Tales From The Sonali War: Year 1 of 5 (Pax Aeterna Universe Book 4)

by Trevor Wyatt

  “Stay close, go for the life support systems!” says another.

  “Going in! Opening lasers to full—” and he is gone.

  Space is exploding all around us.

  And then, we see it—all at once, the Sonali ship fires full force on several of our ships, dissolving them to nothing.

  “Captain! Maverick, Iris, Griffin, Mercury, Santa Maria, H.R Wells and Wesley are gone! The Aurora, Magus, Lysander is taking fire, she's hit and listing bad!”

  “All batteries target the Sonali life support now!” commands Corson. “Concentrated fire!” Energy flows from our ship, only to be absorbed by the Sonali's fields.

  The Celestia lurches again. A sickening groan permeates the ship. CNC lights dim, then return.

  “Reserve power to CNC!” orders Corson. The lights steady, but hell is happening outside. The Maverick and several other ships are reduced to nothingness. The Celestia, Aurora, Hornet, Magus, Lysander, York and Lexington continue to take hits. There is no respite in sight.

  Then one of the Harpy pilot's voice chimes through the din. “I've got an idea! Red Four and Five converge on me! We're going in! Use our missiles. Beam weapons can't faze their fields! Let's see what missiles do!”

  Amidst the chaos, part of my mind catalogs the Harpy missile's warhead: dense, highly active chemical concoctions capable of obliterating a small town. Wordlessly, I watch the main screen and see three Harpies launch volleys of missiles …

  And they penetrate the Sonali ship's skin! They're through the fields and tearing holes in the armor. Glorious in their destruction.

  “This is Lieutenant Maris on Harpy Sixteen! The missiles work! All Harpies, use missiles in conjunction with your beam weapons! Target weapons and life support pods in groups!”

  A ragged cheer erupts on the CNC. But hell still abides outside.

  We watch the Sonali ship, besieged by Harpies, continue towards the Aurora and the other ships near it. The Sonali is taking damage, but it's slight, owing to its size. The Celestia continues to take evasive actions.

  And then, the Sonali ship does it again. All at once, it blasts with all batteries on the Aurora and the starships near it…and those mighty ships are turned into its component atoms. All that's left is a colored mist in space.

  “All batteries fire on the Sonali at the points where the Harpies are hurting it!” yells Captain Corson. “Harpies, how goes your missile supply?”

  The response is quick. “Captain, our missiles are almost depleted. We're opening all the holes we can, but they're starting to pick us off now!”

  Then, from other Harpies:

  “I'm out! Taking fire—”

  “Last four birds away! That hole's getting bigger! Oh, shit—”

  “Captain, Harpy missiles gone! Fuck! Return to ship?”

  “Affirmative! All Harpies return to roost! Tactical, concentrate all weapons on the largest breeches in that Sonali armor! Do it now!”

  We watch the screen as the Harpies return. The Celestia continues to pour death into the Sonali ship's broken armor. But most of that power is absorbed by its fields. Even though the alien ship's power is declining, it's still considerable.

  We feel another hit on the ship, and it wrenches violently.

  “Squadron!” yells Corson. “Are all Harpies aboard?”

  “Affirmative, Captain!” from Tactical.

  “Science, status of our fields?” he demands.

  I give him the news. “Captain, one or two more hits, at most, and we're done.”

  I watch him make an instant command decision.

  “Any sign of survivors from the other ships?” His eyes are alight.

  I yearn to give him hope, but must give him truth instead. “None, Sir.”

  “Helm, plot a course for Edoris Station. FTL 5. Apply on my mark.”

  “Aye, Sir,” comes from Helm.

  “Tactical,” says the Captain, “target the biggest hole in that Sonali bastard's hide.”

  “Targeted, Sir.”

  “Ready all remaining beam energy and focus it there. Fire on my order.”

  “Ready, Captain.”

  “Fire,” says Corson, in a steely voice.

  On the screen, hellish energies collude in destruction against the Sonali ship's underbelly. For once, that ship lurches as the hole in its armor widens. But still, it keeps coming.

  Corson takes one last look at the screen, and murmurs, “We'll see you again, you son of a bitch. We'll see you again someday.”

  Then he turns to the helm. “Get us out of here, Lieutenant Cooper. Apply.”

  And we're gone.

  I'm in one of the lounges with Corson. View screens line the walls and let in the endless panoply of stars and night. It's just the two of us. He had called me in to go over some aspects of the report he was going to give to Admiral Flynn. He wanted a scientific correlation of energy ratios concerning the Sonali ship's evident force field strength and its ability to generate such a high degree of power to its weapons systems. He was looking for anything of import that he could pass on to the Union. He was also looking for some redeeming morsel that he could point to that would somehow ameliorate the horrifying disaster we had just suffered—the loss of so many good lives, the defeat by a superior military force, and the horrifying implications of what would probably follow.

  Repairs are being made, slowly, while we are en route to Edoris Station. Those with injuries are being treated in sick bay; the dead rest in cryo awaiting disembarkation at home; and we are searching for some answers. Any answers would do.

  “We did discover one Sonali Achilles Heel,” I offer.

  He looks up. Overwhelming weariness shows in his eyes, mute testimony to the burden he is shouldering as Captain of the Celestia.

  “The Harpies,” I elaborate. “How they discovered that the Sonali shields don't work against explosive chemical munitions. Rather fortuitous, I would say. And I'm sure it'll be useful in the eyes of the Armada.”

  “If we'd only had bigger ones,” he comments, “and about a thousand of them. They might have made a difference.” He looks around, idly. “But I don't know. I really don't know.”

  The gloom is palpable. It's easy to know why. I don't think there's anyone aboard who hasn't contemplated what the future may hold. It's especially clear to me, damn that Rhine perception. I'm trying my damnedest to remain at least somewhat optimistic, but I fear it's a losing battle. Another losing battle. And I don't know quite how to handle it. I just know that, somehow, I must.

  The silence deepens between us, thickening toward despair.

  Finally, Corson rouses himself. “I have to put a slipstream call into Admiral Flynn,” he says. His voice sounds like death. “You and Drake continue handling repairs. Assign teams in designating the most crucial areas, please. I'll be here if you need me.”

  I expect him to get up and go to his office, but he doesn't. He remains sitting, as if he's not sure where to go. Or what to do. My heart is breaking for him.

  “Corson,” I say. “What will we do? Is it over? Is this the end?”

  “No, it's not the end,” he says softly. “I can only wish it were. I might be able to live with that.”

  I look at him, at his pain. “What do you mean?” I murmur.

  He looks out at the stars, then back at me in sorrow. “It's only the beginning.”

  I stare mutely at his anguish, then look out into the infinitude of space and its inescapable destiny. Until everything wells up in my eyes and runs down my face.

  3

  Phantom

  I’m in the hidden compartment of my small corvette, looking over some of the contraband ale I’m smuggling along the border when I hear the deafening wail and see the blinding flashes of the sirens. I can feel my heart jog up to the base of my throat as I hurry up and out of the small room and bolt to the secret entrance. I dash into the elevator and ride it up to the bridge.

  “What the heck is going on,” I scream as I take my position at the captai
n’s chair. The lights are flashing more rapidly and more intensely in the bridge than anywhere else in the ship. The small view screen, which is pretty much our window into the cold, hard space beyond the polycarbonate plating of our hull, shows nothing but deep space.

  “Long range scanners just detected a Union ship headed our way,” says my navigator. He’s a muscular, dark-skinned man with a nose piercing and the kind of face you don’t want to meet in some dark alley world.

  “What the hell?” I say. “How long before they get to us?”

  This time it’s the weapons officer and my number one, Alex, who answers. He has a shocked look on his face and he hangs his shoulders in that defeated way I am all too familiar with. “Not long, Jeremy.”

  I have warned Garret several times not to use my first name so casually, especially when we are in front of the crew. I’m ticked by his continued insistence on disobeying my instructions, but I don’t have time to deal with that now. My heart is pounding away, because I know we are doomed.

  I have two options. I can attempt to run or I can attempt to stand my ground and be boarded. I trust my cargo is hidden well enough and there is nothing onboard and in open view to give the impression that I’m carrying any contraband. However, I’m not sure why the ship is headed toward us. It could be that they have prior information about our run. Maybe, they were tipped off before by the same people to whom we plan selling the cargo. In my line of work, I know well not to trust anyone, especially those who buy from us. If I attempt to run, there is a big chance that we’ll be caught. My ship isn’t exactly the fastest ship in the galaxy, nor is it the kind to outrun a Union Cruiser that is specifically built for speed.

  “What do you want to do, boss?” my navigator, Garret Summers, says. Even though he speaks in a measured tone, I can see it in his eyes that he is terrified beyond measure.

  I glance at Garret. “Where’s the nearest asteroid field?”

  Garret hunches over his workstation and performs the calculation. He looks up at me with a hopeful smile and says, “About zero point zero one light years ahead. We can be there in about fifteen minutes, but we have to engage the FTL now.”

  “If we make it to the asteroid field, we can easily navigate our way through to the other side,” says Alex. “I doubt the Union Cruiser would pursue us any further. They certainly wouldn’t be entering the field with us.”

  It is in situations like this that a true captain proves his worth. If I try to run and I’m caught, there will be hell to pay.

  “Unnamed corvette with hull number XZY876TY,” came a female and authoritative voice over their intercom. “This is TUS Phantom. You are currently in Union territory. Stand down and prepare to be boarded. I repeat. Stand down and prepare to be boarded.”

  I tap the button on the captain’s chair that connects me to Bob in engineering. “Bob, hold on to something. We are about to engage the FTL.”

  “Roger that,” comes the reply.

  I turn to my navigator. “Get us to the asteroid field!”

  He doesn’t speak. He only smiles and returns his attention to his station. The ship begins to vibrate and a sharp, high pitched whine erupts into existence. A split second later, the space around the ship begins to fold in on itself as we jumped into FTL speed. Our faster than light travel doesn’t last so long and we drop out with the screams of the warning system.

  I realize we are nowhere near the asteroid field, and I can still see the cruiser. It is within range now.

  “What the hell!” I yell at Garret.

  Garret’s hands were frantic all over the controls. He glances at me, his eyes revealing how screwed we are. “They have a tractor beam locked on us.”

  “Evasive maneuvers, then!” I say, like it’s going to change anything.

  Garret replies, “They’ve locked on us, sir! We can’t go anywhere.”

  I tap the button to engineering. “Bob. We need an emergency jump into FTL.”

  Bob’s voice comes across the intercom, flat as usual. “That’s not going to happen, Jeremy. The drives are down. I’ll need at least an hour to fix them.”

  I frown. I glance at my two-man bridge crew, while keeping my hands on the button to engineering so Bob can hear our conversation. “What are our options?”

  “Well, we’re not being dragged into the cruiser, so maybe they just want to talk,” Alex offers. He has his eyes on the view screen. I can now see the shadow of a huge ship over us. My chest knots with dread. If they find what I carry in my cargo, I am probably going to get a life sentence at best and an execution at worst.

  “Bob, start working on the FTL,” I say. “Get ready to jump on my command when it’s ready.”

  “Aye, sir,” he replies.

  “Also, tell Sibiu to make sure the hidden compartment remains hidden,” I say.

  “Aye, captain.”

  I heave a deep sigh, take a relaxed posture on my chair, and say to Alex. “Open a channel to the ship.”

  Alex’s hands flies over his work station. He then gives me the sign to start speaking.

  “Union Starship Phantom, this is Jeremy Black, Captain of The White Silk. We apologize for earlier. We encountered some problems with our FTL drive that caused it to malfunction. Please, can you state the reason for this arrest?”

  I pause and wait for some response. It comes one full minute later as our view screen fills up with the image of the huge and stunning bridge of the Phantom. It is not this view, however, that catches my attention. It is the view of the painfully attractive, suggestively-dressed young lady that stands to address me.

  She stands at attention like she’s military. She’s wearing a blue, tightly fitted jump suit that highlights her curvaceous form. Her brunette hair is tied back in a bun and her long neck terminates at a bulgy chest. I can’t help but wander down to her cleavage as a bit of it is revealed by the dipping neckline of her uniform.

  In spite of my indulgence, the woman maintains a steely gaze. She says in a terminal and incredibly cold voice, “Prepare to be boarded.” Then the image vanishes and is replaced by the image of the starship against the backdrop of space.

  I look from Alex to Garret. They’re both scared. I jump out of my sit and scramble for the elevator. I take the elevator down to where the cargo is being kept. Adjacent to the cargo hold is the entrance bay, through which the Union troops will board the ship. I meet Sibiu who is coming out of the small, secret hatch in the middle of the cargo hold. I curse our luck that we don’t have so much physical cargo in our cargo hold. It is going to make the secret hatch a lot easier to find, if the troops don’t already know what they are looking for.

  I help the small man out and seal the secret hatch close. Then together we move some of the crates and boxes around in a seemingly random manner. If I concentrate them right above the secret hatch, this is probably where the troops will look first.

  Even before we are finished I feel the ship vibrate as we are docked with the cruiser.

  I glance at Sibiu. “Stay here and make it look like you’re taking stock. Act like everything is okay.”

  I run through a small access way into the entrance bay. The sharp flash of escaping pressurized air fills my ears. The entrance bay is almost as large as the cargo hold, although it is more longitudinal to allow for vehicles driving in and out of the ship during pick up or drop down missions. It’s basically Spartan, a metal box of hull plating. There is a small panel of buttons by the hatch, which commands the hatch to slide up into its home. From there, a door can be opened to the cargo hold.

  Alex and Garret are waiting for me in the entrance bay. I join them.

  “What do you think they want?” asks Alex.

  My reply is simple and sincere. “I’ll be damned if I knew.”

  There’s a warning sound, which is followed by the main doors sliding up. I see their boots first, because the door slides up slowly. Then I see their neatly- pressed khaki pants. Then I see their guns and their hardened face. There must have been a
hundred of them. The moment they could walk straight through without banging their heads against the rising door, they flood the entrance bay, their guns pointed at us and yelling for us to show our hands.

  Our hands rise into the air. A couple of soldiers peel off from the invading party to secure us in restraints. The rest spread through the ship and one manipulates the main control switch by the door and opens the blast door connecting the entrance bay and the cargo hold. About five soldiers hold positions in the entrance bay while another ten enter the cargo hold via the open blast doors.

  A group of ten officers carry an assortment of scanning devices into our ship. Some of the devices were handheld. Some were hefted along the ground. Following them through is the lady commander.

  “Search every square inch of this ship,” she orders the scientists with the scanners. “I want that ale found!”

  When I hear her command, my heart chills with fear. The next thing I know is I’m filled with an overwhelming desire to run. But then I have nowhere to run. I’m doomed. Following this realization are pictures of being confined to a dark cell on some prison world in some backwater star system of the Union.

  I swallow hard and hold my head up high as I am approached by the commander. The lady looks at all three of us and then focuses on me.

  “Captain Jeremy,” she addresses me formally.

  “Yes,” I reply, trying to cover the distance between us for maybe a handshake. I’m pulled back by the trooper that is holding me.

  He mutters for me to stay put in a voice that could probably put the fear of god in living creature. I know I am screwed.

  “Can you please tell me the reason for this invasion?” Bob screams and spits as he is pushed into the entrance bay. He falls flat before us. I try to help him, but the trooper holding me butts me in the back of my head with his weapons causing me to see stars for a brief moment. When I come to, I’m still standing and so is Bob, who is now in restraints to my side.

  “I say stay put,” comes the deadly voice in my ears.

  The lady commander has an animated look on her face. She says, “We received intelligence that you’re carrying contraband ale. In fact, we were informed that the ale you’re carrying contains a banned psychotropic substance known in the underworld as DX350. Do you deny this?”