in concern. Despite the shockwave, she moved through the wasteland unfettered, her armored legs methodically locking into the ground with each step.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked through Julian’s communication link. The android nearly ran, reaching out to try and assist.

  He coughed several times, before feeling the android’s heavy hand on his back. “It’s nothing,” he said, regaining his footing. “We’re not far.”

  Wiping the dust from his helmet, Julian looked down at the scanner in his hand, only to be corrected. The lifeboat had landed further than he had wanted, their destination located over 10 miles away.

  It would be a long walk, Julian thought, trying to muster the strength to move on. Slowly, however, they could see the telltale signs of habitation. Or what remained of a now departed civilization.

  “What is that?” the android pointed.

  Within the sand ahead, lay the structure. An obelisk, and then another, rising from the surface. It no longer stood erect, almost collapsing to the side, the surfaces withered by age.

  It was no surprise to Julian. “Yes,” he said. “Kilanthian Ruins. They’re all over this place.”

  Buried underneath them was in a fact a former city that had decayed into the earth. From what Julian could remember, millions of alien denizens had once lived on the planet. Although that was centuries ago, long before the terraforming systems had eventually broken down and failed.

  As they walked on, he began to recognize their surroundings. A few miles away lay a range of mountains in the distance. Vaguely, through a smoke-like fog, he noticed it, the outlines of the military base jutting out from the rock.

  “Legeon base,” he said in relief.

  The facility had been deemed confidential, but it was no secret among SpaceCore’s pilot and engineering teams. Many had trained there at one point or another. This included Julian, who had spent three years on the base.

  They could gradually see it in full. Running through the mountain rock were the black citadels of the military base, the facility essentially a land-based spaceport hidden within the terrain. Launch-pads rose from the hill, the myriad of charcoal towers bleached in red sand. Ship departures and landings had once been common at the site. But oddly, the base had gone silent. Only the facility’s automated systems had responded to Julian’s communication hails.

  “Access granted,” sounded the ID scanner at the base’s gate. It was a large cavernous-like entrance built into the hill side. Gears winded and released as the metal door lifted from the floor to open.

  Julian walked inside, as the cleaning systems began to blow the dust from his body. He pulled the helmet from his face, to breathe the air. He could smell that the oxygen had become stale, the atmospheric systems idle, and unused.

  The interior of the base remained largely darkened, the lights above turning on as Julian and the android moved forward. Aside from the movement of air, Julian could hear only silence permeate the confines. He began to walk faster, rushing to find the nearest computer terminal. “We need to see the logs,” he said, finally finding an information kiosk embedded in the station wall.

  “Not good,” he said, staring at the monitor. “The logs say the last personnel left over a month ago, bound for another system... Delta Highron, it’s called. Another SpaceCore facility. The rendezvous point.”

  It was very obvious now. The station had been abandoned. “Shit,” Julian said, fearing this outcome. He scrolled down through the reports, noting that several ships had left the base on the final day. Well over two dozen, in what appeared to be a mass evacuation.

  He motioned to the android, and paced down through the long hallways. It would have been a maze to a stranger, but Julian could still recall the inner workings of the sprawling base. Turning a corner, he could see that they had reached what he had wanted to see for himself. Through what was a wall of glass, Julian saw the sight and sighed. “Gone,” he said, panting in frustration.

  The android peered through and realized she was looking out into a hanger bay. It was enormous, housing what could have been groups of ships. But save for the piles of equipment and machinery, she saw not one vessel inside.

  “What will we do?” she asked.

  Julian’s hands fell to his knees. He had no answer to give.

  ***

  Arendi quietly watched, as she stood inside what was the station’s communication center. The large room had been emptied, the row after row of individual computer terminals unmanned and shutdown. All except for the one, the terminal glowing like a beacon inside the hollowed facility.

  “There are no ships left,” Julian said, sitting in front of the terminal. “After the Endervar invasion, SpaceCore pulled back all resources. The only vessels here are just planetary shuttles. Nothing that can escape orbit.”

  The pilot had been accessing the terminal for the last hour, pulling up the data in a near endless stream of virtual screens. She noted the files, and their contents, and even Arendi could tell it was true. The mass evacuation had seemingly stripped the base of whatever value it had left.

  “What of the New Terran contact?” she asked.

  “I haven’t been able to open an encrypted channel,” he said. “I’ve told her our situation. But no response. Maybe its interstellar interference, we’ll have to wait and see.”

  The pilot rose from his seat, coughing in his hand. He was visibly exhausted, and perhaps more so now, the disappointment evident in his eyes.

  “Maybe...” he said. “Maybe we have to assume the worst. But it’s not a total loss.”

  With a flick of his hand, the terminal projected the image onto a larger holo-emitter in the center of the room. It shinned brightly, bathing the confines in a yellow light.

  “This is Delta Highron,” he said, as the virtual solar system spun through the air. “There’s a SpaceCore base there. I’ve sent a priority one signal to them, asking for assistance. Problem is, it’s a bit of distance. Even if they can send a ship to retrieve us. It may be too late.”

  “The Ouryan Union.”

  “They’ll be looking for their lost ship. It doesn’t give us much time. I’m trying to find something in the base. Something we can use. We have to get to Delta Highron somehow.”

  “You’ll be safe there,” the pilot insisted.

  Arendi understood the urgency. But she was still unsettled. The pilot’s face was covered in sweat, as his cough seemed to only persist.

  “You should rest,” she said. “You do not look well.”

  “I’m fine,” he said, clearing his throat. “We still have some time.”

  The pilot shut down the equipment, and left the room, as Arendi followed the man out. They walked on th
rough the station hallways in what she could only describe as isolating. The facility itself was vast, once housing thousands of cadets and military personnel. But it seemed hardly livable by human standards, the lack of windows and color evident in the sterile black arches permeating the high walls of the base.

  “This place, it was built by humans?” she asked.

  “No. We adopted it from the Kilanthians. At the time, SpaceCore was still struggling to establish itself. We claimed whatever we could. Even if it was on a planet technical inhabitable.”

  She could see signs of the prior habitation. Equipment, from environmental suits to powered-down cleaning robots, lay about in the rooms they passed. Many more were lecture halls for cadets, occupied by chairs and desks. In all, there was always a white four-pointed star close by, the signature emblem of the SpaceCore. “Fly for Haven, fight for humanity” accompanied one such symbol.

  “I came here when I was just 13, I think,” the pilot said.

  “Is that common?”

  “It’s supposed to be a great honor. But it’s not like we had a choice. SpaceCore can draft whatever resource it needs, no matter what the age.”

  It was then they approached a bridge in the base, the passage way leading to an even wider section of open space. The pilot pointed over the ledge. Below lay a field of shell-like structures, each identical in appearance and large enough to fit a person. The pods numbered in the dozens, maybe even hundreds.

  “The first year, we spent most of the time at this simulation center,” the pilot said. “All our flying was done virtually. Only later on, did we begin flights to the orbital training grounds.”

  He placed his elbows on the ledge, and leaned over. “I just remember hating it here. Hating everything.”