by Nick Webb
The bullets caught one of the men through the chest and he fell with a gurgle in his throat, but the other soldier, standing opposite the downed man, fired point blank at Jake.
As Brand had advertised, the bullets ricocheted off, and Jake sprang up and tackled the soldier, who was clad in an ASA suit.
They grappled, and Jake knocked the rifle out of the man’s grip, who used the free hand to punch Jake in the helmet repeatedly. But the composite glass, which could stand up to high-powered bullets, held firm, and Jake grabbed the man’s torso and lifted.
And laughed. He’d forgotten about the power-assisted exoskeleton feature of the suit, and he listened to the faint actuation of the gears assisting the natural strength in his elbows, shoulders, and back as he boosted the man up into the air and tossed him with incredible force into the wall.
The man shook his head and tried to stand, but Jake cold cocked him in the back of the head with the butt of his rifle, and he collapsed in a heap.
“Anya!”
He bolted out into the hallway, and hearing a scuffle in the room opposite the one he’d come from he burst through the open doorway, hoping against hope to see Anya still alive.
Better than alive. He caught the last few seconds of a furious hand-to-hand fight as their weapons had fallen to the floor and Anya beat against the shielding arms of another ASA-suit clad marine. He struck back, knocking Anya momentarily off balance, but she swung around and struck the marine with a well placed Imperator-suit-assisted kick to the man’s chest, sending him flying back into the wall. Another fist to his head knocked him cold.
Jake saw another soldier lying on the floor, blood streaming from his forehead. Anya shrugged. “He glanced out into the hallway just as I followed behind you. Got a fist to the side of his head—and damn, these suits are fun.”
Scanning the room, satisfied there was nowhere else for a soldier to hide, he motioned to Anya. “Come on. Let’s help the others.”
They ran back down to the intersection, and met up with Ben and Avery, both of whom looked to have other people’s blood splattered onto their suits.
“Just took out a fellow who helped rescue us on Destiny, Captain,” said Avery.
Jake nodded. “War is messy business.”
Avery, his face grim, thumbed in the direction of the stairs to deck three. “Is this a war? They were on our side just a few days ago.”
“They made it war when they fucking stole my ship.” Jake checked the magazine—it was still over half full. “So come on and let’s get this over with. Three decks to go.” But Avery was right. This was awful business, and he’d prefer to take the bridge as bloodlessly as possible. He glanced down the hallway in the direction they’d come from and saw Ayala peek her head out from cover. He motioned her over.
“Captain?” she said, walking up with Galba in tow.
“Willow, can you access the computer?”
“They shut it down, sir, when they realized how you were able to dock with the Phoenix from the other ships.”
Damn. “Any way you can hack in? Restart it remotely?”
Ayala shrugged, but to Jake’s surprise, Galba stepped forward. “I can, Captain.”
“You?”
“Yes. I have a diplomatic code that can override all others.” The Senator hesitated, seeming to know he’d given away his secret. “Yes, that was how I stayed hidden. But I can help if you want.”
The implications suddenly hit Jake. How long had the Senator been hiding in his ship, with unlimited access to the central computer? Since the battle of the Nine?
But that wasn’t all. Jake could use that access. He was still locked out of most of the Imperial files on the central computer database. Almost everything was still off-limits to even him, since the computer, being an Imperial system, still only recognized him as having junior-officer-level security access. With Galba’s diplomatic access he could access the files he needed to rescue Pritchard. He’d have the entire Imperial Network at his fingertips. They could even surreptitiously log in to the Imperial Military Communications grid on some Corsican world and download all the top secret fleet communications. This could be huge.
Anya stepped in between them. “Great, Mercer, he can get into the computer, but what’s he going to do? Cut life support to the bridge?”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” said Jake.
“No.” Ben shook his head. “There could still be bridge crew up there. Once Tomaga realizes what you’re doing, their lives are forfeit.”
“Would Tomaga do that?” Jake didn’t want to believe it, but also couldn’t risk it.
Avery shrugged. “He’s a soldier. A soldier with a mission. He’ll do what it takes to finish the mission.”
Jake looked back at Galba and Ayala. “Well? Any other ideas?”
They all looked at one another, and at the ground, and at the stairs to deck three, waiting for someone to speak, to come up with a brilliant idea. Jake wished Po was there. She’d have some sense. She’d know what to do.
His comm crackled to life. “Mercer, it’s Brand.” Jake immediately did not like the uneasy tone in the other man’s voice. “We’ve got company.”
***
Ben’s blood was racing. He glanced to his left and saw Jake distracted with his comm, talking to Captain Brand.
Something was different. Something inside of him.
The picobots.
They were asserting themselves. Something had set them off. It started the moment Ben had first pulled the trigger of his assault rifle, and intensified when he charged the 51st brigade soldier and bashed his face in with an Imperator suit-clad fist. His blood boiled, the adrenaline raced, and something deep inside him raged every time he glanced at Jake.
It raged, and it spoke to him. Ordered him.
You must kill him. If you don’t kill him, he’ll lead you all to your deaths.
He must die.
You must kill him. You must. It’s your duty.
Ben shook his head, and noticed Avery looking him up and down—the grizzled old special ops soldier. “You ok, Commander?” he said.
“Fine, Avery.” He looked stoically at Avery, then turned back to Jake, fingering the trigger on his rifle, willing his arm muscles to hold still, to not raise the gun.
Jake spun around, his face suddenly changed from before. “Brand says we’ve got company. The Vikorhovs.” He angled his head back to the comm set inside his helmet. “What’s their posture, Brand?”
The other captain’s voice came out crackled, as if the newcomers were jamming the signal. “Aggressive. Look, I’ll buy you time. Just get your asses to your bridge and help me out here. We can’t hold them for long.”
Jake nodded, and slapped Ben on the shoulder. Ben seethed, but struggled not to let it show on his face. His finger stiffened on the trigger.
“It’s party time, people. Let’s go take our bridge back,” said Jake, breaking out into a jog towards the stairwell. Ben followed behind, staring Jake squarely in the back, willing himself not to aim the rifle at the back of his helmet and unload the magazine.
It was difficult not to.
***
Captain Brand frantically yelled orders to his crew—they hadn’t expected a battle during this operation, but one was upon them anyway. And he chided himself—as a soldier, he should be expecting a battle around any and every corner.
“Form up. There’s more of them than us, but keep your heads and we’ll prevail.”
He wanted to believe his own words, but the viewscreen suggested otherwise. Twenty-five Vikorhov frigates soared towards them, the fiery red star providing an angry backdrop. Twenty-five ships—that was almost half of the Vikorhov fleet.
They meant business this time.
Perhaps they thought to capture the Phoenix. Why else risk so many ships in a single operation?
“Holy shit,” said Bernoulli, the Phoenix’s chief engineer who’d stayed behind, admitting he wasn’t much of a help in a firefight. He
watched the screen with alarm.
“Captain, incoming communication,” said his comm officer.
Brand sat down in his chair. “Patch it through.”
A voice came over the speakers. A hated voice. “Captain Brand, this is Commodore Zuleiman of the Vikorhov Federation’s glorious fleet. You are hereby ordered to stand down, or be destroyed. I assure you, Captain, I will not hesitate to blast my way through your ragtag band of upstarts to get at that ship you’re fraternizing with.”
So, he did want the Phoenix. But did he know its situation? That it wasn’t under the command of its captain, but under the command of mutineers?
“Zuleiman. Reaching out to grab what’s not yours again? You don’t think the Phoenix will hand your asses back to you like they did last time?”
“Please, Captain. Spare me the charade. Our intelligence services have indicated that not all is well on that ship. And its crew has already committed a crime by firing on our vessels. Therefore it is forfeit, and will soon be ours. Stand aside.”
“Over my dead body,” Brand muttered. He motioned to the comm officer to cut the signal. “Tactical, lock all weapons and commence firing pattern alpha. Focus on any ship that gets near the Phoenix. We need to buy Mercer enough time to get his ship back. Once he does,” he shot Bernoulli a fatalistic grin, “our job gets a whole lot easier.”
***
Jake charged down the main corridor of deck three, his three Imperator suit-clad teammates behind him. The deck was strangely quiet, which permitted them to feel the occasional tremble from the battle raging outside the ship. Twenty-five Vikorhov vessels, Brand had said. If Jake didn’t secure the ship from Tomaga and his men soon, the Phoenix would be lost to the Federation.
And his people would be killed.
Bullets pelted his armor, and he sidled up to the wall for cover. He motioned to Avery, who’d unstrapped the plasma RPG launcher from his back, and nodded. Avery aimed at the doorway where the fire had originated from and pulled the trigger.
The doorway exploded in a fireball of white and red and Jake could feel the intense heat even through the faceplate of his helmet. He sprinted towards the doorway, recognizing it out of his peripheral vision as the brig, and swung his assault rifle into the room as Ben and Anya backed him up.
A burnt body lay just inside the door, a rifle just out of reach of his crisped hand. Jake heard a moan from the corner where a second 51st brigade soldier had crawled, her ASA-suit armor shattered and charred. He strode over and pointed the gun at her head. “Talk. What is Tomaga after?”
She spit out a bloody tooth and lifted herself up to lean against the wall. Closing her eyes, she said, “Kill me.”
“What’s your name?”
Jake lowered his weapon slightly, signaling to her she was not about to die. Not if she cooperated.
She opened her eyes and repeated, “Kill me. I won’t be your prisoner any longer.”
“I’m not going to kill you,” he said, and reaching into his memory he finally placed the name. He’d played darts with her. One of Tomaga’s top lieutenants. Corporal Kapoor. “I just want the ship back, and for everyone to live. You included, Kapoor.”
Hearing her name, she finally looked at him.
“You lie. You were just planning to kill us off one by one. Remember Private Ling? At least this way we’ll take a few of you with us.” She closed her eyes again and rested her head back against the wall. “At least this way we’ll go down fighting, like should have happened weeks ago.”
Jake kneeled down, and scanning the floor around her, satisfied himself that she had no weapon at hand. He set his gun down next to him, hoping to show a gesture of peace. If he could convince her that he really wanted peace, perhaps she could convince Tomaga, being one of his closest associates.
Behind him, Avery and Ben retreated down the hallway of the brig to check if any Phoenix crew members were being held in the cells, and Galba and Ayala entered the brig’s front door now that the area had been cleared.
“Him,” said Kapoor, pointing at Galba. “I saw Ling walk away from deck fifteen with him four days ago. The last time I saw him alive.”
Jake followed her finger to look at Galba, whose brow furrowed and looked like he was suppressing a sneer. “Senator?” Jake asked.
“I’ve talked to a few members of both your complement of marines and the 51st brigade since I’ve been on board the ship. But I assure you, Captain, I only—”
He was cut off by sudden movement. Jake swung his head back to Kapoor just in time to see her extract a small firearm tucked into her uniform behind her back and aim it at Galba, right before a rifle round struck her in the head and blasted the back half of her skull against the wall.
Jake jumped up at looked at the source of the bullet. Anya Grace still had the assault rifle aimed at the body now slumping against the wall to the ground. “Anya!”
“She was about to shoot, Captain. Either Galba, or you. I thought it better that the two of you live,” she said nonchalantly as she raised the rifle up to rest on her shoulder.
Dammit, he thought to himself, regarding the bloody body on the floor. There goes that chance at peace.
“Captain?” He heard Avery’s voice from down the hallway and jumped up, grabbing his rifle.
“What is it?” Jake found the cell where Avery had found a small group of crew members, mostly technical staff from operations and engineering, sitting either on the single bed or on the floor with their backs against the wall, all handcuffed.
Avery pointed at a woman getting up to her feet and Jake extended a hand to help lift her up when he saw she was struggling due to the handcuffs. He recognized her as Lieutenant Valkyrie, the one Po had assigned to investigate all the unexplained explosions. “Lieutenant? Are you all ok?” He looked them over, satisfied that they were uninjured—at least that he could see.
“Yes, sir. We’re fine. Just thirsty and tired.” She glanced at Avery and Ben who stood in the doorway. “Is the ship ours again?”
“It was always ours, Lieutenant. But, no, we still need to take deck two and the bridge.” He could see her eyeing Ben again, almost with a look of suspicion, so he asked, “Is there something you need to tell me, Lieutenant?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “Results of the investigation. For your ears only.”
***
The bridge of the Indomitable shook as the ship sustained three direct hits from the Vikorhov flagship. So far the battle had gone better than expected as they’d lost none of their ships, but the day was far from over, and the Vikorhovs were out for blood.
“Flight pattern omega-tau for attack squadron Wolf. Flank them from the side while we pummel them from behind. Full spread of lasers and cannons,” Brand said, shouting orders to his tactical crew and over the comm to the rest of the fleet. They’d fought the Vikorhovs many, many times before, but never on this scale. Never so many ships at once. The viewscreen was a blaze of reds and purples and yellows as the weapons fire from both the Vikorhovs and the Sons of Oberon fleets blazed against each other.
But the Vikorhovs still had the advantage, and they always would, as long as they had the temporal shielding and his fleet didn’t. Brand watched in disappointment as the Vikorhov flagship managed to escape several beams of laser fire from the Indomitable, the pulses caught in the molasses-like drag of the temporal field hugging the hull of the other ship before continuing harmlessly into the space vacated by the ship as it dodged out of the way.
“You should really do something about that shielding of theirs,” said Bernoulli, the chief engineer from the Phoenix, who was sitting near the operations station stroking above his upper lip as if brushing an invisible mustache.
Brand scowled. “Got any bright ideas?”
The man lit up. “I thought you’d never ask. May I have computer access?”
Brand hesitated, but shrugged. May as well. They might all be killed in the next half hour anyway. “By all means.” He motioned to a junior officer
sitting nearby at the ops station. “Give him access, Chambliss.”
The engineer rolled his chair over to the computer station and dove right into the controls with what looked like glee. With an inaudible mutter, Bernoulli’s hands became a blaze over the controls, pressing buttons and scrolling through data faster than Brand even had time to register what he was looking at.
The ship rumbled. “Sir, direct hit on the engines. Long range shift capabilities out!” called an officer at tactical, and Brand swore.
“Looks like you’re committed like the hog, and not the chicken,” said Bernoulli, as he continued working the controls like lightning.
“Excuse me?” The engineer was an odd fellow, Brand decided. Brilliant, but odd.
“The hog. You’re the hog. A chicken commits its eggs to the meal. But a hog commits its flesh.” Bernoulli didn’t look up as he talked, but smiled all the same. “So the hog has a much more vested interest in the outcome than the chicken, who only stands to lose a few eggs.”
Brand nodded. The other man had an odd way of saying it, but they really had committed to the Phoenix, and Mercer. And yet the visitors had already risked their lives to save his fleet, so it was only right that they be repaid in kind.
“Try that,” said Bernoulli.
“Try what?”
“I sent some frequency modulations over to your tactical stat—” An explosion interrupted him, and an explosion erupted at one of the rear stations of the bridge. Bernoulli picked himself up off the floor and shook his head. “Just try it.”
