by Nick Webb
He sighed. “End of the road, Batshit.”
Chapter Twelve
Outer hull
ISS Defiance
Sector 21-K
On instinct, she brought the bag full of generators up in front of her and started shuffling backwards as fast as her magnetic boots would let her. She spun around to search for any cover, but, of course, all she saw a starfield due to the active stealth on the Defiance.
Had they fired yet? She wouldn’t hear it—not that she would. So she picked up the pace, trying to round another corner before they could catch up.
“Call them off, or your little ship gets it,” she yelled into her comm. All she heard on the other end was laughing. “All right. Have it your way. You should know that Defiance has eight mag-rails, several megawatt-class lasers, and one gigawatt laser.” She glanced over her shoulder. The two figures were nearly on top of her.
The pirate snorted. “My tactical officer assures me that your weapons are not powered on. I suspect they’ve been damaged, admiral, and that you’re bluffing.”
She tried to keep her voice steady, even as she rounded another corner on the Defiance, almost coming around to the point where she’d started. But she veered left, to the dorsal portion of the hull. Four more generators to replace down there. “Very well. Here’s a small demonstration. Just a tiny one—I don’t want to kill you. Yet.”
Lieutenant Case and Lieutenant Davenport were good. As soon as she finished saying the word yet, she felt something pulse beneath her feet. Then twice more.
With her heads-up display she tapped into the tactical readout from the bridge and zoomed in on the pirate ship. Perfect. With the only operating mag-rail at one tenth power, they couldn’t penetrate the hull.
But they could definitely take out one of the pirate’s laser turrets. Or at least damage it enough to get their attention.
“Wait! Stop! Ok, I’ll call them off.” The pirate was arguing with someone in the background. Apparently, opinion was still divided on their ship.
She supposed that meant another demonstration was in order. “Not fast enough. Maybe this can make you see reason. That’s an awfully nice meta-space transmitter you’ve got there. Be a shame if something happened to it.”
Moments later, she watched on her heads-up display as the antennae array of the meta-space transmitter got pulverized by a few more low power mag-rail slugs.
“Really, guys. We can stop this. Just pull back to a safe distance, and—” her sentence was cut off by an explosion just ten meters to her left. There was no pressure wave in space, but the hull jolted strong enough to knock loose the magnetic lock of her boots. “Dammit,” she swore as she flailed around, trying to aim her feet back at the surface to reengage the lock.
“Ma’am, Lieutenant Davenport. That was a mag-rail slug they fired at us. Full power. Blew clean through three decks. Nearly killed Commander Carson and Liu down in the med bay.”
The magnetic boots finally latched back on, first one, then another, as the power momentarily spiked up to generate a magnetic field strong enough to reach down to the deck and pull her in. “They’ve seen through the bluff. I’ve only got four more generators, lieutenant. But I’ve got two goons out here with big guns—”
She rounded the next corner, and there they were, just meters away, their assault rifles pointed straight at her chest. She released her grip on the bag and raised her hands up slowly. The bag stayed put, luckily. But, unluckily, one of the pirates pointed his rifle at it and peppered it with rounds. It flew off into the black of space. There went their only hope of escape.
The other one motioned to her with his rifle, pointing first at her feet, then up at the pirate ship, which had gotten almost close enough to spit at. His meaning was clear: release her boots’ magnetic lock, and then jump up towards the other ship. She presumed one of his comrades would be there to catch her and reel her in. And from there, collect the fifty million bounty.
She nodded slowly, trying hard not to make any sudden moves that would earn her a bullet through the face, and crouched down to fiddle with the magnetic controls on her boots, moving as slowly as she thought she could get away with. One boot disengaged, more fiddling, then another, and finally she looked back up at the pirate who’d motioned to her. He repeatedly jabbed up towards his ship with a finger, and she could just make out his face behind the faceplate, yelling at her to jump, apparently.
And, to her great relief, and vague disgust, his helmet puffed out a fine mist of red and gray. With the mag boots still locked to the hull, his body swiveled forward and down from the force of the bullet that had punctured his skull, bounced off the hull, and came to rest at a forty-five degree angle. Behind stood another figure, and through the faceplate she recognized a grinning Lieutenant Case, who was already aiming at the other pirate, who, upon seeing his dead comrade, immediately released his own magnetic boot lock on the hull and launched himself towards his own ship. He started to swing his own assault rifle back down towards them, but Case had already peppered him with several rounds. He turned limp, and spun slowly in space, his body flinging boiling droplets of blood outward in a spiral which soon crystallized into a frozen cloud of red mist.
Admiral Proctor didn’t even have time to breathe a sigh of relief before her comm exploded with Lieutenant Davenport’s voice. “Admiral! They’re charging up their mag-rail again!”
Lieutenant Case sprang forward and grabbed her by the arm. “Come with me, ma’am.” With surprising force he pulled her clean from the hull in spite of her mag boots and ran towards the area where her heads-up display indicated the Defiance’s hull curved around, away from the pirate ship.
The pirate captain’s voice crackled over her headset. “You can’t hide, Proctor. And at this point I’m happy to settle for the twenty million for bringing you in dead.”
She finally let herself breathe when they rounded the invisible corner—she could only tell they’d done so because the pirate ship disappeared behind the stealthed hull of the Defiance, replaced by the virtual black starfield of the stealth projectors.
Except the other side of the hull wasn’t any safer.
Another ship appeared with the flash of a q-jump field.
Another pirate ship. This one far, far larger than the first. A stolen or repurposed IDF gunship, from the looks of it.
Lieutenant Case stopped abruptly, and his voice came over her headset. “Oh … shit.”
Chapter Thirteen
Bridge
ISS Independence
Inside Swarm vessel
Near Britannia
“Captain, Zivic has been trying to contact us, but there’s a short range jamming signal at the source,” said Whitehorse.
“What do you mean, at the source?”
She scrunched her brow up. “Huh. That’s odd.” With a few flicks and taps she navigated through more sensor data, and then her eyes widened. “He’s not alone out there. I wasn’t picking it up earlier, but there’s an automated defense system—looks like a few thousand drones protecting the core. It’s jamming his comm signal and firing at him.”
Volz jumped out of his seat, straining his knee in the process, and ran back to the tactical station. “A few thousand? Can we use our point-defense cannons? Tell the targeting computer to treat them like incoming torpedoes?”
“I’ll try,” said Whitehorse. “But the PDCs are meant for a few dozen incoming torpedoes, not a few thousand drone fighters.” An indicator flashed on her console and she glanced at her readout. “He’s been hit. Spinning out.” She looked up at him. “He’s not going to make it. He’s lost engine control, a few hundred drones are still shooting at him, and he’s spinning straight towards the wall of the silk road.”
“And captain,” said another tactical officer, “A thousand of those drones are headed this way.”
Volz did some quick math, and the realization dawned on him. “We have to get out of here.”
“Sir?” Whitehorse looked horrified
at the thought of leaving Zivic, and of aborting the mission when they were so close.
“We, meaning you. You’re in command, Lieutenant Whitehorse. Get the ship back outside and assist Admiral Tillis.”
“But sir!”
“No arguments. We don’t stand a chance against a thousand drones swarming our hull and pricking us to death. By the time we can knock all of them out they’ll have shot us up good and dead.”
She wasn’t backing down. “No. Sir. Send a pilot. You can’t risk—”
He held up a finger to silence her. “No. I can risk it. He’s our best pilot, and we still have a chance to blow the core.”
“Like hell,” she retorted. “What, you’re going to shoot it with a SAR shuttle’s mini-gun? That’s meant for anti-personnel—”
“We don’t have time, Jerusha.” He recognized that look of defiance on her face, and pulled her in close. “I can’t leave him. Not again. The first time I did twenty years ago nearly killed him. This time it literally will. And me too.”
She bit her lip. But, slowly, reluctantly, nodded her agreement. “Godspeed, captain.”
Technically, as the commanding officer, he didn’t need her assent. But it was Jerusha. His would-have-been daughter. As soon as she nodded, he squeezed her shoulder, then raced off the bridge and took the stairs to the next deck two at a time. Within thirty seconds he was in the shuttle bay.
He passed the search and rescue shuttle—that wasn’t going to be enough in this situation—and climbed aboard one of the smaller shuttles they’d equipped for what would have been “Ballsy Bitch Slap Five.” He flagged down one of the deck hands. “Son, is this thing ready? Everything secure?”
“Yes sir, but the fuel—”
“Don’t care. Emergency reserve fuel full?”
“Yes, but you should know the tow—”
“Good.” He jumped through the hatch and mashed the controls with his fist to close it, and practically dove through the small door into the cockpit. No time for preflights. He spun up the engine in less than three seconds and lifted off, darting through the slowly rising bay doors with inches to spare.
Whitehorse’s voice came through his comm. “Sir, he’s about three hundred meters from the wall, and closing fast. About twenty seconds from crashing.”
“Get the hell out, Jerusha. See you on the other side.”
He gunned the engines to maximum and raced towards the spinning fighter.
Fifteen seconds.
He was going to make it. A glance at his ETA told him he’s have three seconds to spare.
Now, what to do with those three seconds? He checked the tow cable status.
Shit. The launch mechanism was damaged. That was what the deck hand was trying to tell him.
Ten seconds.
He reached down and checked the status of the emergency tail hook. It wasn’t so much of a hook as a heavily reinforced net that would snag onto special protrusions on the shuttle bay’s deck during emergency landings, but the name was a holdover from the early days.
It was intact and ready.
It was also only about fiver meters long.
“It’ll have to do.” He pulled the manual release mechanism and heard the net deploy from the bottom rear of the shuttle.
Five seconds. Ethan’s spinning fighter grew larger in his viewport, Swarm drones crisscrossing his intercept vector, peppering them both with the small-caliber but deadly rounds. He prayed that he wasn’t crazy.
“Four, three, two, one, and … now,” he said to himself out loud, swinging around the spinning fighter with just a meter to spare. He had to be close to catch the blasted thing in the net.
The shuttle lurched to one side, then another, as the momentum of the spinning fighter was arrested by his own shuttle’s engines. “Dammit!” he yelled, when he flew out of his seat and hit the wall hard. He’d forgotten to fasten his seat restraint.
He vaguely felt sharp pain in the side of his chest—a cracked rib?—but jumped back into the pilot’s seat. The thrusters were slightly less responsive with the new mass to account for, but he flew them away from the wall of the silk road.
And towards the power core looming at the end of the tunnel.
Out of his side viewport window he caught sight of the Independence q-jumping away.
They were alone.
And with a near-impossible task still to perform.
“Dad? What are you—” Ethan’s voice crackled over his comm—the short range jamming was still active, but they were close enough that the signal could punch through.
“What the hell have I told you about stupid-ass stunts like that, boy?”
“… to not do them?”
“And don’t forget it. And also, please pay no attention to the stupid-ass stunt I’m doing to save your stupid ass.”
Ethan chuckled. “I won’t tell a living soul. Seeing how I probably won’t have the chance to.” Volz could hear him pounding on something in his cabin. “Dammit, all the port thrusters are still jammed. Ok, what’s the plan, pops?”
“See that big tower ahead that’s crackling with energy?”
“Yeah….”
“We’re going to blow it up.”
Ethan paused. “You … saved me to help you kill ourselves?”
“Don’t argue with your father,” he said, gunning the engines to maximum.
Chapter Fourteen
Outer hull
ISS Defiance
Sector 21-K
Proctor’s mind spun, frantically trying to think her way out of it. The newly arrived pirate ship would have been an even match with the Defiance even under normal circumstances. Now? The battle wouldn’t even last ten seconds.
There was only one thing to do. “Lieutenant Davenport, do you have access to the power plant controls?”
After a few moments he responded tentatively. “Yes, ma’am, some of them are still responding.”
“Set it to overload. Now.”
“Ma’am?”
She eyes the other pirate ship as it edged closer to them with its maneuvering thrusters. “Now, lieutenant. Give us about three minutes. You know how to do that?”
“I … I think so, ma’am.” After another ten seconds he continued, “Yes, ma’am. Power plant is set to overload. A runaway matter/anti-matter reaction will happen in about … one hundred and seventy seconds.”
“Good. Now patch me through to the newcomers.” She turned to Case. “And get us the hell back inside.”
He grabbed her again and this time guided, rather than pulled, her towards the airlock hatch, while she thought through what to say to the newly arrived pirates.
She didn’t have to. “Admiral Proctor,” came a new voice over her headset. “My name is Falun Mung on board the Hero’s Path. We’re detecting an escalating buildup in your power plant. Do you require assistance?”
“I require that you get the hell away, and take your buddies with you. Last I checked, you get squat if you can’t produce a body. And anti-matter explosions tend to leave only clouds of atoms and sub-atomic particles behind.”
“Admiral, please, we mean you no harm. Please. I have something over here you’ll want to see.”
“Yeah, your buddies sang a similar tune. No thanks, I’m fine right here. And I’m fine dying here if it means I can take you bastards out too. You’ve got two minutes.”
They were at the airlock hatch and Case started to enter in the commands to initiate the venting cycle.
“Admiral, please. I am not here for the bounty. In fact … hold on….”
A few seconds later, she could hardly believe her eyes. The new ship opened fire. Not at her, not at the Defiance, but at the other pirate ship, which had just come into view. Mag-rail slug after mag-rail slug punctured its hull, which spouted gouts of debris and quickly-extinguished flame through the holes which erupted all down the length.
“Lieutenant Davenport,” she began, still in shock, “life signs aboard the first vessel?”
&nbs
p; She already knew what he’d say. The pirate ship was a complete wreck, and looked like it might soon break apart completely. “None, ma’am. Everyone’s dead, that I can see.”
“Admiral Proctor. I assure you, I’m here to help. I have information. About your nephew.”
She breathed a sudden intake. “Danny?”
“Yes.”
She grit her teeth, the anger rising in her. “Danny’s dead. What the hell do you want?”
“Admiral Proctor, he is not dead. He is, in fact, very much alive. But he’s in danger.” He paused, waiting for her reaction. But she didn’t even know what to say. “I see your power plant is twenty seconds from a cascade reaction, admiral. I will back us off. And I will transmit the information I have. No need to come aboard my ship. Happy?”
“Lieutenant. Abort,” she said. “Davenport? Did you hear me?”
“Loud and clear, ma’am,” he replied. She could almost hear his smile and relief through the comm. Lieutenant Case finished opening the hatch and soon they were peeling their suits off in the ante-chamber. “Lieutenant, get to the equipment bay and bring me another spare q-field generator.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He left in a hurry.
“Admiral, did the transmission come through?” said Mung over the comm in the ante-chamber.
“Davenport?” she asked. “Did something come through?”
“Yes, ma’am. A few pics, a small data file, and some coordinates.”
“Patch it through to the screen here.” The nearby wall illuminated and she found herself staring at a figure in a hospital bed.
Danny.
Her Danny. With terrible, horrific burns and scars and wounds covering his face and body, but he was alive. And awake. Apparently his fall through the atmosphere of Sangre de Cristo wasn’t as lethal as Admiral Tigre’s people had led him to believe. But, Tigre being dead, there was no sense in pressing that case. What mattered now was getting Danny back from whoever was holding him. “Lieutenant? Where are these coordinates?” She eyed the numbers accompanying the data file.
