Eternal Frontier (The Eternal Frontier Book 1)

by Anthony J Melchiorri

  “Pull up!” Tag said.

  Then the gray clouds of Eta-Five’s sky appeared again, and Sofia directed the ship upward.

  “I have one point-defense cannon back online!” Coren said.

  “Fire away!” Tag cried.

  A savage barrage of rounds burst from the Argo. Another torpedo winked out of existence from the holoprojection. It was far enough to only impart a slight tremor through the ship. But two more torpedoes still followed, and now a new batch of torpedoes doggedly surrounded the Argo.

  Coren let out a frustrated yell and glared at his terminal. “Overheating again! Damn this human technology!”

  “Adjust flight pattern?” Sofia asked, still focused on the blanket of clouds ahead.

  “Negative,” Tag said. She might pull another lucky maneuver to lose the two nearest torpedoes. But doing so would give the rest of the incoming torpedoes enough time to come within closing distance. There was no scenario, no matter how much he believed in miracles, in which Sofia could shake two dozen torpedoes. They needed to make it past the sensor-cancelling storm around Eta-Five and reach space. Only then would their sensors and AI systems be able to calculate a hyperspace jump trajectory, away from the projectiles and rapidly encroaching Drone-Mech vessels.

  “Use the energy cannon, Coren,” Tag said. “Target those torpedoes as best you can.”

  Coren complied, but Tag knew it was an almost certainly fruitless effort. The point-defense cannons functioned on sheer quantity of flying rounds rather than precision and accuracy, and the slower and more precise energy cannon was more adept at bringing down a single large target. Trying to hit two rocketing torpedoes was like trying to shoot a gnat with a pulse pistol at a hundred meters. It was damned near impossible, and Tag could see his crew understood that. But they carried on, determined to grasp at any chance for escape, and energy shots lanced from the cannon. Tag watched the rounds pepper Eta-Five’s surface, plunging into a vast, frozen lake. But he saw no explosion, no sign they’d connected with a single torpedo.

  At least not yet.

  Soon enough, he knew he’d see a torpedo explode. But he was afraid they’d be inside the blast when it did.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  “Captain, I have an idea,” Alpha said.

  “Let’s hear it.” Tag was open to just about anything.

  Coren still fired the energy cannon, and Sofia kept them glued to their seats, pressing the limits of the inertial dampeners.

  “If these torpedoes are similar to SRE designs, they are primed to explode when reaching a designated proximity with their target so that a difficult, direct impact is unnecessary. That means primary damage would stem from the kinetic and thermal energy discharges produced by the exploding torpedoes. I can overcharge the energy shields to absorb such a blast. After the first hit, I’ll blink the shields to conserve energy. The ship should be able to withstand the rest of the blast, and then I can reactivate them to counter the second torpedo.”

  “And if the blast is too great for the shield, we’re helpless against the second explosion?”

  “Correct. Would you like to hear the odds of success?”

  “No,” Tag said. “Prepare for impact.” The only odds that mattered to Tag was the fact that there was a one hundred percent chance of failure if they did nothing. “Coren, is Alpha full of crap, or do you think we’ve got a shot?”

  “Better shot at her plan succeeding than relying on our nonfunctional point-defense cannons.”

  “Good enough for me,” Tag replied.

  “First torpedo is closing in,” Alpha reported. “Energy shields are engaged. Beginning overcharging.”

  The ship vibrated, and arcs of blue electricity sparked across the shield.

  “Captain, I’m not able to draw enough power for sufficient overloading,” Alpha said.

  “Coren, cease fire,” Tag said. “Divert energy from cannons to shields.”

  The Mechanic reluctantly carried out the orders, and the cannon went silent. No pulse or cannon fire stood in the way of the torpedoes now.

  “Alpha, how are we looking?” Tag asked.

  “Power levels sufficient. Incoming torpedo. Three. Two.”

  Tag braced himself, fighting every instinct in his body to pinch his eyes closed, and watched the viewport.

  “One,” Alpha finished.

  A deafening blast overtook the bridge. Intense light cracked like lightning through the viewport. The ship shivered, sounding as though it might fall apart at any moment. Waves of orange and white and black rolled over the shield as it glowed and shimmered.

  Then the shield blinked off. An earsplitting chorus of wailing klaxons and quaking bulkheads accompanied the roar of fire rolling across the bridge’s viewport. The tremors, more powerful than an ice god pounding the ground, threw Tag back and forth against his restraints, and his skull smashed against the headrest. Coren shook just as violently. His head, too, slammed into his seat, and he went unconscious, his limbs falling limp. Sofia still clutched the controls in a white-knuckle grip, vessels throbbing across her forehead. Alpha seemed to be the only one unaffected, and she reengaged the shields when the upheaved ship started to settle.

  “Second torpedo incoming!” her voice called out, shrill over the sound of alarms and groaning bulkheads.

  The shields shimmered once again as blinding light flooded the bridge. This explosion seemed more ferocious than the first, and Tag thrashed in his harness hard enough that he bit his tongue and tasted blood. The scent of burning plastic permeated the air, adding to the chaos, as Tag realized something had fried, something else must’ve gone wrong. Sofia cried out something incomprehensible, her words buried in the din. It was as though the ship was clenched in hell’s clutches, full of anger and fire and pain.

  But still the Argo pushed spaceward.

  The shaking settled; the groaning bulkheads quieted. Pain still hung over Tag, threatening to pull his mind into a fugue, as they careened through the clouds, and all shipboard sensors went dark. He forced his eyes to remain open and glued to the viewport and holoscreens. Each screen showed only blank charts and reports, flickering occasionally with a screen of static. Cracks of green lightning burst around them for several long seconds.

  Then the rattling ceased. No more tongues of flame or violent explosions. No more torpedoes blinking on the holoprojection.

  They were back in space, outside Eta-Five’s malicious grasp, escaped from the torpedoes and search vessels. Tag watched the planet grow smaller as they accelerated away. He said a silent goodbye to the world that had tried to kill him over and over.

  “No more incoming torpedoes,” Alpha said.

  “Very good,” Tag said. His voice sounded muddled. A ringing in his ears persisted, and he punched a command to silence the alarms on his terminal. “Calculate trajectory for hyperspace. Back to the last-known coordinates of the Montenegro.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Alpha said.

  Sofia wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and leveled out their relative altitude. She kept the ship at full acceleration, putting as much distance between the Argo and any pursuing ships as possible.

  “Coren, are you okay?” Tag asked.

  The Mechanic didn’t respond, but Alpha answered for him. “My sensors indicate his heart rate has returned to normal for his species. He is alive, though he remains unconscious.” Then Alpha looked up from her terminal. “Captain, we have new contacts.”

  The bridge’s central holoscreen lit up with a chart of the Eta System. A storm of red dots blinked around them. More red dots than there was snow on Eta-Five. Hostiles. Everywhere. An entire Drone-Mech fleet.

  The outboard cams showed a lurking carrier drifting in open space. Smaller escort destroyers and a couple of battlecruisers coasted near the large ship, looking like enormous wolves waiting for prey. A flurry of lights glowed and cut through the space between the ominous ships, signifying shuttles zipping between the warships of the impressive fleet. Tag ruefully th
ought that the phrase “out of the frying pan and into the fire” had never been more accurate.

  Sofia let out a long sigh. “I guess this answers where those search vessels came from.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Tag knew there would be no surviving any barrages of fire from these ships. No outmaneuvering. No survival in open combat. Running was their only option. “Let’s get that calculation on the hyperspace trajectory, Alpha!”

  “I am encountering obstacles to our progress,” Alpha said.

  “What do you mean?” Sofia asked, her tone curt. “There’s no way I can fly around these guys. We need to jump!”

  Already several fighters blinked on the holoscreen on a warpath to the Argo.

  “Screw those damn obstacles!” Tag yelled.

  “I’m afraid that isn’t possible. I’ve discovered strange data streams trying to insert foreign code into our AI systems.”

  “Damn it! Of course!” Tag bellowed. The Mech-Drones were at it again, subverting the Argo’s AI. The ship had been protected by the Eta-Five atmospheric anomaly before, and the smaller search vessels didn’t seem to have the same capabilities as whatever fleet ships were infecting their computer systems now. “Can you hold them off?”

  “I’m working on it,” Alpha said. “But I’m finding it difficult to both calculate a trajectory and defend against the barrage of cyber-attacks.”

  “Skipper!” Sofia said. “Incoming fire. At least three dozen torpedoes, and by the looks of the grav signatures, several nuclear warheads. They’re looking to obliterate us.”

  Tag undid his harness and raced across the bridge. His heart thrashing against his ribs like a bird fighting to be free of its cage, he grabbed Coren’s shoulders and gently shook the unconscious Mechanic. “Come on, buddy! We need your help right now.”

  Blood trickled from one of Coren’s ears. The Mechanics’ bodies truly were weaker than those of humans. Combining his more fragile anatomy with a safety harness and crash couch fit for shorter, wider humans, Tag understood why Coren had suffered the worst during their escape from Eta-Five. But understanding wouldn’t help rouse him now.

  “I know you’re hurting, but we need you.” Tag tried to stir him more earnestly, shaking more fervently. He might be able to fill in for Coren on weapons, but they needed the Mechanic awake for his cyber expertise. Without Coren... Tag hesitated to think about their chances should the incoming Drone-Mech virus succeed.

  Coren’s good eye blinked slowly. “Wha ... what ...”

  “There’s an attack on our AI systems.”

  Coren’s slack expression tightened, and he sat straighter. One hand grasped the side of his head. His long fingers smeared the blood in his short fur. “We’re in space?”

  “We are. There’s a fleet of Drone-Mechs breathing down our neck. Fighters, torpedoes, everything is headed our way. The only way out of this is a hyperspace jump. Got it?”

  “Okay, okay,” Coren said, appearing more lucid with each second. “My head.”

  “I know, I’m sorry,” Tag said. “I’ll get you treated as soon as we make the jump. Deal?”

  “Captain, I’ve been making deal after deal with you since I met you. No more deals. This is about our survival. I’m part of your crew, whether you like it or not. I’ll make sure we get to hyperspace safely.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.” Tag raced back to his crash couch and buckled himself in.

  “How long do we have?” Coren asked.

  “Sixty seconds until contact with enemy fire,” Sofia said.

  “Adjust course forty points to port, away from incoming fire,” Tag said.

  Pinpricks of light glowed blue and red in the distance, brighter than the stars, growing ever closer. The torpedoes were in sight. Coren toiled at his terminal, and Alpha worked at hers. Tag clenched the armrests as worry flooded through him, tightening his grip on the crash couch. Come on. Come on.

  “Thirty seconds,” Sofia said, pulling hard on the ship’s controls.

  “How’s that trajectory coming?” Tag asked. He fought to keep his voice calm.

  “I believe we’ve almost reestablished our firewall against the incoming Drone-Mech AI viruses,” Alpha said.

  “I’m not asking about the AI. I want to know how soon before we jump.”

  “AI systems are now stable enough to initiate trajectory calculations.”

  “Just now?” Tag asked.

  “Fifteen seconds until first impact,” Sofia said. A beat of tense silence followed. “Ten seconds.”

  “Trajectory solution found,” Alpha said.

  “Initiate hyperspace jump!” Tag roared.

  Alpha pressed a button on her terminal.

  “Five seconds!” Sofia shouted.

  The glowing thrusters of the torpedoes and warheads lit up the bridge. It was as if all the stars in space were falling on them in that moment.

  The T-Drive screamed for a second until its high-pitched shriek settled into a low growl, and the Argo exploded forward. Inertial dampeners fought through the transition into hyperspace, and Tag’s stomach flipped over, the throngs of pain throughout his body intensifying as g-forces slammed against him.

  Then it stopped. All enemy contacts, all incoming barrages evaporated from their star charts. Green and purple waves of plasma crackled against the viewport like waves lapping the shore.

  They were in hyperspace. Safe at last.

  Tag stood, stretching. His pulse still thundered in his ears, and he felt the lingering touch of adrenaline in his twitching fingertips. “Alpha, damage report.”

  “Point-defense cannons are down. One grav impeller is at seventy percent of functional from the torpedo blast. Hull integrity is adequate for continued hyperspace stress, but repairs to the cargo bay may be necessary. Onboard sensors report the energy shield generators are nonfunctional.”

  “Thank you. Have the repair bots triage and fix the damage. Start with the defensive systems.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Sofia let go of her controls and let the AI systems handle the flight. “We’ve got four days of hyperspace travel before we reach the Montenegro. I could use that many days of sleep.”

  “Feel free to find yourself a cabin and make yourself at home.”

  “Thanks, Captain.” Sofia cracked her knuckles as she left the bridge.

  “Coren, you want to follow me into the med bay?” Tag asked.

  “I hope you have painkillers compatible with my biology.” Coren massaged his temple with his fingers. “And we should get that crash couch refitted.”

  “Plan to stay long, do you?” Tag asked.

  “As long as this mission takes.”

  “Alpha, you have the bridge,” Tag said.

  “Yes, Captain,” she responded.

  They trod into the passageway and began the walk to the med bay. “And if these past few hours are any indication, it’s going to be a while.”

  When they reached the medical bay, Tag realized in all the madness of escaping Eta-Five, they hadn’t done anything with the Mechanic body in the lab. The hatches opened, and the dead Mechanic was still strapped in where he and Sofia had left it, visible through the polyglass barrier between the lab and the rest of the med bay.

  “Ah, did you find anything out?” Coren asked. He acted as if seeing a body mid-autopsy was as normal as if they were simply walking by a civvie drunk on gutfire and sleeping one off in a space station passageway.

  “I did.” Tag let his muscles unwind but remained on guard. Coren may have reacted calmly toward the deceased pirate. But he feared the news he was about to share wouldn’t be taken so kindly.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Tag traced Coren’s skull with the handheld MRI. “We were in the middle of a few tests. Once we fix you up, I’ll show you everything.”

  “Sounds fair.”

  Coren waited patiently as Tag analyzed the images he’d taken of the Mechanic’s brain and skull. But Tag wasn’t only looking for symptoms of a
n injury. He had reprogrammed the handheld MRI to search for any indication the nanites had a stranglehold on the Mechanic’s brain. The holoprojection glowed across Coren’s face as he looked into his own mind, scanning the medical images with Tag.

  “Does everything look good?” the Mechanic asked.

  “No internal bleeding. No fractures,” Tag said. The heavy weight of apprehension lifted from his shoulders as he studied the holoprojected brain. There was no sign of the nanites. Coren wasn’t, as far as he could tell, a Drone-Mech. “Probably just a concussion.”

  “Good. Any of your human painkillers work to block out my pain receptors? My head feels like an ice god is sitting on it.”

  “Let me check.” Tag ran the med bay’s pharma AI systems. The AI used the data from the autopsied Mechanic’s brain to assess any matches with human medicines, running compatibility and efficacy simulations. After a few seconds, several candidates glowed on the holoscreen. “Perfect. We’ve got some good choices.”

  He felt Coren’s single working eye on him as he cycled through the dispensary’s holoscreen. He wished he could give Coren more powerful painkillers. Something to knock him out or numb his senses, making him more docile for what he was about to tell him. But he knew the Mechanic deserved better than that. He needed to do this fast. Like downing hyperspace sickness pills. You didn’t want to suck them down slowly lest they dissolve on your tongue, letting their bitter, bile-like taste linger too long. Swallow them quickly and get it over with. But no matter how quickly you downed them, they still left a lingering pang of nausea residing in the gut.

  Tag expected telling Coren about the nanites would leave him feeling sicker than a whole pill bottle of hyperspace sickness meds. Guilt already ate at his conscience, and he feared it would only be intensified when he became the target of Coren’s ire.

  But it had to be done. He warranted it was better than the alternative. Better than letting Coren figure it out on his own. As if he wasn’t going to be suspicious enough about the humans.