by Tripp Ellis
Violet grabbed her assault rifle. “And believe me, if I see Jaxon. I’ve got a bullet with his name on it.” She smirked and marched out of the med center.
Mitch and Zoey were silent for a moment.
“Sorry about 8-Ball,” Mitch said, solemnly.
“That was pretty brave what you did. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“Hey, I’m full of surprises.”
The two shared a somber grin. There was another long silence between them.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
“How can you think about food at a time like this?”
“I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I get kinda shaky and cranky when I don’t eat. There’s gotta be something in the galley. Some canned food? MREs?”
“You’re going to eat a 25-year-old MRE?”
“If we’re all going to die, I want to die full.” He shrugged. “You gonna join me?”
“I’m going to stay here and keep a watch on 8-Ball.”
“Okay. It’s no biggie. I can go by myself.” He was trying to convince himself as much as he was her. “Do you want me to bring you back anything?”
“No. I’m fine.”
“If you change your mind, just hit me up on the comm link.”
The lighting in the med center stayed solid, but the corridors were still flickering. Mitch poked his head into the hallway and crept out with caution. He kept his rifle ready as he stalked through the passageways.
Zoey locked the hatch behind him.
Across the ship, Violet reached the reactor room. There were four toroidal shaped reactor cores that contained the plasma within a magnetic field. They were Hughes & Kessler Fusionmax 9X™, with a Helieomax® configuration, containing 75 superconducting magnetic coils, and a neutral beam injector.
Fusion had come a long way in the last 300 years. Smaller, more efficient reactors that consumed less power at startup, with higher output. These reactors only needed a 38.2 megawatt draw to initiate a critical reaction, after which they were self sustaining. Not bad for 25 year old technology. The modern Q-Core reactors were even more efficient.
Violet ran another diagnostic at the command console. Once again, the system checked out fine. She tried to initiate the startup sequence. But there was no response.
She figured the reactors weren’t able to pull the needed power from the reserve cells. Maybe if she could reduce all of the other power drains, the reactors could pull the required megawatts. The only way to reroute power was from the CIC.
Violet activated her comm link. “Zoey, do you copy?”
After a few moments, Zoey’s voice crackled back over the static-filled line. “Any luck?”
“What if we divert all power to reactor startup?”
“I’ve tried shutting down all nonessential functions. It still wasn’t enough.”
“I mean, shut down essential functions as well. Life support. Gravity generation. Emergency lighting.”
“And what if the atmosphere processors don’t come back online?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Violet said. “We’ll hit the planet surface before we run out of oxygen.”
“Good point.”
“I’m going to head back to the CIC. Meet me there and we’ll attempt a system reroute.”
“Roger that. Any sign of Jaxon?”
“Knock on wood, no,” Violet said.
“Get back here safely.”
“Affirmative.”
Violet was about to start back when she heard something clatter in the darkness. It sent a shiver down her spine. She grabbed her weapon and spun around toward the direction of the sound. She looked down the barrel of her rifle, scanning the darkness.
“Mitch? Is that you?”
There was no response.
She crept toward the sound. It was emanating from behind some vertical piping near the port bulkhead of the compartment. Her heart thumped as she drew near. It almost launched out of her chest when something jumped out at her from the shadows.
Max screeched and scampered across the deck.
Violet breathed a sigh of relief.
She slung her weapon and knelt down to pick up the cat. “What are you doing down here? I’ve been looking for you. You know it’s not nice to scare people like that?”
Max meowed and gazed at her with his big green eyes.
She carried Max out of the reactor room and into the corridor.
In the med center, Zoey pulled up the video feed from the reactor room. It was distorted and full of static. The image flickered on and off. She saw Violet exit the compartment and step into the hallway. She switched the video feed to follow her.
Jaxon stepped out of the shadows behind Violet.
Zoey screamed at the display.
It distorted and turned to static. Then the video dropped out completely.
Zoey shrieked into the comm line, trying to warn Violet.
38
SAARKTURIA
Thousands of Saarkturians gathered far and wide. They lined the streets outside the royal palace. Every screen throughout the empire displayed the event. Prince Valinok’s coronation was mandatory viewing, under penalty of death—though it wasn’t actively enforced.
All traffic was stopped. No other events were allowed to coincide with the ceremony. Everyone who was anyone personally attended. Members of the senate, celebrities, star athletes. There were festivities leading up to the coronation, and parties planned afterward. And there were a slew of murders.
Davvel scurried through the streets of downtown Fonesia, clinging to a briefcase. He wore sunglasses to throw off the facial recognition trackers. You couldn’t go anywhere in Saarkturia without being identified and tracked. And since Davvel was on the list, it was in his best interest to remain anonymous.
Most facial recognition software tracks several distinct markers. The distance between the eyes, the width of the nose, length of the jaw, etc. You can paint geometric shapes on your face to throw off the trackers, but it looks rather obvious in public. The glasses Davvel wore had special beam projectors in the frame that put out a spectrum of light that was invisible to the naked eye, but was disruptive to the trackers.
So far, he hadn’t been detected. But that didn’t make him any less nervous. He kept glancing over his shoulder to see if he was being followed. He could hear his heart thumping in his chest, and his body was covered with a thin mist of sweat.
Nobody paid him much attention. Everyone was preoccupied with the coronation.
He dashed from the busy sidewalk into the lobby of the Erlineer building. It was a towering skyscraper—one of the tallest in all of Saarkturia. He nodded to the security guard at the front desk and strolled to the main elevators.
“Not working on a holiday, are you? I’d hate to have to report you,” the guard said with a chuckle.
Davvel smiled. “No work. Left something in the office.”
“You’re secret is safe with me, Mr. Calzzer.” said the guard, calling after him.
Davvel didn’t know who the hell Calzzer was. But he was thankful the guard had mistaken him. Thousands of stodgy Saarkturains in suits worked in the Erlineer building. Accountants, financial planners, attorneys. They all looked the same.
The building was mostly empty. The coronation was a national holiday. Davvel pressed the button, and the elevator rushed him up to the 57th floor. He stepped off the elevator and headed down the hall to the law offices of Zulaart & Associates. The name was etched into the glass double doors.
Davvel swiped his keycard and stepped into the lobby. He moved through the prestigious law firm to Mr. Zulaart’s office. It was spacious and well appointed. Floor to ceiling panoramic windows gave an unobstructed view to the royal palace.
Zulaart was dead. In what would later become known as the Night of the Crystal Saber, Rylon had orchestrated the deaths of several key senators, military leaders, and prominent opponents. Anyone who had voiced opposition, or even modest concern, over
Prince Valinok’s ascension to the throne was brutally murdered.
Zulaart had been preparing the legal filings to stop the coronation. Saarkturian law prohibited a minor from assuming the throne. An elected steward, accountable to the senate, was to rule until the Prince reached the age of majority. There were many who were concerned about the Prince’s ability to effectively lead Saarkturia. And the Decluvian alliance had ruffled many feathers in the senate. After the Night of the Crystal Saber, Rylon had little opposition. And those who harbored doubts, kept it to themselves.
Davvel had eluded the Crystal Saber. But he was on Rylon’s list. He wouldn’t live for long. But he still had one act of defiance left in him.
Davvel set his briefcase on the desk and unlatched it. He pulled out a device and attached it to the window. It had a central suction cup and robotic laser arm. It cut out a perfect circle in the thick glass. Davvel removed the disc-shaped piece of glass and set it aside.
Davvel took components from the briefcase and assembled them. Before long, he had a sleek Suvex MSR .300 sniper rifle. It had an Absolute Black™ coating that absorbed 99.973 percent of visible light, giving it an eerie void-like appearance. It fired polymer cased sub-sonic smart rounds. The loudest sound that would emanate from the weapon was the trigger—and that was a barely audible click. Once the target was acquired in the sights, it was almost impossible to miss. The guided smart bullets had lethal accuracy up to 2000 meters.
Davvel poked the barrel through the hole in the window. 500 yards away was the palace balcony. After the coronation, the new King would step out and address his people. It would be the perfect opportunity for Davvel to cut short Valinok’s reign.
39
WALKER
Walker fixed the magnetic grenade to the reactor room’s entrance hatch. He pressed the button and the display illuminated. On the right side of the display screen there were two up and down buttons that let you adjust the timer duration. But without being able to read the Decluvian language, he had no idea how long he was setting the timer for. And he had no idea what units the Decluvian’s used to measure time. How long was a second? How many seconds were in a minute. Did the Decluvians even have minutes?
The UPDF still based time on a 24 hour clock. It was a holdover from the old days of Earth. On a star destroyer in deep space, the concept of day and night was an artificial one. And the length of a day varied from colony to colony, depending on the speed of the planet’s rotation. Some of the colonies had 48 hours of daylight, and 48 hours of night. Some went for months with only darkness. It was simpler to maintain a universal calendar across all Federation planets.
Walker pressed a button and watched the units of time increase on the display. Most modern civilizations used a decimal based numerical system. Walker watched the Decluvian characters scroll through the display. It seemed the they were using a base ten system as well. Walker added what he thought was roughly thirty seconds to the timer. It would be enough time for him to take cover around the corner.
He armed the device and ran down the corridor with Bailey. He kept count as they hid behind the bulkhead of an adjoining hallway.
Within 30 seconds the device detonated. The thunderous explosion rumbled through the corridor. Smoke filled the air.
Walker advanced down the passageway. The hatch was torn to shreds. Shrapnel had killed two reactor techs. Their bodies lay eviscerated in a pool of green goo and guts. Two other dazed reactor techs were staggering to their feet.
Walker filled them with plasma rounds. The Decluvains splattered against the bulkheads.
There were two reactor cores that powered the Korvectus. Walker cleared the compartment, making sure there were no more Decluvians hiding in nooks and crannies. He moved to the far side of the massive toroidal cores and affixed a grenade to each one. He set the timers to what he figured would be about 5 minutes.
While fusion reactors don’t have the same risks of melting down, the interior components of the toroidal cores become contaminated with deadly amounts of radiation. If all went as planned, Walker was going to have to get away from this section of the ship, and stay away for the next 100 years.
Walker placed the last device and emerged from behind one of the cores. Bailey snarled and growled. A full platoon of Decluvain warriors had flooded into the compartment.
But they didn’t dare fire a plasma weapon at a reactor core.
Walker ducked behind some piping coming off of the reactor. He grabbed another mag grenade and set it to one unit of time, and hovered his finger over the arming switch. “I know you slimy bastards can understand me. Clear out of this compartment, or I’ll detonate the reactors now.”
“What do you hope to accomplish?” the platoon leader said. “This is one ship. Thousands more are traveling to your colonies as we speak.”
“Maybe I didn’t make myself clear. Clear the compartment. Now.”
The platoon leader’s face tightened. Then he motioned for his troops to pull back. They drained out of the compartment into the corridor.
There were four minutes remaining on the timers. Walker had bought himself a little time, but not much. He scanned the compartment and caught sight of a small escape hatch on the far bulkhead behind the reactors. He dashed to the hatch and swung it open. It led to the primary heat exchangers.
Bailey jumped through, and Walker followed after him. He sealed the hatch behind them.
An explosion in the reactor room would be enough to take out the neighboring compartments. Walker needed to get farther away. He weaved through the heat exchangers, heading aft.
A Decluvain leapt from behind a pylon, tackling him to the deck. The two struggled over Walker’s weapon.
Bailey sunk his teeth into the orange Decluvian’s leg. He kicked the dog away, and Bailey charged back for more.
This guy was strong. He was about the same size as Walker, but Decluvian muscle fiber was much stronger, pound for pound, than human. He ripped the weapon from Walker’s grasp. Then he slammed the stock down, aiming for Walker’s skull.
The butt of the rifle smashed the deck as Walker rolled out of the way.
Bailey lunged for the orange bastard’s throat.
Walker sprang to his feet.
The Decluvian whipped the rifle around and took aim at Bailey. His finger squeezed the trigger.
Walker leapt for the barrel, pushing it aside as it fired.
The bullet ripped passed Bailey and ruptured a pipe. Steam rocketed out.
Walker struggled with the Decluvian over the rifle. He had to be careful. He knew Decluvian skin could become poisonous. For that reason, he didn’t want Bailey biting the alien anymore. “Bailey, stand down.”
Bailey took a few steps back, but kept growling. He bared his sharp teeth and snarled. His brow furrowed, and his eyes were filled with rage.
Walker tried to hold onto the weapon, but the Decluvian pulled the weapon around and slammed Walker into a piece of machinery.
The impact rattled Walker’s bones.
The Decluvian stripped the rifle away, and took aim.
There were less than 3 minutes on the explosive timers.
40
ZOEY
Mitch’s stomach rumbled. It was loud enough to echo through the corridor. It would’ve given away his position in a critical situation.
If the ship were operational, he knew the best place to eat on board was the Chief Petty Officer’s mess. But it wasn’t like there was a Culinary Specialist grilling up filet mignon on this abandoned rust bucket. If he walked into the CPO’s mess and saw something like that, it would be a hallucination. He’d be fine with that as long as he felt full afterwords, he thought.
An operational Avenger class destroyer was pumping out roughly 6400 hot meals a day—most of that was from food synthesizers. But nothing beat a real, fresh meal. The Avenger class had onboard agro-stations that grew fruits and vegetables. The genetics lab grew perfectly marbled slabs of beef from bovine cells. But none of those processin
g systems had been functional in the last 25 years aboard the Revenant.
Mitch ducked into the general mess, located on the deck below the hangar bay. He cleared the compartment, and moved to one of the food synthesizers. Rows of them lined the serving area.
They were about the size of a vending machine, and had a diverse menu. They could reproduce just about anything. Proteins, carbs, macro and micro nutrients, and flavoring components were all stored in powdered form. They had a shelf life of up to 45 years. Once you made your selection, the ingredients were mixed and hydrated. The final food item was 3D printed and heated.
Mitch activated the device and thumbed through the menu options. His eyes went wide at the sight of cheese pizza. How could you screw that up? When pizza’s good, it’s great. When it’s bad, it still doesn’t suck.
He made his selection and within moments the machine rumbled to life. Nutrients were sent to the mixing chamber, then pushed through the actuator valve and out the spray nozzle. A few minutes later, he had a piping hot personal pizza, printed in four wedges.
It looked and smelled like real pizza. Gooey mozzarella. Tomato sauce with oregano, garlic, parsley, onion, and basil. He pulled it out of the synthesizer and took a seat at one of the mess tables.
He bit into it and burned the roof of his mouth. He was so hungry, he didn’t care. It tasted pretty damn good, and Mitch was a bit of a pizza snob. His favorite place in the whole galaxy was Pete’s Pizza on the corner of 57th and Kemal Street in Nova York. Now that was real pizza. Handmade dough and fresh ingredients. That kind of thing was hard to find. Most everything was synthetic these days.
Mitch scarfed the pizza down in a matter of moments. It settled the rumbling in his stomach. He thought about getting another pie, but he had kind of made up his mind when he was running along the exterior of the Revenant that he was going to get himself back into shape.
No. No more pizza, he thought.
That lasted for a fleeting second. Then a more prescient thought took over. This might be his last meal. Might as well go for broke.
