by Nick Webb
Volz leaned back to the eccentric comm officer. “Lieutenant? There’s no time. Is this going to work or not? Yes or no. Right now.”
Qwerty’s eyes widened, then settled and steeled themselves. “Yes.”
He motioned to Riisa. “Do it, ensign.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “Acknowledged.”
Qwerty’s fingers were almost a blur. Ten seconds passed, then twenty. “Lieutenant? Now! If you can’t do something, then pass back control and let’s get the hell on with—”
“Got it! Rerouting the reconditioned signal back to you, ensign. Plug it right into the thrusters.”
More under-the-breath swearing from Riisa, but she did it, then blinked. “Holy shit. What did you do?”
“The auto-translator has a nice little algorithm in it that takes a signal—a pattern—and uses another predictive algorithm to judge what’s going to happen next, perturb the incoming signal, then reprocess to—”
“That’s all, lieutenant. Riisa, does it work?” Volz glanced back to his navigation officer, whose face still wore an expression of incredulity.
“Uh … yeah. No matter what the Swarm ship does, our ship’s thrusters match it within, well hell, within a few microseconds. Sometimes it even matches it beforehand. I think we’re good.”
Qwerty nodded, a little too smugly. “Translation software is rather good at predicting intent and meaning, even if the signal is not language but navigational data. In fact, if we—”
“Thank you, lieutenant, that’s all.” Volz swiveled back to Whitehorse at tactical. “Have you located the silk road yet?”
They had discovered that every one of the massive Swarm ships had an empty space inside. A long void that spanned the length of the ship as it branched out to giant weapons spires as well as other random arms coming off the vessel, the purpose of which none of them could guess. But the exterior hull was so well-shielded that it was undetectable from the outside of the ship.
And that void was just big enough for a ship the size of the Independence.
She finally gave a thumbs up. “Got it. It’s about twenty-two kilometers through the ship off our port bow.”
“Twenty-two, huh? We’ll never blast our way through that much ship. Jerusha, patch the coordinates through to navigation. Riisa? Begin the q-jump calculations.”
“Sir! The fleet is taking a beating. Admiral Tillis’s ship is heavily damaged, and he’s ordering us to assist them.”
“Any sign of the Granger moons yet?” said Volz.
“None, sir. It’s already been five minutes since the Swarm ships appeared in system. And….” She scanned her sensor readouts. “Two of the ships now have weapons spires pointing directly down at the surface, and they’re charging.” He could almost see tears in her eyes when she looked up. “Britannia has less than a minute.”
He steeled himself and faced the viewscreen. “Well let’s make that minute count. Ensign Riisa?”
“Ready, sir.”
“Jerusha? Is maneuver Ballsy Bitch Slap Four ready?”
“Ready, sir. And I’m getting the go ahead from Batshit.”
He nodded. As much as he loathed the idea, as much as he cringed at the thought of losing his son, he was the lynchpin.
“Then let’s get slapping.”
Chapter Seven
Fighter cockpit
Near Britannia
“Ethan, you’re a go. Maneuver Ballsy Bitch Slap Four,” said Lieutenant Whitehorse over the comm in the fighter pilot’s ready room.
“Son of a bitch. Jerusha, tell the old man it’s Batshit Bitch Slap One, not Ballsy Bitch Slap Four. I came up with this fair and square.” But even as he feigned offense, he clicked the seal shut on his helmet and gloves and ran for his bird. It had been specially outfitted just for this mission. A mission he knew there was a high likelihood he wouldn’t walk away from—which he chalked up to his dad just wanting to protect his own bogey kill record—but risk was part of the job.
And there were eight billion people who were about to eat it. If there was a chance his life would save theirs….
He nearly tripped over the extra equipment strewn all about the fighter bay deck and jumped into his bird just as the hatch was closing. He gunned the engine—no time for pre-flight checks. Safety was the last thing on his mind at the moment.
“Bridge. Batshit ready.”
He waited for Whitehorse’s signal, but to his surprise it was Volz’s voice that came over the comm. “Son, if you don’t make it out of this alive, I swear I’m going to kick your ass. Got it?”
“Never kick a man when he’s down, pops.” He eased the bird off the deck—not so much for his own safety, but for all the deck hands still swarming the deck, prepping for the next victim of Batshit Bitch Slap One should he fail. “If you do, I’ll haunt you. I’ll come back and give you chronic erectile dysfunction. Or will that be redundant?”
“If only I’d had chronic ED back when I dated your mom.”
Zivic grinned and suppressed a chuckle—when he was a teenager, before his father left, they’d have insult wars where they’d constantly try to one-up each other with outrageously offensive one-liners.
But there was no time for laughing. It was time for shooting and killing and possibly dying, but not laughing.
Still, it was a signal to him that, in spite of all that had happened over the years, he and his dad were finally … reconciling? Naw, that was too much. But … whatever it was, it was something.
“Be safe, son.”
He nodded as he shot out of the bay. “I will.”
The comm cut out and crackled to life again with Whitehorse’s voice. “Ethan, we just completed the q-jump. We’re in the silk road. You’re good to go—we’ll follow your lead.”
He punched the thrusters and the sudden g-force smashed him back in the seat before the inertial compensator could kick in. Soon he flew past the Independence and soared down the silk road. The Independence matched his speed before long, and Bitch Slap Four was on.
“Ethan, detecting a section full of guns ahead. Look sharp,” said Whitehorse.
“I see them.” He peered ahead, seeing the rows of guns mounted on the side of the massively wide and long tunnel that was the silk road. The fact that the massive internal space had any anti-ship guns in the first place told him that the Swarm at least entertained the possibility of enemies making in there somehow, though where the actual entrance was still eluded them. They’d follow the silk road all the way to the end, which, they’d recently learned, terminated in one of the main power generators for at least a quarter of the ship. His indicators yelled at him, telling him that the guns were rotating his way.
“Here we go!” He dove, then righted himself, then flipped, and swerved, all while the dozen or so guns trained their sights on him and unleashed hell.
A round caught his wing and jolted him good, but the damage wasn’t critical. Damn. He was only ten seconds into this. Why the hell did he sign up again?
Several bright explosions ahead of him told him the Independence was completing its end of the bargain by blasting the Swarm guns to oblivion. Still, all the remaining guns fired at him, not the larger ship behind him.
They’d learned that the Swarm tended to attack threats in series, with little regard for their severity. Which meant that they’d focus all their fire on the tiny little fighter in front and ignore the bigger ship behind it until the gnat was neutralized. Then they’d shoot at the wasp.
“Shark bait, look alive, there’s another row of guns coming up ahead,” said Whitehorse in his ear.
“Any word on how close we are to the honeypot?”
“A hundred kilometers at least.”
“More fun for me, then.” He yanked the controls to the side just as the first volley came through. Every so often he’d pop off a few rounds at one of the many gun towers peppering the tunnel walls, but mostly he focused on the first part of his mission: staying alive. The Independence showered mag-rail
rounds on the turrets from a safe distance a few kilometers back.
Seventy more kilometers.
Then sixty.
They were making excellent time. During a lull in the evasive maneuvers, he took a moment to appreciate the sheer scale of the tunnel around him. It was dimly lit, only guide lights showing up here and there, with untold numbers of tubes, piping, power and cooling conduits, and all sorts of buildings and structures that he could only guess at the purpose of.
Until he saw it. A structure on the wall, with windows. He only caught a glimpse since he was going so fast, but it was enough.
“Ho … ly … shit.”
“Zivic? You ok? Another cluster of guns ahead. What’s up?”
“Uh … remind me, Jerusha. The Swarm was a liquid race back in the day, right?”
A pause. “Well, not exactly. The Valarisi were liquid, and the Swarm took control of them through the Penumbra black hole. We have no idea what the Swarm actually look like, since they never actually came to our universe themselves.”
“Well, guess what, honey, they’re here.”
He flew past another one of the odd structures, this one with a few transparent wall panels that let him peer in. He pushed the controls hard to come to a near complete stop, snapped a few pictures with the flight cam, then shot away before the gun clusters could get a good lock.
“Sending you guys a dick pic. Except way, way uglier.”
Chapter Eight
Bridge
ISS Defiance
Sector 21-K
Admiral Proctor didn’t take her eyes off Fiona Liu—former IDF intel operative turned presidential murderer.
And her dead nephew’s girlfriend.
And where the hell did she get that gun? It looked rather odd, and she guessed that perhaps it was assembled recently, the parts well hidden in pockets and … places she didn’t want to think about.
“Commander Carson, please get your men to the escape pods. It’s me she wants. Get yourselves out before the ship—”
Carson eyed the woman—her face still red and puffy and semi-melted from the assassination attempt on Bolivar—and waved his men to the pods. She swung the gun towards them. “Oh please. Admiral, they’re not going anywhere. And neither are you. Or me.”
“Don’t tell me you have a death wish too?” Proctor blew some breath in contempt. “First you kill Admiral Mullins and President Quimby in one stroke, and now your work is done and you just want to turn in and—”
“Shut up. We’re running out of time.” To Proctor’s surprise, Liu flipped the gun up in the air and caught it by the barrel. She offered it to Lieutenant Case, the marine closest to her. Proctor nodded at him and he grabbed it away. Liu put her hands up. “The core is about to melt down and fry us all with about a million degrees of raw ionizing radiation. I can fix it.”
“You? You’re a former intel field officer. What the hell do you—”
“I was in special ops. They train us in … well, everything. At least the basics of everything. I can get the core stable, at least.”
Carson shook his head. “There’s already enough radiation down there to fry every brain cell in that empty can of yours.”
Liu only smiled and tapped her head. “IDF intel gave me a few more surprises. I’ll be fine.”
“What, like lead shielding in your skull?”
She shrugged. “Something like that.”
Lieutenant Case glanced at the nearest ship readout and pointed. “Ma’am, we got about four minutes before the power plant goes. It’ll take the pods at least two minutes to get us to a safe distance.”
Commander Carson pointed at Liu. “You’re with me. Get in the pod.” He shifted his finger to the nearest escape pod.
“No! We can save the goddamn ship!” She took a step towards Carson, but a shift in the angle of Case’s gun stopped her.
If they could save the ship … that would be far preferable. Otherwise, they’d lose precious days in those escape pods. There was a good chance that they’d be picked up by IDF, and then it was off to the court martial for her.
“Why the hell assemble your smuggled gun here and now, using up your one surprise, and then just hand it over and turn yourself in? What’s your angle?”
Liu looked her in the eye. “To show you I’m sincere.”
Proctor paused only a few seconds. She’d have to sort this out later. For now, they had to live. “Do it.”
The three marines turned towards her, their faces shocked.
“I won’t fail.” Liu turned and ran back down the narrow corridor, turned the corner, and was gone.
“You sure as hell better not fail, bitch.” She pointed to Lieutenant Case. “Patch me in to engineering.”
Moments later the comm turned on, and a few seconds later they heard the doors to engineering open. “Liu, what do you see?”
“Stand by,” she replied.
Nearly thirty seconds passed. Proctor glanced up at Case. “Three minutes,” he said, reading her mind.
Liu’s voice came over the comm. “Every automatic system is fried. But the manual overrides are functioning. I think I can reestablish coolant flow. Heading there now. Stand by.” She coughed. Then coughed again, violently.
Commander Carson shook his head. “If she’s lying about her mods, she’s already received ten times a lethal dose.”
“She’s made up her mind, regardless.” Proctor drummed her fingers nervously. She hated this. Being out of control of her destiny. Having nothing she could do to help. Her life riding on the skill and luck of someone who’d already betrayed her once.
And yet, she did it all the time. Every time she ordered her bridge officers to fire a weapon or engage the q-drive. Her life was always in their hands.
But it didn’t mean she had to like it.
More coughing came scratching through the comm.
“Liu? Are you ok? Status update. Now.”
When she answered, her voice was ragged. “Manual override engaged. Coolant flowing.” More coughing. “I’m going to vent Engineering to get rid of all the rad shit in the air.”
Commander Carson glanced at one of the console readouts and sucked in his breath with a sharp hiss. “She just literally vented engineering. There’s no atmo down there.”
Proctor jumped to her feet. “Liu! Bloody hell.” She turned to Carson. “Are the rad levels back to normal down there?”
“Nearly.”
“Go. Get the air back on. See if you can….” She didn’t want to say save, but she didn’t want to say recover either. Carson nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. He ran out the exit.
It was odd how it was possible to loathe someone, then be thankful to them, then admire them, and finally, fear for their life. All within the space of three minutes. She tapped nervously on the armrest again—more waiting for others to perform their duty.
So that she could live. So that she could live to save Earth again. That was her mission. She knew it, deep down in her gut. That Granger had returned, now, and in that specific manner, at the exact same time as the Swarm, could only mean one thing.
He was here to save them. Which meant her duty was clear.
Help him do it.
Case nodded. “Reactor temperature falling. I think we’re in the clear.”
Proctor lifted her head towards the comm. “Commander Carson?” She expected him to reply with, she’s dead.
“Uh, ma’am, this is rather incredible. I restored atmo to engineering. I’m in here now, and … Liu’s awake. Her face looks like shit from the decompression, but, let’s face it, it already looked like shit before she got here.”
“Liu?” Proctor couldn’t believe it. But, then again, the woman had already lived through the assassination attempt on Bolivar. Ah. She’d taken a goodnight moon—a pill that she claimed would reduce her heart rate and vitals to almost nothing, yet allow her to remain conscious enough to snap out of it. “Let me guess. Did that handy pill let you live through vacuum?”
“Yes,” Liu croaked. Her throat was raw and sounded full of phlegm. “And I had another magic pill for the radiation. But … it can’t handle the gamma rays as well as it does the neutrons. I’m going to need the meds to grow me some new stomach lining.” She followed up that announcement with the sound of retching and the liquid sound of something sloshing onto the floor.
“Well, that must be her old stomach lining there on the floor. Or nachos. I can’t tell.” Carson sounded vaguely disgusted.
“Commander, get her to sickbay. Set her up with auto-diagnostics. That should be able to get you what she needs.” She turned back towards Lieutenant Case. “Power plant’s stable? How are the q-jump engines?”
He examined the readout on his console. “Well, the q-field feedback from Titan damaged every single one of the q-field generators on the hull….”
“But they’re all still there? None exploded or detached or anything?”
“No, ma’am. They’re all still there. Just inoperative.”
She stood back up and strode towards the exit. “Good. Finally, something only I know how to fix.”
Just as she passed the threshold, Case added, “Uh, ma’am, we’ve got another problem.”
When it rains, it pours.
She restrained herself from letting loose a string of profanities. “What now?”
Marines were trained to be absolutely unflappable. Steady and cool in the face of any threat. But the blood in Case’s face had drained away. “Pirates.”
Chapter Nine
Bridge
ISS Independence
Inside Swarm vessel
Near Britannia
Lieutenant Qwerty whistled slowly as the images came onto the screen. “Well. Them’s some ugly sons of bitches, aren’t they?”
Captain Volz nodded his agreement. They were the things of nightmares. Monsters. Almost cartoonishly evil-looking, like in the campy space movies of old. Only these looked far more sinister, more deadly, and more … well, just obviously evil than anything he’d ever seen. Mottled green and black skin, dripping with mucus in some places and hairy in others.
