by Nick Webb
Jake nodded. “I do. I probably would have done the same. But there is still time, Tomaga. We can end it. Here is your killer. We can lock him up forever. He’ll stand trial. Whatever you want. Just—” Jake bent slowly to the floor and dropped his assault rifle, “Just end this fight.”
Tomaga looked as if he might nod. As if he might say yes. “I’m sorry, Captain. I’ve already lost at least a dozen more of my brigade. Good men and women who will never go home to their families. It is too late for talk.”
“So we’re at an impasse? What, are we just going to fight it out?”
“That is what honor requires of us. I cannot permit my associates to have died in vain.”
Jake shook his head. “No. That is unacceptable. Don’t throw away the rest of your lives just to see your gambit through. It’s over. My men say they have your other teams surrounded. If we start shooting here on the bridge, I don’t know how many of you will make it. Probably none. Are you willing to take that chance? And then fight your way through the rest of the marines I’ve got down there?”
Tomaga shrugged. “We’ll take our chances.”
“Listen,” Jake began, “Oberon is a nice world. Peaceful. Out of the way. The Empire doesn’t come here. You can live here, and they’ll never find you. Messages can be sent to your families that you’re ok. They can even be brought here to live with you, and you won’t have to fear for Imperial reprisal against them. We can make this right, Tomaga.”
Another long silence, and Jake wondered whether he’d convinced the man to pursue peace. Again.
He looked into Tomaga’s eyes.
But Tomaga’s eyes were not focused on him. They were focused behind Jake.
The were focused on Ben.
***
Ben listened to Jake talk, but couldn’t hear his words. He only watched the back of his head, seeing not the brown hair of his friend but a target, hatched by cross-hairs and begging for a bullet.
He could end it all. He could satisfy the voice. Whose voice was it? Was it his? Was it the picobots?
No. It was the master’s. Dr. Stone’s. Somehow he’d reached beyond death, beyond the knife sticking out of his forehead, to reach through space and time and speak directly into Ben’s mind. It wasn’t possible. But it was true. Ben knew it.
And the voice, so persuasive, so calm, so authoritative and benevolent and reasonable, said that his friend must die.
And besides, if he did it here, there would be a shootout, most likely. Everyone would assume that the 51st brigade was responsible, that they’d started it.
And so he raised his rifle, aiming it straight at Jake’s back.
But before he could fire, several things happened at once.
Tomaga looked at Ben, and seeing his raised gun sprang out of his chair and grabbed Galba, taking a handgun out of his belt and shoving it up into the Senator’s throat. Jake dropped down to his knee and picked up his own gun, and everyone else on the bridge raised theirs, both 51st brigade and Phoenix crew included. Minkowski and Szabo both crouched down to hide under their stations.
Ben had had enough. The anger surged in him, just as it had previously when he charged down the other 51st brigade members, pummeling them to the ground and beating them into unconscious submission. Whether it was the picobots, or the will of the master, or just his own damn bottled emotions, he had to snap. He needed release. He needed action.
He swung the rifle away from Jake and aimed it straight at Tomaga, firing a single round which pierced the man’s shoulder, making him drop the gun. And with that as preamble, he charged, aiming to his right at the 51st brigade soldiers near communications, strafing them with fire as he lunged at Tomaga with his Imperator suit-assisted strength. Galba flew to the ground and with a ferocity that surprised even him, Ben threw Tomaga straight up into the ceiling, where he collided, and crashed back down to the ground.
He was a whirlwind. He was unstoppable. He was everything his training in every martial art had taught him not to be: unrestrained, out-of-control, unbridled anger and rage. With a roar, deflecting dozens of bullets with his armored arms, he charged the other brigade soldiers, picking up two of them, crushing their shoulders with his Imperator-powered iron grip, and bashed their heads together with a sickening crunch.
Out of his periphery he knew that the other brigade soldiers were firing at him, and that his own team was returning fire while ducking for cover, but he didn’t care.
He needed blood. He needed release from the voices in his head. They told him to kill Jake, his friend.
But he wouldn’t. He would resist the voice. He would not be controlled—programmed—into killing his friends.
But the 51st brigade? Those bastards could die.
And die they did, painfully, with each of his crushing strokes.
***
Jake rammed into one of the ASA suit-clad soldiers, elbowing him in the face and following up with a right fist to the side of the head, knocking him out cold. Or killing him, Jake wasn’t sure which, but there was no time to check as the next soldier was aiming straight at his head with his rifle. He ducked and launched straight at him, sending him hard against the wall—Jake could hear the man’s ribs crack as they collided.
Overpowering him, Jake butted his head into his opponent’s, who dropped into an unceremonious heap. He glanced at Ben, who was a whirlwind of violent energy. He’d never seen his friend like this before. They’d fought together, mostly in bars, and Ben had always fought calmly, forcefully, but measuredly, always dealing just enough damage to discourage further aggression.
But this Ben was out of control as he moved from man to terrified man, swinging, crushing, blasting with his rifle at close range. Finally, turning to the last enemy combatant standing, he grabbed the man’s head and twisted with his magnified strength. Jake’s stomach turned as a cracking sound reverberated across the bridge as Ben managed to swivel the head nearly 180 degrees around before tossing the body against the bulkhead where it left a bloody mark.
Ben spun around, looking for his next victim, panting, wide-eyed, but there was no one left. He caught Jake’s eye, roared, and charged him.
“Ben! It’s over! Buddy, it’s over!” He held up his hands, willing his friend to stop.
Ben stopped. Panting still.
“It’s over, Ben. The ship’s ours.”
Ben looked around. Galba poked his head out from the tactical octagon where he’d taken refuge and Ben pointed at him. “Tomaga was going to kill him, you know,” he said, glancing back at Jake.
Jake nodded. He saw what happened, how Tomaga grabbed Galba, forced the gun into the Senator’s throat. They’d nearly lost him, and with him their only way to get into the computer system for the information that would let them rescue Pritchard. “You’re a hero, Ben. He’s alive, thanks to you. Nice shot, by the way.”
Galba spat. “You could have killed me, you imbecile!”
Jake snorted. “Believe me, Senator, if Commander Jemez had wanted you dead, you would have never left the brig.” He put a hand out to his friend. “Ben? You ok?” He looked him in the eye.
Ben looked back, finally. The first time he’d looked him in the eye since Destiny. “Jake, I need help. He did something to me. The bastard did something to me. Put shit in my head. Fucking robots. They’re fucking with me, Jake. I can’t think straight. They’re making me think things. Do things. Making me someone I’m not.”
Jake grabbed Ben’s shoulders and held him at arm’s length. “Ben, you’re Ben Jemez, the Chief of Security on the Phoenix. And you’re one hell of a friend. Whatever he did to you, we’ll fix it. We’ll find a way. I promise. But first we’ve got a Vikorhov fleet out there, and an XO to rescue.”
He glanced around the bridge: Minkowski and Szabo had come out of hiding. Galba was nursing a bruised neck from where Tomaga had jammed the gun. And Tomaga himself was waking up, blood pouring from his shoulder, pooling up on the ground where he lay. Jake pointed to Avery. “Secure him. Stop
the bleeding, but secure him. We’ll need him to call down to the others to lay down their weapons.”
Avery attended to Tomaga, while Jake assessed the rest of the bridge. He looked down in dismay at the bodies strewn about the floor. All members of the 51st brigade. Most all of them obviously dead.
All to save one man. One man who probably did not deserve life. He glanced over at Senator Galba, who was brushing a few scuff marks off his clothing. Did that one man deserve to live over all the good marines who’d died that day? Marines from the Empire, but good men and women nonetheless. Did their needs not outweigh his value? Was his life, and the information he could give them access to worth the sacrifice that had been made on his behalf?
He wasn’t sure. And he vowed not to let the safety of one person again dictate the fate of so many. There were too few of them left to make a decision like that again.
Jake turned to Minkowski. “Where’s Falstaff? We need to open a channel to the Vikorhov Commander. Warn him to hand over Po or his fleet isn’t making it out of here alive.”
Minkowski grimaced. “I’m sorry, sir. Falstaff is dead.” He pointed to the storage room on the starboard side of the bridge. “They stowed him in there. Just dumped him in. He was the only one who fought back, you know. When they stormed the bridge. We just sat here. But he jumped up and took one of them out before they got him. Bullet to the head. Gone.” Minkowski looked dazed, but Jake knew he and Falstaff were friends. Dammit. Falstaff too?
Jake grit his teeth and suppressed the profanities threatening to escape. “Fine. Ensign, you can run the comm station, right?” The man nodded. “Good. Get over there and open a channel to Captain Brand on the Indomitable. We need the rest of our people back.”
***
The crew transfer happened without incident, with each Sons of Oberon ship sidling up to the Phoenix in turn, docking, and reuniting the rest of the members of the Phoenix with the ship. Jake sent Ben to sickbay. His friend had finally composed himself, and went willingly, agreed to the fact that he needed help, that he needed to submit himself to the doctor to try to find a way to disable the picobots.
All the while during the crew transfers, Jake sat on the bridge, with Galba sulking in a corner, Ayala back at tactical, and the rest of the bridge crew slowly trickling in as they boarded the ship or came out of hiding wherever they’d managed to find it during the ordeal with the 51st brigade. He sat, and he watched the enemy fleet. The Vikorhovs had retreated to a safe distance, but had not left the orbit of the star.
They were waiting for something. Waiting to make their move. What was it? Jake tried hailing them, but they responded with static.
“They peeled off pretty quickly once they saw we could break their temporal shielding. I tell you, Captain Mercer, you showing up has been the best thing that ever happened to our little band here. First saving our asses a few days ago when you showed up, and now giving us the key to fend off future attacks. I don’t know how we can repay you.” Captain Brand seemed to beam with smiles on the front viewscreen.
“And thank you, Captain, for the supplies, and helping us get our ship back. All I ask now is that you help us rescue my XO, and we’ll be on our way.”
Brand nodded gravely. “Of course, Mercer. Anything. The Sons of Oberon pays its debts, and ours are great.”
Jake heard a sudden flurry of activity from the tactical octagon, and Ensign Ayala called out, “Sir! A new ship has shifted into orbit around the star!”
“Identify.”
Ayala touched a few buttons. “It’s Vikorhov, sir. Bigger. Looks like their flagship.”
Minkowski, still at communications, added, “They’re hailing us, sir. Video feed.”
“Put it up.”
The image of Captain Brand was replaced by the sight Jake had been both hoping for, and dreading.
Po. Bound, and gagged, kneeling in front of the enemy commander, who held a gun to her head. She squinted when she saw Jake and the bridge of her ship, and hinted at a smile, as much as she could through the cloth gagging her mouth.
Zuleiman sneered. “So. You have your ship back, Captain. Congratulations.”
Jake growled. “And you have my crew member. To whom do I have the honor of speaking?” he replied, careful not to antagonize the enemy Commander further, but not able to keep the sneer out of his voice as he said honor.
“Commodore Zuleiman of the First Grand United Fleet of the Vikorhov Federation. And you are Captain Jacob Mercer, criminal, usurper, and mutineer, gallivanting about in a ship that is not his, and who has committed unspeakable crimes against our ally, the Corsican Empire.”
Jake paused. How did he know his name? How did he know so much about them?
“You seem to have me at a disadvantage, Commodore.”
Zuleiman sneered, and hefted his firearm up to his shoulder, away from Po’s head. “Quite. We have a common friend, Captain. Perhaps you’ve heard of Admiral Trajan?”
Jake started, and rose from his chair. “Yes?”
“The good Admiral Trajan has recently paid me a visit. Said he would reward the Vikorhov Federation kindly for your capture and the return of your stolen ship to the Empire.”
“And you think you can take it from me?” Jake replied, dangerously.
“You will, Captain, if you value your associate’s life.” Zuleiman lowered the gun back down towards Po. Jake watched Po’s eyes. They were tired, but determined. They spoke to him. She was talking to him through her determined squint. Tell them to fuck off, she said.
“You do realize, Commodore, that our ship, plus the Sons of Oberon Fleet, is more than a match for yours. It would be suicide on your part.”
Zuleiman smiled, as if expecting the challenge. “Of course. You have ingeniusly figured a way around our shielding. But we have no intention of facing you here. You will follow us to Gaugran Station, orbiting Rastra in the Vikorhov system, where you will present your ship for surrender. If you don’t, she dies.” He cocked his head, “Oh, and I think the Oberanian fleet is needed elsewhere. You see, Admiral Trajan gave me some … shall we say, incentives, to encourage your and the Oberanian’s cooperation.”
A pause.
“And that would be?” said Jake.
“An assortment of what the good Admiral called, Quantum Field Torpedoes. He assured me they were quite destructive. Just one is capable of ravaging the surface of an entire continent.” Zuleiman leaned in towards the camera. “Captain Brand, I know you’re listening too. There is currently one of these devices hidden in Dezreel city. Don’t you think you should go back there and find it?”
Jake’s heart froze. Dezreel city was inhabited by millions. And one torpedo would most likely not just take out the millions there, but the tens of millions spread out over that continent.
He was bluffing. He had to be bluffing.
Captain Brand’s voice cut into the transmission. “Mercer, I’m sorry, but we’ve got to go. We are still in your debt, and you may consider our fleet at your disposal. But first, duty to my world calls me home. Brand out.”
Ayala called out to Jake. “Sir, the Sons of Oberon fleet has shifted out of the system.” She looked up. “We’re alone.”
Jake grit his teeth. “We can take them, Ensign.” He watched Po, who almost imperceptibly seemed to shake her head.
One person. Po.
Versus fifty million on Oberon.
Brand would never be able to find that torpedo, much less disable it should they chance to find it. Only the Phoenix’s sensors were tuned to be able to find them, and only Bernoulli, of all the technical staff on the ship, would be able to disable it.
“I’ll await your decision, Captain. Until then, I bid you a very fond farewell,” said Commodore Zuleiman, and the screen returned to the image of the angry red giant star.
“They’re shifting away, Captain,” said Ayala.
“Gone to Gaugran station,” mumbled Jake.
Ensign Roshenko, who’d finally arrived on the bridge and sat at
her station at navigation, asked, “Captain? Are we following?”
Jake took a deep breath, looking down at the pile of 51st brigade bodies they’d dragged to the side of the bridge. The sacrifice he’d made to save Galba.
“No. Shift to Oberon. We’ve got a world to save.”
“Captain?” said Ayala from the tactical octagon.
Roshenko turned to face him, incredulous.
“You heard me, Ensign.” He sat down and looked blank-faced at the screen.
Damn.
“Po will have to wait.”
“But she could be killed!” yelled Ayala. Jake knew that she had become quite attached to Po, and it showed in her voice.
“I know. But I can’t risk fifty million lives to save one. No matter how much we love her.”
He hoped they were worth it.
***
Thank you for reading Into The Void!
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Other books by Nick Webb
THE PAX HUMANA SAGA
Episode 1: The Terran Gambit
Episode 2: Chains of Destiny
Episode 3: Into the Void
THE LEGACY FLEET TRILOGY
