Lacuna: The Ashes of Humanity

by Adams, David

  "This is the Broadsword Switchblade to anyone who can receive this report, please respond."

  He smiled despite it all. Switchblade's pilot was Luke Hoffman. Good drinker, best darts player he'd ever seen. "Switchblade, this is Jazz. Good to hear your voice."

  Hoffman spoke up almost immediately. "The Toralii are looking for us. They're looking for all of us—they want to finish the job."

  Everyone knew that. "What happened, Hoffman?"

  "I saw their ships," Hoffman said. "From the fleet in the Sol system. Hundreds of ships, scouts, heading to all the jump points. Scouts. They're looking for us, Alex."

  "Come to us," said Jazz. "We'll fly you to the Madrid."

  "Roger," said Hoffman. "En route."

  He spun his craft in space, reactionless drive humming as he changed his course, sliding sideways along in space. "Predator, begin decelerating, form up with me, and move towards the Lagrange point. We're meeting up with Switchblade."

  "Copy," said Predator.

  Jazz compressed into his seat as the ship moved forward, the course change swinging him around to the jump point.

  Silence reigned between them for almost a minute, enforced by the crushing pressure of inertia as they executed a six g burn. The stress to the airframe was significantly higher, but the gravity emitting reactionless devices that worked to keep the forces from crushing them did their job. Instead of liquefying them, the force was merely uncomfortable.

  Then they were ballistic, and the pressure eased up. He checked his systems, ensuring that everything was working intact.

  His radar showed another contact in the Lagrange point, right beside the Switchblade.

  "Switchblade, you have a friend behind you."

  "Dammit," said Hoffman, "it's got to be the Alliance."

  "I need to try to get a visual on the bogey. It could be a Broadsword from the Tehran."

  "Too large to be a Broadsword, and we would have seen an IFF squawk by now."

  "Doesn't help to hope."

  Their ships began to move closer to the L2 point. Velsharn's moon loomed closer and larger. When the acceleration eased off long enough for him to speak, Jazz touched his transmit key, broadcasting on all frequencies.

  "CAP Fatbox 09 to unidentified target in L2 Lagrange point. Transmit identification code."

  Nothing. No response from their target. The green dot on their radar grew closer and closer as they hurtled towards it at ludicrous speed.

  "CAP Fatbox 09 to unidentified target in L2 Lagrange point. I say again, transmit identification code, or prepare to be destroyed."

  Nothing. Jazz clicked the master arm on his weapons systems, using his medium range radar to paint the target, a process known as "doorknocking". The use of the intermediate range radar would almost certainly trigger radiological alarms on the target ship, indicating they were targeted for destruction. This might get their attention.

  It certainly did. Two white bolts of energy flew within metres of his cockpit. The target had no desire to talk. Superheated plasma weapons belonged to the Toralii; that was no friendly.

  They'd been discovered. Protocol was clear on this point. Ensure that the ship could not escape. Every jump drive had some delay between jumps where it cooled. Jazz had to stop the ship escaping, or it would return with the Alliance fleet.

  "Butcher, Jazz—target confirmed as hostile, designation Bandit One. Weapons free. Tally!" The beeping of his missile lock turned into a solid tone, and he depressed the trigger. "Fox three, missile away."

  His whole ship shuddered as the AIM-124b missile leapt away from its railing, leaving a thin trail of smoke as it raced ahead of him. He twisted his craft, jerking the control column violently as he dodged further incoming fire.

  "Jazz, Butcher. Fox three."

  Time passed. The distances involved were far too large to be covered in moments, but as the minutes ticked away, the incoming fire—reacting far too slowly to strike his manoeuvring, nimble aircraft at those distances—suddenly stopped, instead missing him by a significant margin.

  Bandit One had seen the danger. They gave up on him and targeted their missiles. The devices cross sections were tiny, and it would take a miracle for them to strike it, but Jazz did not want to take that chance. He had missiles; might as well use them. "Fox three, fox three, fox three. Ripple fire, three missiles away. Empty your racks, Predator; we can't let that ship escape."

  "Roger."

  The swarm of missiles from Predator's ship, along with his own, flew towards Bandit One. They were hurtling towards it far too quickly to decelerate, and despite the bandit's frantic jerk to one side at the last minute the radar signals of his missiles merged with that of the target, then Predator's followed suit immediately after.

  He flew past it, so fast that the enemy ship was just a blur on the black background of space, then spun his ship around and began decelerating. Jazz, fighting the inertia that dragged his arms back to his seat, touched his screen and activated the high-speed gun camera.

  A Toralii scout ship, identical to the one the Beijing had engaged and destroyed on its maiden voyage. The ship was damaged from their attack. Blackened, scorched holes in the Toralii vessel's hull were venting debris and atmosphere, and his radar indicated that the vessel was slowly spinning.

  It took some time for them to decelerate, approach the Lagrange point at a slower speed, then finally draw close enough to the enemy ship that he could see it with his own eyes. Adrift, spinning slowly in a field of debris.

  "I think we got it," he said.

  "Nice shooting," said Hoffman. "I can see secondary explosions on my long range optics."

  Almost as though on cue, his radio crackled.

  ["This is the Toralii Alliance scout vessel Sann'dahar. We found you, Humans. We found you, and you won't escape."]

  His Toralii was imperfect at best, but he could make out their words well enough. The hard part would be talking back. It was unlikely the Toralii on that ship would know English.

  Standard procedure was to board and capture any hostile ships smaller than cruisers. Although Jazz was tempted to blast the ship until nothing was left, protocol hadn't been updated since the attack on Earth. Nobody had time for that. So procedure it was.

  "Toralii Alliance vessel Sann'dahar, stand by and prepare to be boarded."

  The Broadsword Warsong jumped into the L2 Lagrange point, appearing with a white flash that blew away the faint cloud of debris lingering inside the point in space. Predator and Jazz formed up on their wing, guiding their ship towards the stricken enemy vessel.

  The Switchblade had escaped. Butcher and Jigsaw arrived as they were approaching the wreck, the alien vessel still leaking atmosphere. Its guns were silent, its hull battered and scorched, but the four strike craft were ready with guns and missiles should it reactivate.

  The dragon was battered, but as long as air filled its lungs, its fire would still burn them to ashes.

  "Jazz, Warsong. We're docking."

  "Confirmed, Warsong. Butcher, Jigsaw, Predator, standard four-point security pattern, guns inward. It could be a trap."

  The four Wasps, just like their namesakes, buzzed around the target as the Broadsword latched onto the side of the spinning wreck. Sparks flew as it began cutting its way into the Toralii hull, creating a wide shower of hot metal that slowly cooled as it radiated out into space.

  "Jazz, Warsong. The insertion process is taking longer than we anticipated; the hull is tougher than previously predicted. Maintain cover and prepare to engage if those systems reactivate. The Toralii vessel cannot be allowed to escape. Failure is not an option."

  "Confirmed, Warsong. We got your back."

  He had no more missiles left, and at this range, it would have to be guns anyway. Jazz kept his finger on the trigger as his ship continued to circle their target, looking for weak points in their defences. Missiles might be able to damage it, but his guns were significantly less effective.

  Still, he had little other choic
e. Warsong's commander's words were accurate, but they grated on him. He couldn't stand it when people said, "Failure is not an option."

  Failure had never been an option. Failure was an outcome. A very probable outcome for most of the people who said that.

  The shower of sparks faded abruptly.

  "Jazz, Warsong. Inserting marines."

  "Good. Tell them good hunting from us."

  Both ships were silent, seen across the void of space, but the interior would be anything but. Jazz changed frequency to the standard one used by TFR marines, punching in the encryption codes.

  "Contact, deck two. Engaging."

  "Six-two, we got resistance here. We're pinned down in section eight."

  "Six-three, four tangos eliminated."

  "Go to thermal. Watch your corners."

  "Six-one, frag out."

  The crackle of gunfire, the pounding of explosions, and the shouts of alarm and warning flew back and forth. It was a flowing wave of information, coming and going, the battle impossible to follow from his vantage point. All he could do was imagine it. Human boots pounding on Toralii decks, throwing grenades, engaging the Toralii.

  "Man down."

  Dying.

  The Toralii were putting up a spirited fight. More gunshots came through on comms, although they finally abated.

  "Warsong, this is Cheung. Their Operations centre is ours. We have eight prisoners, along with the ship, which is adrift but appears salvageable. Sixteen tangos confirmed destroyed, one casualty. Petty Officer Shào is KIA."

  Relief. He was less sure about taking some prisoners, but the marines had their orders.

  "Jazz, Warsong. We're going to tow the Toralii vessel to the Madrid, request an escort in."

  "Confirmed, Warsong. I'll follow you in myself, along with my wingman." He changed channels. "Predator, we're following Warsong and the captured bird back to the Madrid. Butcher, Jigsaw, maintain the CAP. I'll see you all back on deck."

  They confirmed his orders and then Jazz swung his fighter's nose around, forming up near the Broadsword and following it as it towed its prey towards Velsharn.

  The pace they made was so slow that, after several hours, the Madrid came to meet them. It was a risk, but it would have taken too long otherwise. The Broadsword Warsong pushed the captured Toralii frigate out towards the much larger Human ship, and as they drew close, Jazz could not fight a strange sense of satisfaction.

  Against the Toralii it was rarer that Humans had the bigger, stronger ship.

  The Madrid's autocannons followed the Toralii ship as the Warsong pushed it into the hangar bay, momentarily disappearing from view. He waited, and then the Warsong returned, minus its prey.

  He didn't know what the fates of the Toralii prisoners would be, nor did he much care to.

  "Mission complete," he said, patching in his communications to Predator and the Warsong. "Let's head back to the Beijing."

  Liao had never been on another Pillar with any kind of emergency state. She always knew where to go on her own ship, but here she had no clear duty post. She was a visitor.

  After a moment's hesitation, though, realisation dawned.

  She was supposed to go with the civilians.

  It was what she was supposed to do, but that thought rankled her. Not that she had anything against civilians or thought she was above them, but it seemed a waste of her time. There must be something more productive she could do.

  So Liao headed back to the airlock, to the Broadsword that brought her here, managing to get up the loading ramp right as the hangar bay was decompressing. She made her way up to the cockpit, pulling open the heavy metal door that sealed that area off from the rest of the craft, and rested her hand on the back of the pilot's headrest.

  "I want to know what's happening out there," she said, and the pilot handed over his headset.

  The Switchblade had returned. More urgently, the CAP had engaged a Toralii ship; with the aid of the Beijing's marines, they now owned that ship.

  She was, in a way, halfway between her life after the court martial—a civilian out of touch with everything—and her life before the destruction of Earth, once more in charge of a powerful warship, privy to events as they unfurled. She could hear, but not affect, the events around her.

  The captured ship would be deposited in their hangar bay in two hours. Normally she would not wait around for such a thing, but something about the situation compelled her to stay. She requested the Broadsword hold position for her, something the crew was happy to do. She let Kamal know she would be late, and then she waited.

  The doors to the Madrid's hangar bay opened, and the Warsong unceremoniously dropped the Toralii frigate into the hangar bay. It barely fit. The hull was scorched and holed, and the alien ship's metal plating exposed decompressed sections, battle scarred and warped from explosions.

  When the bay was re-pressurised, Liao went out to see the prisoners. Eight of them, their wrists cuffed behind their bodies with heavy steel chains, led by her marines.

  She approached the first one, a white-furred Toralii whose face was covered in scars. They all still wore their armoured space suits, and this one, by her markings, was the commander. Their prisoner wore no translating earpiece, but as she approached, the Toralii seemed to recognise her.

  ["Commander Liao."]

  Liao nodded. Speaking was pointless until the translators arrived with their tablets and technology.

  ["Your worlds burn, insect. Just as you broke Kor'Vakkar, we have broken your entire species."] Her lip curled back in a vicious snarl. ["I saw it, I shall have you know. Earth. I watched it burn. This ship was one of the many who reported the location of the most inhabited areas. We gave the targeting information to our cruisers. We were the eyes that guided the spears that pierced the heart of your people."]

  She nodded again. Her prisoner gestured around at the metal hull of the Madrid.

  ["You cower behind the Telvan. They are weak. They cannot protect you. This world will be discovered. More of us will come, when our ship's absence is noted. Avaran will have your head as he promised, and just as he said, you will die last."]

  That had been Aravan's threat to her. That he would drag her to his bridge in chains, make her watch as he killed every Human that existed and then kill her too.

  Liao blinked rapidly, the Toralii equivalent of a shrug.

  ["Mock me as you wish, Human. Torture me. Kill me. I care not. More will come; we will never stop until all of your wretched species is dust. None defy my people as you have done and escape without paying the price."]

  She wanted to shoot the Toralii female dead. She wanted to line their prisoners up and, one by one, put a bullet between their eyes. Make her watch, as Avaran had threatened to do to her. The threats people used against you were often the things they, themselves, feared. She would break this Toralii commander, vent her rage and the injustices of her people, burned to ashes on Earth's roiling, charred surface.

  But instead, she turned her back and left without saying a word.

  The Broadsword fell into the atmosphere, flames licking up the sides of the tiny viewing portals as it descended. The speed was not strictly necessary. The reactionless drives could lower them through the atmosphere slow enough to avoid a heated re-entry, which was the protocol for damaged craft, but this way was much faster.

  Liao, stuck with her thoughts once again, certainly appreciated their alacrity.

  The moment the ship's loading ramp dropped into the dirt, she walked down it. The area had been mud only hours before, but the heat and sun had dried it back to dirt. She knew better than to be fooled, though. The sooner they established an all-weather landing pad, the better.

  She walked back to Operations, touching her new radio as she did.

  "Liao to Operations."

  "Lieutenant Yung here. Welcome back, Captain."

  "Thank you, Lieutenant. I'm on my way back to Operations."

  "How was your mission?"

  "Success
ful," Liao said, moving into the hangar bay. "The trade was made, and the crew of our missing ship—along with the ship itself—were returned. I also managed to pick us up something that might help us in the coming days. I was going to write a full report about it, if Commander Iraj is happy to hold down Operations for a while longer."

  "Commander Iraj is off duty, Captain. The 1800 shift began two hours ago."

  Liao shook her head as she made her way through the bustling corridor. "Who authorised the shift change?"

  The officer on the other end hesitated as though she was testing him. "Captain, it's 2004 hours."

  She stopped, squinting as she looked at her watch.

  She'd been awake for nearly thirty-six hours. With limited sleep before that.

  "Understood," she said. "Disregard that question. Thank you, Lieutenant."

  She closed the line and changed course back towards her quarters. Upon arriving, she closed the door, the thick metal seeming heavier than it usually did, then tried to sleep.

  Liao tried everything. Singing an old Chinese lullaby. Counting sheep. Lying there with her eyes closed, occasionally turning over and over in her bed. Nothing.

  Eventually she dragged herself back to her feet, showered, dressed again and then sat down at her desk. If she was going to be awake, she might as well use that time productively. She pulled out her tablet, plugged in a keyboard and then began to type.

  The words blurred together as she wrote. She described visiting the Iilan ship, the trade, along with the return of their crew. They appeared well fed and healthy, although how exactly they'd eaten or hydrated inside a liquid environment remained a question to be answered in the debriefing. It was long, longer than it needed to be, and full of unnecessary detail. It was difficult to be concise in her current state; she didn't know what to keep or what to remove, so kept it all.

  Right as she finished, the buzzer to her quarters rang.

  "Come in," she said, folding down her laptop screen.

  She expected James, but Rowe pushed open the door.

  "Ho—lee—shit." Rowe waved around a clipboard energetically. "Captain, those things are amazing!"