Branegate

by James C. Glass

  He watched the Nova fighters come in low over a large port with a few buildings and a hundred square miles of tarmac. Dozens of small fighter craft were in neat rows there, and tiny, insect specks were pilots scurrying to reach them. Before his eyes, three fighter craft lifted off, only three. Missiles streaked towards them, and they were orange clouds of burning vapor. The view on the screen shuddered from the vibration of railgun fire. Missiles were a criss-cross network of white vapor trails and sudden bursts of flame.

  Beyond the fighter craft and far out on the tarmac sat a dozen B-class transports in the process of loading, long lines of troops spiraling out from them and scattering as the Nova attack came in. The view on the screen shuddered again. Flame and smoke belched from the ground below. John switched channels rapidly to follow the action from several aircraft cameras as the Novas swooped low over the field. The first wave had left the grounded fighters a smoking ruin, but four had managed to get off the ground. They chased the attacking Novas without even noticing the incoming second wave, and were shot out of the air before they could acquire targets.

  Soldiers scattered, and ran for their lives towards buildings half a mile away. One transport blew, spreading a ring of flaming fuel that caught and incinerated many of them. The first wave moved on towards the palace only a minute away. The presidential banner in gold and blue was flying high on its mast as the front of the building erupted in smoke and flame under railgun fire. First wave nosed up and climbed for home, their ordinance exhausted.

  Wave two left no grounded fighter untouched, and destroyed seven of the transports for certain. The tarmac was now covered with billowing clouds of black smoke, and kills could only be verified by fireballs bursting through it. When they reached the palace, the front of the building was blown away, and they emptied their railguns into the interior. Swerving away and preparing to climb, the camera on one Nova caught sight of a shuttle lifting off behind the palace and climbing rapidly upwards. Weapons empty, the pilot had presence of mind to move closer to the shuttle for a look. The shuttle was civilian, but emblazoned on its hull was the blue and gold starburst of Gan’s president.

  John Haight slammed both fists on his console, and the engineer looked at him strangely.

  “All praise to The Source! You have given him to Your servant! Track that shuttle!”

  “Satellite or large ship coming around in orbit,” said the engineer. “The shuttle is heading for it.”

  “I want that shuttle intercepted!” screamed John.

  A computer, a rattled engineer and alert pilot did the rest, and Guppy jumped like a Nova, slamming John back into his seat.

  Now it comes. At last it comes, thought John Haight.

  “Charge plenum, two minutes!” he shouted.

  Azar Khalil was in his second floor office overlooking the front of the palace when his military was attacked. He heard several booms, like distant thunder, looked outside, saw nothing, not even a cloud in the sky. But as he watched, a column of black smoke rose above the horizon, then there were more booms, thuds, a cracking sound like railgun fire.

  The office door burst open, and his secretary came in with two soldiers. “Hurry, sire. The assembly area is under attack by Nova-class fighters. They came straight down, so there must be attack vessels in orbit. Evac A, sire. We have to get you out of here!”

  Azar obeyed without hesitation, for the plan had been his own. Even as he moved, his ego fought against it. He was giving up rule over a stupid and recalcitrant people, spiritually empty and without worth. On Kratola such people would all be imprisoned or shot. But Zylak had given him warning, and moved fast. Azar would not wait for the outcome. He would flee to the frontier and await arrival of the great force sent to aid him. And then he would return to Gan and eliminate all human life from it before beginning a new colony of selected, true believers, and loyal subjects of The Church.

  They barely reached the lower hallway before the first projectiles struck. The entire front of the building exploded, raining boulders of cement and spears of wood down on them. His secretary went down pierced through the chest by a steel reinforcement bar, and they left him there staring at plaster rain from a ruined ceiling. The soldiers gripped his arms and propelled him towards the back of the building. Progress was slow as they clambered over debris and rubble from a collapsed upper floor.

  The back door was stuck shut, and a soldier shot it away with his rifle. The shuttle was waiting for him, lift fans humming, in a courtyard surrounded by flowers, a place where he’d often meditated. I’ll miss it, he thought, then the building behind him exploded again, the entire residence erupting in flame and black smoke.

  The soldiers hustled him on board, and strapped him in alongside a pilot who looked terrified, then closed the door and were left to their own fate. The shuttle lifted off with a jerk as several Nova fighters passed directly overhead at low altitude. For a moment, Azar was certain he’d be shot down at liftoff, but nothing happened, the Novas now making a wide turn far out towards the horizon. Lift fans screamed as the pilot pushed them to the maximum, then lifted the nose up and cut in the thrusters. Azar gasped and sucked air. A Nova pulled right up alongside of them for only a second, then left them like they were standing still.

  The Source is with me. All praise to Him, thought Azar.

  Even at full thrust they climbed for several minutes while the pilot and his computer calculated a rendezvous with ‘Spirit’ in parking orbit three hundred miles above Gan. ‘Spirit’ would take him to a military freighter a thousand miles above that, and then it would be on to the frontier and rendezvous with Church forces in due time.

  That was the plan.

  But at an altitude of one-hundred-fifty miles they were intercepted by a strange looking ship that was not ‘Spirit’. As long as a freighter, it had a slender hull and a bulbous nose with a strange protuberance, and was painted the yellow oxide color ordinarily used by the military. Large as it was, it followed them with ease on their ascent, and pulled slowly closer.

  “Civilian shuttle, this is Guppy VII of Elderon. Good morning, Mister President.”

  “Who is this?” said Azar angrily.

  “John Haight, Mister President, or Leonid Zylak, whichever you prefer. I warned you about this day. Maybe you didn’t believe me.”

  “Elderon has committed an act of unprovoked war. There will be severe consequences for this, and not just from Gan.”

  “The consequences are yours to suffer, Mister President, for tyranny and murder. Initiating Stinger.”

  The huge ship outside dropped back behind them and slightly to one side. Azar turned halfway around in his seat to watch it. The entire nose of the vessel began to glow green, and then a bright spot was at its center. The spot grew in size and brightness as a protuberance like a huge needle was thrust towards him. The spot flickered, then boiled, becoming suddenly oblong. It approached rapidly, still growing. A yellow flame shot forth from it, then another. In the final second before it reached the shuttle, yellow fire burst forth from it with terrible intensity.

  The brain and nervous system of Azar Khalil had just enough time to record a sensation of heat before being vaporized.

  CHAPTER 43

  Fifty ships plunged toward them in a wedge formation. Guppy pilots reacted instinctly to get out of the way, made a great loop out of the lane in a vee formation, came back to parallel their course, still slowing. It was then that Trae saw the one, tiny ship sandwiched between two juggernauts. “There she is,” he said.

  As he said it a new presence was in his mind with sudden force.

  Well, it’s about time. We were getting ready to set the detonator on our ship.

  Who is this? I’m Anton Zylak, said Trae.

  Well, well, my great-grandson will be my savior. These big ships have been chasing us for light-years. Now, what can you do to make them go away?

  “We’re being hailed,” said his pilot, but Trae ignored him.

  My great-grandma Nat, said Trae in
wonder. My mother has told me all about you. She says you’re a fighter.

  That I am, but I can’t fight these things. If you distract them, I can make another jump, and get out of here.

  Do it, then, but only a light year towards the frontier, and stay in the shipping lane so we can find you. Get out, now, and be safe. It might get violent here. Charging for jump. I want to meet you safe at the frontier, or Elderon, or wherever I hope my family will come together again.

  After I send these ships back to The Bishops. It might be a while.

  I have time, lots of time, dear. My captain is ready, now. We’re making the jump.

  The little ship flickered, image rippling, and winked away. Trae’s pilot flinched next to him. “Some general, sir. He’s screaming in my ear. Better answer him.”

  “Okay. In the meantime, everyone charge plenums, two minutes, and deploy Sniffers. Nova pilots lock in.”

  “Charging. Rest is done, sir.”

  Myra entered their tiny bridge from the rear door. “Some excited pilots back there. They seem to think they’re fighting a holy war.”

  “Maybe they are,” said Trae.

  Here we are, all alone for the moment. One light year out, and we’ll hold our position. Eventually we’ll have to find the rest of my little fleet, but they’re likely ahead of us by now. Good hunting.

  “Who’s that?” asked Myra.

  “My great-grandmother Nat. She jumped out of here just now.”

  “Oh.”

  “Sir, the general. He’s threatening attack.”

  Trae grabbed the receiver harness offered to him and folded it around the back of his head. “This is Anton Zylak, commander of Guppy Wing One out of Elderon. Who am I talking to?”

  “Finally!” shouted a man. “You’ve put yourself in a precarious position, commander. It’s not wise to keep me waiting.”

  “To keep who waiting?”

  “General Pizarro Asiz, commanding second and third drop battalions of Kratola, and on a mission for The Council of Bishops. We come in the name of The Source.”

  “Indeed. I suppose your mission is to restore the colony planets beyond the frontier back into the loving embrace of The Church.”

  “That is correct, sir.”

  “A noble task for brave soldiers of The Church to enforce such a thing in a universe that isn’t theirs. The colonies are not connected to Kratola in any way, and owe no allegiance to it or The Church.”

  “The Council of Bishops feels otherwise, and we’re here to enforce their opinion. Now get out of our way, or be destroyed.”

  “We’re not in your way at the moment, we’re paralleling your course.”

  “You’re military vessels. I see railgun and missile ports. We have no hull-mounted weapons, but the two hundred Sprint fighters we carry can damage you beyond repair. I’ll release them at the first shot you fire.”

  “I want no loss of life, general, but I will not allow you to continue on to the frontier. You’ll turn back now, or I’ll do it for you. Guppy commanders, form an echelon on my point, move!”

  All had been planned and rehearsed. It was necessary they position themselves to view the fleet headlong. Guppy I accelerated, moved to the nose of the fleet formation and turned to face it from a distance of half a mile. The three other Guppies formed an echelon above it. Four ships of substantial size now faced fifty in the blackness of space.

  “Do you really expect to attack my entire fleet with missiles and railguns, commander? My pilots have scrambled. A single shot from you, and they will be on you in an instant.”

  “That’s not what I have in mind, general,” said Trae. Myra stood behind his seat, leaning so close he could feel her hot breath on his neck. He clicked off his receiver, and looked up at her. “You might want to sit down for this.”

  “Not a chance,” she said, and stared out through the window at the nearby bows of fifty invasion ships floating there.

  “Have you located his ship?” Trae asked his pilot.

  “Big one on the point of the spear, sir. He’s leading his troops right out in front. We’re a bit close, sir. I need to back off a mile or so with the verniers.”

  “Do it slowly.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  They backed slowly to a range of nearly two miles, and the rest of the Guppies followed them. At two miles the branegate size would be sufficient to cover the cross section of the largest ships in front of them.

  “Having second thoughts, commander? Perhaps we can talk about it, come to some kind of understanding as fellow soldiers.”

  “Topping off plenum, one minute,” said Trae’s pilot softly. “Deploying Sniffer, initiating trickle current. All pilots, lock targets and confirm.”

  “Give me a moment to confer with my pilots,” said Trae.

  “Very well, but only a moment. Four against fifty, commander. It’s a matter of common sense.”

  A soft, green glow now covered the windows of Guppy I. Myra made a little sound in her throat, but when he glanced up at her she looked excited, not scared. Just another experiment to her.

  “Charged,” said the pilot. “All targets acquired and locked.”

  “Your moment is up, commander. What do we do now?” said the general.

  “I think we’ll send you back home,” Trae said, then, “Initiate gates.”

  The windows flashed bright green, walls vibrating with the deployment of Stinger. The expanding patch of glowing, exotic space expanded, materialized, formed its characteristic shape as it hurried away from them and struck the big ship at the point of the invading ships’ formation. Three other gates simultaneously struck ships on both sides of it. There were four blinding flashes of light, and the ships were gone.

  “Charging,” said Trae’s pilot.

  The silence, the calm after that was long and terrible. Twenty Nova pilots sat tensely in their cockpits, ready for instant drop. There was no sign of reaction from the invasion ships, and no communication. The Guppies moved in closer, plenums recharged, noses glowing green. And as they settled into position, radio silence was finally broken.

  “This is Colonel Caesar Olema, Kratola Expeditionary Force. I wish to speak with the person responsible for the attack on our ships before we take retaliatory action.”

  Trae clicked his headset on. “Anton Zylak, sir. Your general ignored our warning to turn back, so our action was necessary.”

  “Your action was unprovoked, and you’ve destroyed both ships and human lives. This is an act of war.”

  “Your ships haven’t been destroyed; they’ve just been sent somewhere else, very likely to a position commensurate to our own but in your home universe. There should have been no loss of life, or even injuries. You’ve invaded our universe with the intent of conquering our worlds for rule under The Church. This will not be allowed. Now turn your ships around, and go home.”

  The colonel’s voice was calm, and cold. “I understand your position, sir. Now understand mine. You’ve attacked our fleet without provocation, and destroyed ships with all personnel. We’re on a mission for The Church, and it will not be turned aside so easily. You have one minute to prepare for battle, sir. My regards.”

  “Get it?” asked Trae, and his pilot nodded.

  “Third ship up, just beyond the point.”

  “Target it, and send him home. Other Guppies hold fire. Those fighters will come straight at us. Spread the gates out in an arc covering our front. On my command.”

  “We’ll only have one shot at them,” said his pilot.

  “Drop Novas if the gates don’t take out the fighters. Ready, sir.”

  “Fire!” commanded Trae.

  Green flash, the boiling mess of spacetime and beyond projected away from them and slamming into a distant ship, then another flash and that ship, too, was gone.

  “Here they come!” cried his pilot.

  Drop bays had opened on four of the invading ships, and fighters dropped out of them like a swarm of bees, coming together in a wedg
e-shape and heading straight for them. The front echelon had just released missiles when Trae shouted his command.

  “Initiate branegates!”

  A great arc of space glowed green in front of them. Three closely spaced gates covered an area a mile high and seven miles across. Most of the missiles simply disappeared. The rest exploded, first sent into tumbling trajectories, missing pieces. The fighters behind them were too close to react when the gates were formed, and flew straight into them.

  The results were not satisfying to Myra, who hoped for a battle without bloodshed. Fighters striking gates directly simply disappeared, an effect Myra herself had experienced without harm. One would hope those fighters could rendezvous with the major transports already given forced transit to the other side. Otherwise, this far from Grand Portal, the fighters’ environmental systems would give out before they could reach home.

  The fighters, which didn’t strike a branegate directly, suffered horrible fates. Wings, tail sections, entire cockpits were sucked away, the rest tumbled wildly by the chaotic and flickering dimensionality of the spaces between gates. There were several explosions, and debris formed a kind of bow shock that rained metal and human bone on the Guppies. Only the strong, ionizing fields induced by their Sniffers kept them from serious damage.

  “Drop!” commanded Trae. The rear of the fighters’ echelons had just had enough time to pull away. Some dozens of ships were now making great looping trajectories to come back down on them again. Trae had been saving missiles for use against the big ships, but suddenly changed his mind.

  “Target missiles on the first pass of the fighters. Novas do the rest. Recharge plenums! We’ll eat the fleet up from front to back!”

  The missiles went out in seconds, seeking heat and finding it raining down on the Guppies. Fire flashed in space like exploding stars, just as Novas raced past Trae’s window. The ensuing firefight lasted nearly half an hour, and their opponents weren’t amateurs, but the first barrage of missiles from the Guppies had taken a horrible toll. A dozen surviving fighters limped back to a single transport near the front of the fleet.