It was bigger than her training shield; she now traced the shield’s engraved surface with her fingertips, while physically and mentally exploring its essence. It was alive and as she connected with it … delved deeper into it—it too, reached back … exploring deep into her own inner consciousness.
“Can I try it?”
Chapter 35
Dacci System
The Pacesetter, Open Space
_________________
The Pacesetter’s final phase-shift put Jason and Ricket close enough in to see the distant Sahhrain’s Parlek Orion ship with their naked eyes. The vessel was larger than others they’d seen—closer in size to a meganaught, versus a heavy cruiser.
“Tell me everything you can about that ship and its crew, Ricket.”
“Well … as you can see, Captain, it is a substantially larger vessel. It is named the Gallium. Akin to other of their ships, its shields emit variable-spectrum Teclar waves, making the vessel invisible to virtually all far- and close-range sensors. Similar to other Parlek Orion ships, there are five pyramid-shaped superstructures on it, but this huge ship is designed with large flight bays and has a number of vessels moored inside … including the Assailant.”
Jason goosed the Pacesetter’s drive and approached the large warship. “Is their technology capable of detecting the Pacesetter?”
“No, Captain … I have been monitoring multiple Gallium comms channels … we have not been detected. With that said … still, we should not get much closer.”
Jason quickly slowed and stopped further progress of the small fighter.
“Captain, a vessel is leaving the Gallium … it’s the Assailant.”
“The admiral?”
“Still on board the Gallium,” Ricket said.
Jason spotted the familiar silhouette of the Assailant emerging from one of the pyramid-like superstructures. It accelerated and, within seconds, was gone. Jason wondered if Lord Vikor Shakrim was on board. Had he just missed an opportunity to end the uprising … and to save Boomer?
“Your father is being held within the topmost structure of the ship at its current orientation. If we are going to do something … we … should move quickly, Captain.”
Ricket, already anticipating Jason’s next request, displayed the Gallium’s internal schematics. An ever-so-faint blue icon pulsed on and off, approximately midway within the top superstructure.
“There are significant Sahhrain forces all around his position—”
“Yes … I can see that,” Jason snapped, viewing thirty to forty active red icons all around his father’s location. “What about this area here?” he asked Ricket, outlining a circle upon the virtual display with his fingertip.
“That is a sub-reactor chamber. It’s duplicated within each of the superstructures.”
“Large enough to phase-shift into?”
“Individually, or in the Pacesetter?”
“Either,” Jason said.
“It would be a tight fit for the Pacesetter; but yes, room enough. The problem will be the radiation. There’s a reason there are no life-icons in, or near, this location, Captain. Our battle suits won’t provide us with sufficient shielding, but the Pacesetter would … at least, maybe, for several minutes.”
Time was their enemy at this point. They couldn’t bring the Pacesetter any closer in to the Gallium, and individually phase-shifting from this far a distance in open space—both there and back … while hefting an ailing admiral along the way—didn’t make much sense either.
“Would the sub-reactor’s radiation hide our presence?”
Ricket didn’t answer right away. “Maybe.”
Jason smiled at his reply. “At least you’re honest. We’ll need to try. If I do things right, the Sahhrain will never know I’m there. Before they realize it, the admiral, locked in a cell one moment, has disappeared in the next.”
Jason set new Pacesetter phase-shift coordinates and, without any hesitation, they flashed away.
In an instant they were thrown into an amber-hued darkness; the fighter’s running lights illuminated the confined curvature of the sub-reactor chamber.
An alarm pinged. The Pacesetter’s AI announced, “External radiation levels are exceeding safe parameters.”
Jason expected to have more time. “You’ll have to take the Pacesetter out of here … come back when I have the admiral.”
“Yes, Captain.”
He thought he heard relief in Ricket’s voice. He rechecked the Gallium’s layout once more and his father’s location. “See you later!” Jason flashed away.
* * *
Jason phase-shifted into what seemed to be an onboard brig. The lighting there was intense—so intense he used his HUD settings to make the necessary compensation to his helmet’s visor. He’d landed within the confines of a long corridor, which provided access to multiple prison-like cells. His father lay on the deck of a cell directly in front of him. He was still wearing his admiral’s jumpsuit, but it was bloodied and torn—hanging open, exposing his chest. White chest hair mingled with blood that was caked thick in splotches where he’d obviously been poked, more likely stabbed, with something sharp.
Jason stepped closer and was immediately halted by an energy field of some kind. He phase-shifted to a position two feet inside his father’s cell. Worried, Jason thought the admiral looked dead. Jason watched for some movement of his chest, to see if he was breathing. He let out his own breath, seeing on his HUD that the admiral’s life-icon, dim as it was, was still there—but was blinking on and off—indicating his life signs were fading. Jason had little time to save his father.
The admiral coughed and his eyes opened. “Get out of here … go!” the admiral ordered, his voice barely above a whisper.
“That’s not going to happen.” Jason quickly retrieved a SuitPac device from a pocket compartment at the side of his thigh. He affixed it to his father’s stained and bloodied belt and squeezed the two side sensors. Within two seconds, his father’s body was covered from head to toe inside a battle suit and, most important to Jason, was being medically attended to by the suit’s advanced Caldurian life support functions. It was no MediPod but it was something. Hopefully it would keep him alive until Dira could physically attend to him.
His father’s voice, sounding stronger now, said, “They’ve taken my ship … they have the Assailant.”
Jason helped him stand, supporting him with his arm under his father’s arm and going around his waist. “I know that. We’ll worry about that later.”
His father looked from side to side. “Where’s your team?”
“There wasn’t time … Ricket and I pretty much stumbled upon this ship and on you. For now, we’re on our own.”
“You’re an idiot … you know that, right?”
“Uh huh … I’ve been told as much.”
Jason hailed Ricket. Nothing. He brought up his HUD’s long-range logistic layer and looked for the Pacesetter. “Holy crap!”
“What is it?” the admiral asked.
“It’s Ricket … he’s piloting the Pacesetter in open space. He’s got three bogies on his tail … being fired upon … looks to have taken damage.” Jason continued to watch the unfolding scene on his HUD. Why not simply phase-shift …?
“Captain!” Ricket’s voice was faint behind loud static.
“Go ahead, Ricket.”
“Pacesetter is damaged … th as ap … repe … this … a trap.” The connection went dead.
Enemy life-icons were quickly converging toward their location. “We need to get out of here,” Jason said, looking into his father’s visor. The admiral’s eyes were half-closed and unfocused. Shit! He brought up the ship’s layout again on his HUD and looked for a place to go.
Sahhrain forces were now within the brig’s corridor and heading their way. Jason glanced in the direction of noisy running feet. He’d seen the Sahhrain once before—in his inner vision. In actual life they were no less imposing: tall and muscular—they wore their
hair swept up and back in some kind of bun affair. Surprisingly, they were bare-armed and wore breastplates similar to those worn by ancient Roman warriors. Each held on to a long speared weapon and had a small shield, like Capri’s and Boomer’s, affixed to his opposite forearm.
The brig cell’s energy force field vanished as the warriors approached. Two Sahhrain raised their shields toward Jason and his father. Jason initiated the phase-shift a half-second too late; first seeing the violet distortion waves and then feeling their painful effects, Jason and his father flashed away.
* * *
Jason awoke fifteen minutes later, feeling as if he’d been run over by a truck. Weightless, floating in open space, he tried to remember where he was … what had happened. It all came back to him in a rush … the Sahhrain soldiers … Ricket … my father. Jason abruptly turned, first left then right, and saw the admiral’s battle suit floating mere feet away from his own. He reached out and pulled the prone figure in closer, turning his own body around to look into his father’s visor.
“This was your rescue plan? To phase-shift us out into open space?”
Jason’s relief was written all over his face. His father attempted a weak-hearted smile. “Yes, I’m still alive, son. What do we do now?”
“Hang tight for a moment, Dad.”
Jason turned around again and found the Gallium, far off, in distant space. He tried again to hail Ricket. Nothing.
Something caught his eye—a fleeting reflection of light—perhaps from the not-so-near sun. Jason magnified the area of space around him with his HUD. Wreckage. Two … no, three separate clusters of wreckage. Two fighters—both of alien design, with no life forms present. He zoomed in on the farthest-out cluster of wreckage and immediately recognized pieces of hull—dark red pieces of hull. It was the Pacesetter, no doubt about it. Jason looked for a life-icon within the same area—but didn’t find one. He spoke to his battle suit’s internal AI. Not liking the sound of her voice, it was something he rarely did. “AI … scan for Ricket’s DNA, as far out as your sensors permit.”
“Scanning now …”
“Never mind, AI … his life-icon just appeared.” Approaching at high speed, Ricket’s life-icon was moving forward on a direct intersecting vector. In the distance, a small ship, an alien fighter, was fast approaching.
“What the hell?” Jason muttered aloud.
The fighter was mangled to such an extent Jason wondered how it was capable of maintaining space flight. Deep, blackened craters pockmarked much of the vessel’s hull; its canopy was gone, and one wing had been sheared off. Sitting within the cockpit was a lone inhabitant.
“What the hell did you do to my fighter?”
Ricket stared back at Jason—his large eyes visible behind his battle suit’s visor. “I’m sorry, Captain. I did my best to save the Pacesetter … but Sahhrain fighters took me by surprise. All communications and phase-shift capabilities suffered damage.”
Jason looked again at the wrecked ship Ricket was sitting in. “How’d you get in there?”
“Before the Pacesetter exploded I phase-shifted into one of the attacking, although heavily damaged, fighters. As you know, upon phase-shifting two organic beings cannot occupy the same space. The pilot was ejected into open space—his body thrust up and out through the now-destroyed visor. Ever since, I’ve been searching for you … hoping you had phase-shifted somewhere near the proximity of the Gallium. How is the admiral?”
Jason, impressed with Ricket’s ingenuity, looked over at his father. “He’s stable for now. But he’s really in need of medical attention soon.”
“Prior to the Pacesetter’s destruction I was in contact with the Minian. Billy and his team are en route—should be close by now.”
Chapter 36
Dacci System
Planet Dacci, Glist Processing Plant
_________________
Lord Shakrim listened as they walked together. The dark hazy mist, swirling below their knees, obstructed their feet from view—as if they were walking through a deep black cloud. Although unseen, Shakrim’s Chosen Spear guards were close at hand—never far from their master.
The Dacci man, the foundry plant’s general administrator, was tall for a Dacci and surprisingly confident. Shakrim let him prattle on because he was pleased with what he was hearing—pleased with the evident progress made here and back at the mines—two hundred miles to the east.
“Bulk extraction of Glist is ahead of schedule, my Lord. Yields are excellent.” Together, they continued to walk side by side between towering ion furnaces, stoked to burn blazingly hot and bring the raw Glist into a molten state.
Up ahead, magnificent great vats, shaped like ladles, brimmed with glowing blue, liquefied Glist. One after another they tipped over, pouring down the molten form of the mineral into multiple rows of V-shaped troughs. Thousands of tiny energy bolts, like azure-colored lightning, continued to travel up and down the molten metal, until the vats were emptied out; then, tipping back into an upright position, they were ready to be refilled.
“I am quite pleased with your progress, administrator. You will be rewarded handsomely for your good work here.”
The plant administrator continued walking, slightly bowing his head to show his gratitude.
They’d reached Shakrim’s favorite part of the foundry. The shield molds. It was where the amazing material, Glist, took shape—already combined with rare, exotic, catalysts which would, eventually, bring the now-molten material back into a hardened state. Here, they stopped and stood before a massive, waist-level metal block—upon which were square, individual molds. Lord Shakrim stared at the hundreds of empty molds before him. Then he saw the Glist. Small veins, previously undetected, now glowed blue as the Glist traveled toward its intended targets. Like a giant circulatory system coming alive before his eyes, the shield molds began filling. This part of the process was slower and necessarily so, in order for the molded shields to harden correctly. As he watched, Lord Shakrim let his mind wander back to his recent time spent with Admiral Reynolds. He’d learned much from the Allied forces commander. More than that human probably realized. He’d learned that the writings were, in fact, true—that the chariot in the sky would be delivered to him. That singularly amazing ship … the Minian, which traveled in an alternate dimension, an alternate realm, would soon be his. Only then would he be able to bring forth his Sachem, Rom Dasticon. Only then, together, could they spread utter darkness to the farthest reaches of the universe.
Lord Shakrim had no sooner left the admiral’s side, aboard the human’s own command vessel, when the news reached him: The admiral had been rescued. That was expected … part of the plan to bring the Minian here. It’s all so, so, close to happening now. The attack would come soon … an attack no one would be able to defend against.
Lord Vikor Shakrim looked up from the slowly filling molds and gestured toward the distant darkness. A man with an eye patch appeared from the haze, wearing a similar metallic breastplate, although one made of silver instead of gold; a new enhancement shield was affixed to his left forearm.
“Ridert. Have you done as I’ve asked?”
“I have, my Lord.”
“All of them?”
“Thirty-six, total.”
Lord Shakrim tilted his head toward the shield molds.
“Each one has been given the latest, most powerful, enhancement shield. They do not know what they’ve done to be given such an honor.”
Lord Shakrim scoffed at that. “Has an arena been prepared, Commander Ridert?”
* * *
Within a mile of the foundry, thirty-six Sahhrain warriors readied themselves for battle. Who they would be pitted against was unknown to them. What they did know, what they had been told, was that there was no higher honor—that this one event would eclipse all other events in their pasts, and all the ones to come. Periodically, they stopped to admire the powerful new shields now gracing their forearms … letting feelings of pride play with their hea
ds.
What they did not know—but what all others within the Sahhrain fleet did know—was that they were disgraced … had failed catastrophically at their individual posts. The human Allied commander, Admiral Reynolds, had been rescued, right beneath their noses. They would need to suffer a price for such negligence—be made examples of.
Lord Shakrim’s arrival was completely clandestine; only his loyal Chosen Spears were aware of the true situation. The Assailant’s arrival above the arena was unobserved—since the ship was cloaked—invisible to the naked eye as well as all sensors. It set down fifty yards from the makeshift arena. Seconds later, the gangway was lowered. Magically, Lord Shakrim walked into view—as if appearing out of thin air.
Shakrim took in the hastily erected arena, laid out within the last few hours. True to regulation, the equilateral, decagon-shaped area spanned seventy-five square yards. It was simple, lacking even the most standard properties, such as varying, strategically placed, obstacles. Makeshift bleachers were positioned around three of the four sides of the area, where close to five hundred Sahhrain, many of them warship officers and commanders, sat quietly.
Thirty-six warriors now held, in addition to their enhancement shields, long spear weapons, called pratta-shafts. Standing in a circular formation, they bowed at the approach of Lord Vikor Shakrim. They hadn’t expected him: the most incredible honor imaginable! But his sudden presence, now unwaveringly apparent, foretold their death sentence. No one, ever, had survived a battle against the Lord Commander.
Murmurs arose from the crowd as Lord Shakrim entered the boundaries of the decagon arena. It was near dusk and the setting sun’s reflection sparkled and shimmered off his gold breastplate. He came to a halt ten feet in front of the tight formation of thirty-six Sahhrain warriors. He saw fear on their faces; he felt their growing desperation.
Commander Ridert, now at his side, handed Lord Shakrim, already wearing an enhancement shield, a pratta-shaft. While he adjusted its fit on his arm, Shakrim looked over at his now-cowering opponents and said, “Fight with honor … give me all that you have. Fight like you’ve never fought before … your very life depends on it … fight to the point you will do anything, and everything, to survive. Fight to kill me. Do so, and I will allow one of you … the very best one … to be allowed to live.”
Star Watch Page 20
