Legacy Fleet: Mississippi Burning (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Drew Avera

  “CAG said the first aircraft will be wheels in wells in forty-five seconds, Captain.” Carter rose from his seat and looked at her with concern etched across his face. He stepped closer, but stopped short. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, biting back the urge to groan. Everything was going to hell in a handbasket and her ship was all-but-dead. So much for retirement. She just hoped launching the aircraft would save a few lives instead of taking them with her to the hell waiting below. The sound of aircraft launching from the hangar of the Mississippi echoed through the hull of the battlecruiser. Each one was another life saved as far as the weary captain was concerned. Carter moved back to his station, keeping an eye on her, but saying nothing. She had that to be thankful for.

  That thankfulness took a nose dive as riddled explosions tore into the fighters creeping from their burrows inside the ship. The Swarm was targeting the smaller ships, snuffing them out as the Mississippi, their only true defense, was falling to its death. She didn’t need the monitor feed to tell her she’d made the wrong choice. Fuck the pain. She winced as she climbed back to her feet, grabbing the intercom. “CAG, cancel the last order, I don’t need these pilots going out like this.” She screamed the order into the intercom, both from terror and the burning inflammation wreaking havoc on her body.

  “Copy that,” CAG replied from his station.

  Talk about a rock and proverbial hard place. “I need to do something,” she said, pacing the small area of the helm, gritting her teeth.

  “We have ignition!” Humberto called out over the noise on the bridge, drawing attention to himself.

  “How?” Joan asked.

  With a smile on his face he said, “Forced reset of the computerized monitoring system. It took a few tries, but I’ll be damned if it didn’t work. We are only at thirty-percent power, though. It should be enough to slowly climb out of the gravity well.”

  “I’ll kiss you if we make it out of this,” Joan said sarcastically. “All right, let’s get some altitude,” she ordered.

  The Mississippi climbed begrudgingly, the strain on its hull causing it to creak and groan under the weight of itself as it fought for altitude. Every few seconds, the thrust shifted and the ship seemed as if it was falling, but the instruments showed a steady climb nonetheless. It was the third-time hope flittered on the wings of dumb luck and Joan refused to give into the temptation to celebrate prematurely.

  They burned towards Lasister Station, named after Gerald Lasister, the first IDF Admiral in the sector. His career was marvelous in the fact he oversaw humanity reach the sector and maintained peace between the IDF and Russia in the process. Many thought he was in Russia’s pocket, but later it was revealed that peace was made after a quick and volatile skirmish, one where then Captain Lasister had nuked an incoming Russian battlecruiser. No IDF records reflected the small, deadly battle, but there was correspondence between Lasister and the Russians negotiating peace in the sector. Of course, by time the information became public, Lasister was dead from terminal cancer and the station was already named in his honor. Not every hero was who they said they were.

  The Mississippi waited for the q-jump to engage, to evade the menace and buy enough time to live another day. White-knuckled, Joan inhaled sharply, biting back the tearing sensation in her chest and the dull ache rose to become a sharp pain. Her vision tunneled and she strained to keep her eyes open, to focus.

  “We have q-jump capability, Captain,” Carter said without turning to face her.

  “Engage,” she barked.

  The bridge was alive with activity as everyone went about their business, preparing the ship for displacement to another location. It would only last a second, but that moment could be very disorienting.

  “Three, two, one, engaged,” Commander Carter said, pressing the console to take the Mississippi to its new coordinates.

  The ship seemed to fall away and reappear under her feet, but it was probably just her imagination. On the monitor was Lasister Station looming stoically from its berth above the dark side of Corla. “Radio in, brief them on our situation,” Joan said, standing on shaky legs. She wanted to give in to the fall, to stop trying, but she wanted to see this through to the end, whatever the end might be.

  Carter turned, “There’s no response, Captain.”

  Her eyes narrowed, observing the station and how it seemed to be just as lively as any other station she’d seen. Are they dead? I don’t see any damage. “Take us closer and scan the station. I need to know if Lasister Station has been compromised.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  She waited a moment before the sound of tapping drew her attention to Commander Carter. “What’s that sound?”

  “Morse Code,” he answered. “It’s coming from Lasister Station. They’re alive, ma’am.”

  Joan could hear the elation in his voice and the rumbling sigh of relief from the rest of the bridge. Finally, we’re no longer alone. The excitement dwindled quickly as an alarm triggered. “What now?”

  No one answered right away, but soon the Intel Officer replied, “They found us. It’s the Swarm!”

  The ship listed port and groaned under the strain of a blast. Joan almost lost her balance, but recovered by grabbing hold of her seat. “Why didn’t we see the missiles coming?”

  Commander Carter’s face was grim. “I think q-jumping caused more damage. We don’t have radar or comms,” he answered.

  Shit.

  “Turn the ship and get as many guns trained on those motherfuckers as we can get!” Joan screamed, the tightness in her chest turning into a sharp, stabbing pain that carried down her left arm. She felt it behind her left eye as well, but she fought to keep from crying out.

  The Mississippi rolled with the sudden turn, the monitor lighting the bridge as missiles fired from Lasister Station. At least we aren’t alone out here. She shut her eyes and held her breath, fighting to keep the pain at bay.

  Somewhere in the moments of lucidity, Joan heard the commotion on the bridge. Some cheered, others seemed to lament as the ship was struck over and over. She thought she heard her name called from somewhere distant, but she couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes and acknowledge it. A loud explosion erupted a few decks below and sent her crashing to the deck, her body aching as it collided with the steel structure. She didn’t know if the crying came from her or someone else, but she heard it just the same. What did it matter?

  Someone hefted her from the deck, her head bobbing as the weight of it shifted from side to side. The motion made her nauseated, but she didn’t have the strength to stop her head from moving. The sounds of chaos surrounded her. Screaming begot more screaming and the smell of smoke filled her nostrils with its stench. She tried to open her eyes, but they burned. She didn’t know if it was from the nearby fire or something else, but she was ready to give up. Her heart was dead before her body realized it; if not physically dead, then spiritually. Commander Joan Everett was spent.

  “Mother.”

  The voice sounded so familiar, yet so distant.

  “Mother.”

  Joan opened her eyes, but the bright light pierced and burned every sensitive nerve in her body. She groaned, shifting her body in a way that felt weightless. Her body didn’t feel the same to her.

  “Mother.”

  That was the last time she would hear that word without knowing who spoke it. Forgetting the pain, Joan opened her eyes and welcomed the blinding light. She tried to shield herself with her hands, but it shone through, making the flesh around the bones appear a translucent red. She blinked furiously and her vision returned. First in soft blurriness, and finally into something remarkable enough to call vision, though she had to squint to see details. It was enough.

  She looked around and noticed she was no longer on her ship. The corridors were too wide to be the Mississippi, but neither were they on Corla. The bulkheads were distinctly those of a space station. Lasister.

  “Mother.”

  The
voice came from behind her and she turned, her heart drumming in her chest. She saw him then, a boy no older than nine years old, little hands clutching the uniformed arm of a woman on a gurney. The woman’s uniform looked familiar. She must have been part of the crew of Lasister Station.

  “No,” she said hoarsely. She tried to rise, but she was strapped down with tubes and wires. “No!” she fought, unsuccessfully, to lift herself from her gurney, to try and fight for the young mother’s life lost to battle. The boy looked at her, tears in his eyes reflecting the ones pouring down her own cheeks as she watched the realization of life and death become an acknowledgment to the child.

  “I think my mom is dead,” he said, his lips pouting, fighting to hold back the sob that was as unstoppable as the Swarm.

  Restrained, Joan could do nothing but watch, straining to see the boy from the odd angle of how she canted her neck. She didn’t want to watch, but the boy was alone and without his mother. Someone had to watch him, she thought. Fuck the helpless feeling of being bound, hands tied. She failed him by not protecting his mother, she would be damned if she failed him again.

  “What’s your name?” she choked.

  He looked at her, questioningly. “Ray,” he answered.

  Joan smiled as a mixture of pain and amusement battled for her attention. “That was my son’s name,” she said, thinking about him when he was this young boy’s age. It seemed so long ago.

  The boy looked around and then gazed into her eyes again. “Where is he?”

  Joan’s smile faded. She thought for a moment before speaking again. “He’s with your mother,” she answered, and for a long while their eyes were caught in each other’s gazes. She felt pain, but she’d grown used to it. The only battle left in her body was to maintain consciousness, to not leave the boy alone to suffer such a devastating loss. But soon, she, too, faded; giving up the ghost she’d carried with her for so many years. At last, she could finally be at peace. A peace the Swarm threatened as they drew nearer, but for Joan the fight was over.

  Chapter Four

  One month later:

  He stood with his hands in his pockets as the small crowd of media personnel formed around him. Thirty days was a long time in most people’s eyes, but the nightmares of the Swarm attacking Vira Station on its way to Earth rang through Prime Minister Geraldo’s mind. I haven’t had a descent night’s sleep since, he thought as he rubbed his dry eyes with one hand, the other gripped into a tight fist in his pocket. What can I say to settle the minds of the survivors when I can’t settle my own doubts and worries?

  Geraldo cleared his throat and the murmuring crowd quieted. He looked to his secretary, Lindsay, and the other man nodded. It was time.

  “I have nothing new to tell you that you don’t already know,” he started. “The Swarm returned and we were powerless to defeat them. If you look to the sky you will see the void of pinkish sky as the light reflects off our three moons. That void used to inhabit Vira Station, it used to be a beacon for our society to reach beyond our system and back home to Earth, but now it is gone. Are we alone? In a way; yes, but from the dark side of our planet we found hope. We are blessed to have Lasister Station slowly burning closer to us to help with radio transmissions, but life as we knew it is over. The devastation of our eastern settlements as Vira fell to the ground is the largest disaster to take place on Corla in human history.

  “The Swarm took more from us than just a bustling number of our population and our most important station, though. They took our security.”

  Geraldo stopped reading his notes as they scrolled alone the teleprompter. His hands left his pockets and settled on the podium before him. There were no more words to say in his prewritten speech that said what he wanted to get off his chest. Lindsay stepped closer, but Geraldo narrowed his eyes at him, causing the man to stop. The secretary’s eyes widened when he looked at Geraldo as if something was wrong, but he obeyed the unspoken order to stay where he was. There is something wrong, Geraldo thought, and that’s why we’re here. He gripped the hard, native wood which was handcrafted for the first Prime Minister of Corla generations ago. The seal of his position etched into the top reminded him that he was leader of Corla whether he wanted it or not. His charge was for the security of these people, the security that the Swarm snuffed out in less than an hour.

  “They tried to take our hope,” he said, breaking his silence. He could hear the air let out of the room as his words fell on the ears of his people. The people who witnessed the crippling grip of annihilation as it choked their world. Why were we spared? Why did the Swarm not finish the job? Those were the unanswered questions that kept him up at night.

  “The tried to take our hope,” he said again, this time with emphasis. “Thirty days ago, I wanted to give up. Thirty days ago, I wanted to give in to the crushing self-doubt that flowed through my veins. Never in my life have I felt so broken and incapable of carrying out my duties, but what kind of person would I be to dishonor the sacrifices of the men and women who gave their lives to protect us? Admiral Kershaw and the thousands of IDF personnel on Vira Station are gone because they did the hard job of protecting us. The ISS Minerva and ISS Newton, gone from the fleet as they waged battle against the Swarm, are among the lost heroes of humanity. Many of you watched the ISS Mississippi burning across our sky as she entered our atmosphere in hopes of reaching Lasister Station in a final ditch effort to make a last stand against the Cumrats who came to destroy humanity. Captain Everett died on Lasister Station, but some of her crew miraculously survived. Even the Mississippi is salvageable and is currently in repair. We will need that ship to defend us and the people to man it in order to survive. Those people are the heroes of our world and I want to honor them by not taking the easy way out and giving up.

  “Make no mistake about it. The Swarm returned and they used as an appetizer to go after Earth. The reports I’m receiving tell me that Earth held their own against the enemy, but is that a victory or a stall in the battle? I wish I could tell you I was confident that the Legacy Fleet ships used to fight the Swarm recently were able to earn a decided victory for humanity, but how long before they come back and retaliate again?”

  Geraldo stopped talking, the words on the teleprompter paused on words meant to be inspiring, but he was so far off-script that there was no going back. The reports from Earth were encouraging, but his own fears perverted the reports and now he was feeding that fear to the people of Corla. Perhaps they should be afraid, he thought. Maybe fear will prevent this from happening again. He looked out at the small crowd, less than a dozen of them, and only four cameras. He knew his words were being televised to the survivors on Corla and he knew he already opened Pandora’s Box as his fear tainted his words. There was no going back, but he didn’t want to go back anyway. Fear was useful. Fear was necessary.

  “This morning I signed the approval for three new stations to be manufactured to replace Vira Station. These stations will be smaller and spread around our planet to prevent us from experiencing the same problems we witnessed thirty days ago. These stations will be used for more than security. These stations will be weapons against an alien terrorist threat and once these stations are in orbit, we will construct another, and another until we are satisfied we will never be thrust on the brink of extinction again.”

  Geraldo turned to the easel and pulled the cloth from it. “I present to you, Vira II, Kershaw Station, and Everett Station.”

  The crowd applauded as Geraldo turned to face them. Flashes from cameras made his vision blurry, but he stood and smiled, hoping to convey that everything would eventually be all right even if he had a hard time believing it himself.

  “Sir, how long will it be before the new stations are in orbit?”

  Geraldo blinked a few times to restore his vision and looked at the woman journalist wither hand raised. “The plans for Vira II are approved and construction has already begun. The salvage team obtained some important materials from the destroyed station wh
ich will be used in the construction of Vira II. They were also able to obtain materials from the ISS Newton and ISS Minerva. I know this might seem odd, but it is necessary to recycle as much material as possible to aid us in the construction of these stations. Corla does not provide as many resources as Earth and it is to our benefit to do what is needed to get the job done.

  “As far as the first station being in orbit, I was told to expect Vira II to replace Vira Station within eight months. The station will not be one-hundred-percent, but it will be habitable and able to provide some of the much-needed duties that were lost with Vira Station.”

  Another woman raised her hand and asked, “The stations do not look the same in the image. Will they serve different purposes?”

  Geraldo nodded. “Yes, if you’ve ever compared Vira and Lasister, you will note they were not designed the same either. Lasister contains more weapons stations and sensor arrays than Vira did, but Vira was easier to dock for larger transport ships and had enough space to detain prisoners. Kershaw Station and Everett Station will be smaller than Vira II, but they will be equipped with more weapons to defend Vira II. Each will maintain orbit in proximity to a moon to aid in stealth capabilities as well.”

  “And that will help if this is to happen again?” The second woman asked to follow-up.

  Geraldo stood in silence, the cameras no longer flashing and the small crowd of media personnel patiently awaiting his response. There was no right answer for the question, though. There was only speculation and an ounce or two of hope. Geraldo shoved his hands back in his pockets and shrugged. “The truth is it’s the best we can do for a threat we may or may not see again. This isn’t Earth. Corla’s surface is ninety-five percent water and can’t provide the resources needed to make a heavily defensive force. Perhaps that fact is why the Swarm left us alone; we didn’t register as a significant enough threat to occupy their time. But by not doing anything, we are surely doomed to die if anything like this happens again. In short, it’s the best we can do.”