Connah’s thick eyebrows moved closer to his dark eyes. He cocked his head very slightly to one side.
“I’m guessing that you don’t anticipate a response?
“That’s correct, Mr Spock. They’re not just an unfriendly bunch, but a super unfriendly bunch. We’re still getting BURST updates from CINCSPAC but our analysis of the data we received from the USS Drake show that they were attacked unprovoked. The radio recordings we’re been analysing don’t contain any references to the Drake. Right now our intel says they didn’t try to contact the ship using radio communication of any kind – they just attacked.”
“How soon until we reach the Drake?” someone else asked. It was Mark Wakeman, another of the pilots.
Cutter looked at his Rolex Vacummaster.
“Three hours and twenty minutes.”
“Do we know what they look like - the English speaking aliens?”
“Nope, but I’m told we’re assuming they’re similar to us,” Cutter shrugged, “Something to do with the sound of the voices.”
“And the fact that they speak English,” Chris Coleman grinned his goofy grin as he peeked out from behind the broad shoulder of his “front seat” pilot.
There was muted laughter. Steed shook his head, but he grinned a massive white wall as he gripped Coleman’ hand over his left shoulder.
“We’ll find out sooner or later,” Cutter said, “But for now make sure you look through the technical information. The fighters are fast – faster than our Predators – but they can’t change direction like we can. Looks like they either have issues with inertia or their tactics are all about speed. We’re tracking fifteen fighters on their way to intercept us. I’m assuming they’re at max speed. They’re quick, but not quicker than our weapons systems can track. Just don’t take any chances and remember your training.”
“Alright,” DeGeorgio almost made Cutter jump, “You’ve all stunk this room up enough. Let’s get to it. We’ve got simulations of the alien fighters set up in main and secondary hangar. I want everyone to get a fast fifteen minutes before we get stuck into our new friends,” He turned and nodded curtly to the younger officer, “John, you’ll excuse us while we get on with our business.”
“Of course,” Cutter waved an arm as he almost bowed in front of DeGeorgio, “We’ve all got our jobs to do, Mike.”
“Yeah,” DeGeorgio growled.
Cutter made his way back to the conference room. Captain O’Rourke was waiting there, motionless and stern in his creased and sweat stained white uniform. He turned his furrowed brow towards Cutter.
“The fighters are going to be with us sooner than we thought. The first wave of fifteen will be with us in about two hours. But we’ve got a new problem. I’ll let Mr Strange explain.”
Christopher Strange, the fifty five year old ship weapons executive officer, stepped forward from behind the captain’s left shoulder, His glassy, staring eyes surveyed the room as his strangely grinning lips opened to speak. Strange had a strange way of speaking and tended to pause for long moments during his speeches, which could take much longer than they should have. The officers around the large red velvet surfaced table looked towards him as the Captain came to sit. Cutter followed suit.
“Gentlemen,” Walker stared at no-one in particular, “It seems that the Enrilean spacecraft have a… propulsion method that allows their vessels to reach speeds exceeding point 97 c. That’s about… five percent faster than our maximum speed. Four point eight seven, according to the navigational system. It’s pretty fast,” He paused
“Chris, time’s a factor here.”
“Of course,” Strange held the captain’s gaze for much too long a moment. Then he held up both palms and his eyes crinkled as he laughed quietly, emptily. “Our adversary has a power system that means it’s possible – or likely I suppose is more appropriate. Possible and likely that we could find ourselves cut off from the Joan Gallsin wormhole. They’re engines are powerful, is what I’m saying.”
“That’s right, Chris,” O’Rourke interrupted, speeding things along, “Yes, the ships seem to be faster than even our Predators. Thanks Chris.”
“We’re assuming at this point that the Enrilean… empire has a sizable and combat ready fleet,” Strange continued. “The numbers?” he shrugged, “We just don’t know. We just don’t know for certain, but we can guess that we’re dealing with an enemy that’s got a large fleet at their disposal.”
“And whether we’re at war or not, we’ve got to rescue any survivors from the USS Drake,” O’Rourke said, “And once we reach the incident site we’ll be far enough away from the wormhole that any ships launched from the planet they call Relathon will be able to intercept us before we reach it.
“We’re waiting for a response from CINCSPAC, but until we get one our current instructions stand. We’re to investigate the USS Drake and rescue any survivors.”
“That’s correct. Meanwhile, there’s a distinct chance that the aliens will be sending more ships from Relathon to intercept us.”
“What about the first planet – Enrilea?” the ship’s surgeon asked, “This is where the fighters are coming from. Aren’t we assuming this is where the Enrilean fleet is based?”
“There’s a lot of information being examined right now,” O’Rourke said, “But, yes, it looks like the planet called Enrilea is the mainstay of their military might.”
Strange’s hands were up again. He was a tall, lank man. When he raised
“That’s right. Might. Military might,” His mouth hung open as he stared blankly at the conference table and the eight men there, “The Enrileans are a warrior race. They’re like us, in some respects. They talk like us. They have cities, roads, schools…”
“Alright Chis, we need to get through this,” O’Rourke grunted, irritated, “From the limited intelligence we’ve got so far, we know that the Enrilean world of Enrilea is where the ruling power in the system resides. So we’ll assume that the bulk of their military forces are based there. If this is the case then we’ll likely be able to outrun anything they send at us. Assuming they haven’t already. But if something comes at us from Relathon,” He paused for a long two or three seconds, “If that happens then we won’t be able to get back into the wormhole on time.”
There was a long silence. Strange frowned. His glassy steel blue eyes narrowed. His mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out. It was the captain who spoke next.
“Anyway. That’s the situation. We have our job to do. Enterprise and Brilliant are on their way, but they’re going to be waiting on the other side of the Gallsin wormhole.”
“And…” Strange paused, his mouth agape, “And that gives us… presents us… with our new challenge. The wormhole’s unstable. Erratic! Might be here,” He waved his hand left “There,” He shrugged, “Might be… anywhere. We got our best guys looking at it now. We don’t know where this wormhole exit point is going to be ten, twenty hours from now.”
There were muted grunts of concern. Strange stared his dead, cold stare. Looking at everyone and no one all at the same time. His lips were slightly parted, almost smiling. His eyes had no passion, no life, no concern. He was looking at his crewmates with the cold, unfeeling stare of the sociopath that he so truly was.
“Chris, you’re going to freak us all out even before the aliens get near us,” The Captain clapped his arm around Strange’s shoulder and hugged him for a brief and mutually awkward moment, “Alright, so we’ve got to watch that exit point in case it changes position. That’s our second problem. First we need to focus on the Drake. Pick up survivors – destroy what’s left of the ship, if anything is left.”
2195AD - EWS Justice Six.
There wasn’t much left of the drake. Admiral Jaxx had already blasted most of the larger pieces of debris into pieces – despite receive orders from Enrilea to cease fire. The Justice Six’s engines were still not working and the ship was drifting further away from the debris field.
The mood on Justice
Six’s bridge was icy cold. Most of the bridge officers disagreed with Jaxx’s actions, but no one of them had the courage to voice their opinions. Technically, with Judd Finn now dead, the role of executive officer automatically fell to the communications officer. But Hal Orrinn didn’t relish the idea of having the crystal dagger embedded in his chest. He’d not challenged any of Jaxx’s actions, nor did he intend to.
“Admiral. Imperial command have replied to our request for assistance,” Orrinn said, “Unfortunately, the only available ships are the Pinnter and the battleship Lallia. Lallia is in orbit…”
“I know where Lallia is,” Jaxx snapped, “On the other side of Enrilea, three hours too distant. What about Pinnter.”
“Pinnter has been ordered to proceed to Relathon,” Orrinn tried not to show any emotion as he spoke.
There was a long silence. Jaxx walked around behind Orrinn, making a cold shiver run up the man’s spine.
“Battleships Lanntan and Maximum are on their way, but they are at least twenty four hours distant.”
“What about the Relathon Defence Forces?” Jaxx asked, almost to himself, “We need fighters up here fast. How far away is the alien invader?”
“They’ll be within our weapons range in three hours,” The tactical officer said smartly, “Relathon Defence have launched a squadron of fighters from the Juniper base.”
“Conscripts,” Jaxx said with disgust, “What use will they be. They’ll likely join our adversary. What’s our current system status?”
“Main engines are out of action. The repairs needed are too extensive for the engineering teams to cope with. Secondary engines are being repaired now, Admiral, but it’s not likely that we’ll have full power before the… Neil Armstrong arrives. Sensors are now fully operational again, working at eighty five percent efficiency. Our weapons system status is unchanged. . “
Jaxx narrowed his eyes.
“Neil Armstrong,” He whispered gravelly.
“That’s right, Admiral.”
“Tell me – do they continue to send transmissions towards us?”
“Yes, Admiral. Would you like to hear them?”
Jaxx considered this carefully. There seemed to be a sudden air of hope in the Justice Six’s control room. He could feel it, like a warm wave in the stone cold silence.
“I’ll listen to them in my quarters,” Jaxx said.
2195AD - Crantarr.
There was nothing much left of the Aston Martin. Sloane had spent twenty minutes looking for the weapons that had been in the car but he’d found no more than tangled shards of debris. The car had crashed into a deep canyon, and Sloane sheltered from the sun in the shadow of rugged, near vertical walls. The alien sun was absolutely huge in its zenith above. The landscape in all directions seemed barren and lifeless. The sky was very bright and the lightest shade of blue. The spacecraft that had pursued and tried to kill him had not followed him to the planet’s surface. Or at least he hadn’t seen any trace of them in the skies all the time he’s waited at the crash site.
Sloane had spotted some purple hued, spikey vegetation shortly after leaving the crash site. He’d walked for fifteen minutes now, heading down further into the deep gorge in the hope of finding water. He’d found more of the dangerous looking purple plants and other more familiar looking cacti with bright green waxy stems and long black spines.
Avoiding the spines, Sloane wondered if this meant that there was animal life nearby. Again, he looked to the sky and this time searched the blinding brightness for birds. He could see none and the bright sky burned his retinas to look at it. He moved further into the shadow and kept his steady pace downwards towards the bottom of the canyon.
He’d been walking for almost an hour in search of water. The plant life he’d seen made him optimistic that he’d find it. The valley was steep, the rock loose in places. Sloane head throbbed from the gouge that Hazer Jaxx’s quartermaster had made. Sometimes he felt dizzy. The headache was, at times, almost enough to drive him to his knees. He’d lost his footing more than a few times, but the path he followed was the easiest one he could find and he was being very careful not to fall onto the hard rocks or long sharp cactus spines.
The air was hot and dry, but Sloane still knew that a simple vaypanel would soon collect enough moisture from the air to quench his thirst. But he didn’t have a vaypanel. He didn’t have a shovel to dig a hole in the ground or a plastic sheet to collect condensation. He didn’t have anything apart from his black leather jacket, Darryl self-cooling training shoes and the wedding ring that he wore on the wrong hand.
The sweat on his brow was mixed with blood as it reached the corner of his mouth. He didn’t notice the first razor sharp orange red tendril that slashed out from the centre of a pumpkin shaped spikey ball of a plant. It missed his face by just over an inch. He dodged instinctively as three more plants lashed out at him. Two of the sharp, poison tipped barbs tore strips from the collar of his jacket. The third missed him completely.
There were more of the leathery balls on either side of the path that Sloane now found himself on. The long red striking tendril was curled up in the centre of most of the leather pumpkins. Others had already spat out their long, thin tongues in an effort to catch some other unknown prey. Sloane watched cautiously as the pumpkins quavered on his passing, ready to strike. There were a dozen or so of the brightly coloured shiny balloons. When he reached the last of them he kicked one tentatively, breaking the hard shiny skin. He leaned close to examine the insides, looking for moisture, but the sticky black insides smelled foul.
Jack Sloane realised that he was actually on an ancient path. There were no footprints, but the ground had been worn flat by footfalls, animal hooves and wagon wheels that had not passed this way in millennia. His thoughts were confirmed when he caught sight of a piece of rusted metal tangled up in one of the leather pumpkin’s tongues. The plant had died a long time ago and its crumbling tongue was a thin strip of crispy string with a tooth like barb attached to the end. The poison was dried up but Sloane tool care anyway as he picked up the palm sized piece of metal.
The outer edges fell apart as he started to examine it, but it was apparent that at one time this had been a container of some kind. A metal cup or pot. He turned it over, looking for a handle or some other clues but then the item broke in half and disintegrated completely as it tumbled into the dirt.
Sloane walked on, heading deep into the valley. He estimated that the lowest part of the canyon was about five hundred metres below. There was more plant life there - leathery pumpkins and bushy grey blue shrubs. Sloane kept clear of the pumpkins, moving onwards.
There were more strange objects at the base of the valley. Pots, containers and weathered glassy blobs that Sloane couldn’t fathom a use for. The containers were made of some kind of metal that crumbled to the touch. The heavy blobs, each more than the size of his hand, were made of some kind of misty yellow white crystal. He left them where he’d found them and continued along the path.
The massive city at the end of the valley had been concealed by the sun’s intense glare. Sloane realised that the tall, jagged mountains he’d observed were in fact buildings and skyscrapers. He shielded his eyes and studied the scene through eyes that were still almost squeezed tightly shut. The city was perhaps five to ten miles distant. He headed towards it with renewed vigour. Suddenly the dryness in his throat and the pain in his head had taken second place. He marched on, thankful for his resilient armoured sports shoes.
By the time Sloane reached the edge of the city he already realised that there would be no life there. Somehow, he’d always suspected it. But the closer he got to the city the more it became apparent and then blatantly obvious that this place had been deserted for a long time.
He walked for another two hours, staying in the shade until the valley gave way to the open desert. The last mile he stumbled in the heat of the sun, keeping his head bent low to avoid the worst of the sun’s glare. He reached the edge of the city,
passing the petrified skeletal remains of several elephant sized animals on the way. The animals had been used to pull large carts that had faded almost beyond recognition. Outside the city he found more bones, but these belonged to people. They were scattered in groups of between two and twelve, huddled together. A large mechanical device had been torn apart by the elements, but Sloane guessed that it had once been a transport of some kind. But there were no wheels to be seen – unlike the carts.
The skeletal remains were older than Jack Sloane could estimate. There were fragmented artefacts of boots, shoes, belts and buckles but everything was timelessly decayed. Everything Sloane tried to pick up fell to dust in his fingers.
The road leading into the city was almost completely buried in sand. There were more skeletons – people and animals – and more strange plants. Sloane walked down the middle of the road, avoiding the plants. The city was still about a mile away and there was now no shelter from the sun.
Then he saw the rainbow.
The sky was a very bright blue with a tinge of orange. The rainbow formed a massive arc that lay straight in front of Sloane at ninety degrees. It actually looked to Sloane as if the rainbow was inside the city rather than in front of or behind it.
It was a strange kind of rainbow. The colours were much more vibrant than the rainbows he’d seen before. He estimated the rainbow as being maybe a mile or so into the city. This made him realise just how large the city was. The buildings that were still standing were tall – hundreds of meters high. Some had collapsed, crumbled or broken in half. The road leading into the city was swamped with sand and littered with decaying vehicles. At least Sloane supposed that they had once been vehicles. It was difficult to be sure, but he correctly assumed they were because the closer he got to the city the more there were of them.
He walked another forty minutes to get into the first shade produced by one of the half fallen skyscrapers. The sun still seemed to be directly above him, burning brightly in a strange alien sky. It had been four hours since the crash. His eyes were sore, aching from the dry hot winds. He looked up at the rainbow, wondering if it meant that there could be water nearby.
Beyond the Starport Adventure (Bullet Book 1) Page 33
