by Nick Webb
“FISHTAIL!”
She swerved, and plunged, and banked hard to the right—anything to lose the two craft spewing fire at her.
And to her surprise, they exploded. An X-25 fighter burst out of their debris cloud. “Ballsy?” she asked.
“That was all Pluck this time. That little mother-plucker.”
If her stomach wasn’t already up in her throat she would have chuckled at the poor joke, but that was too close of a call for comfort.
The cockpit walls all around her pulsed, throbbing with regular intensity. She knew what that meant.
A voice crackled over her comm. “This is the CAG.” Pierce paused, as if unsure of himself. “Pluck. You’re hereby ordered to make an Omega-Protocol run at the singularity. Ram it full speed. That’s an order.”
Silence and static came over the headset. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. A moment later, Pluck’s young, confident voice answered. “Aye, sir.”
Pierce’s voice was broken, and raw. “Thank you, Lieutenant. You’re a great man, and you’ll be remembered in honor.”
Fishtail watched out her viewport as Pluck veered off towards the shimmering white light, dodging a few bogeys that veered towards him, guns firing.
And she screamed.
Pluck’s fighter exploded as a deadly green beam lanced out from the nearest alien ship, slicing the little craft in two.
Fighting back a tear, she set her sights on another alien fighter and blasted it to pieces, using far more ordnance than was necessary as she pummeled it until there was nothing left.
“Fishtail, you’re up,” came Pierce’s voice again.
She closed her eyes momentarily. This was it.
Somehow, in that moment, her only thought was that she did not envy Commander Pierce’s position in the slightest. To make decisions like he’d just made was unimaginable. Realizing she was thinking this, she also noticed that she was remarkably calm.
It was time. It was her time.
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you, Jessica.”
It was her time.
Forgive me, Zack, she thought, touching the picture on the dash. She wanted more than anything to be there for him. But first, he needed to live. He needed a planet to live on. His world needed saving.
Gritting her teeth, she pushed the controls forward and darted away at maximum acceleration.
“Fishtail,” came Ballsy’s uncharacteristically quiet voice. “I’ve got your back. I’ll escort you in.”
“Just promise to pull away in time,” she replied, dodging a green beam that shot out from the alien ship nearby.
“Right on.” He swooped in behind her and blasted a pair of bogeys that had her in their sights. “Let’s get this done.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Near Earth
Bridge, ISS Constitution
A silent pall had fallen over the bridge as every head turned toward the screen. A lone fighter had peeled off from the melee of combat and was screaming towards the shimmering singularity, now nearly as large as the one had been over Lunar Base before it launched at the surface.
Granger stood up. If a pilot was going to willingly sacrifice himself for his fellows, the least he could do was stand to acknowledge it. “Commander Proctor. Give me his name. Rank. Hometown. Tell us who it is.”
The XO tapped buttons on her screen before clearing her throat. “Lieutenant Jessica Miller. Callsign Fishtail. From Sacramento, California. Age twenty-four, newly married, and was scheduled to transfer to the ISS Clyburne after our decommissioning to serve aboard the same ship as her husband.” Proctor looked up, her face obviously pained. “The Clyburne was one of the carriers destroyed defending Lunar Base.”
Granger nodded, and bent over to tap the comm. “Fishtail, this is the CO.”
“Hell of a view from out here, sir,” came the static-laced voice. The bridge watched as the fighter, tiny against the backdrop of the remaining IDF and alien ships still blasting away at each other, swerved and dodged the wreckage of dead ships and the intense energy beams as the aliens tried to knock out her little craft before she hit the singularity.
But the fighter was too fast and nimble for them.
“I’m sure it is, Jessica. Godspeed, Lieutenant. And thank you.” He saluted. The rest of the bridge crew, those not occupied with immediate combat duties, likewise stood and mirrored him.
“Ah, hell, sir, you would have done the same for us if you were out here.”
The distance between the fighter and the singularity narrowed to just a few hundred meters, and closed fast. Lieutenant Miller continued, “Besides, this is how I always wanted to go out.” Her voice quavered slightly, betraying her attempted show of bravado. “Taking out a shitload of Cumrat ships.” She was silent for a moment, before whispering, barely loud enough for Granger to hear, “I’m sorry, Zack-Zack. I’m sorry.”
And, too soon, the fighter closed in on the shimmering light. “Oh god—” Miller’s voice murmured, right as her ship plowed into the singularity, which a moment later erupted into a massive explosion that engulfed the nearest alien ship, and the wreckage of the Missouri.
When the blast subsided, the alien vessel was spewing flame from the side nearest the destroyed singularity.
Granger spun around to tactical. “Whatever we’ve got left, send it into that blast zone on that ship,” he yelled, pointing frantically to the screen.
“There’s nothing left, sir. All our mag-rails are either destroyed, or empty of—”
“Then lasers! Anything! Just pound that blast zone with whatever we’ve got!”
A moment later, all the remaining undamaged laser turrets lit up and unleashed a brilliant barrage of ultra-high-energy pulses at the gaping wounds on the alien ship, vaporizing all the debris in their paths, penetrating deep into the core of the vessel which then spewed even more fire and debris.
Moments later, after what seemed like minutes but could only have been a dozen seconds, the entire alien ship lurched, and exploded in a blinding flash as its core went critical and split into several steaming chunks.
“Two down, two to go,” murmured Proctor.
Granger sat down, staring steely-eyed towards the screen at the remaining two alien ships. “Two down, and it only took half our fleet going down in flame to do it.”
Two down. Two left. Granger shook his head. The odds looked grim. The Constitution was hobbling along, punctured and wounded. The remains of the fleet, which at the beginning of the battle had numbered over forty ships, now crept along at just over ten. And the massive Valhalla Station, the centerpiece of IDF’s headquarters and Earth’s primary defense, floated in pieces, smoldering and steaming, debris still occasionally blasting off into space from the explosions erupting on its wrecked surface.
The odds looked beyond grim. They looked impossible.
“Sir,” the tactical officer turned to face Granger with a tired look on his face. “The other four alien ships have arrived.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Omaha, North America, Earth
Operations Center, IDF Spaceport
Vice President Isaacson, his chief of staff, and a handful of senators and cabinet officials sat off to the side in the operations center of Omaha Spaceport as the officers worked frantically to scramble the fighters and what other last minute defenses could be mustered. They’d been given that area of the center as a communications hub to coordinate with the rest of the civilian government still in New York and Washington, and CENTCOM headquarters in Miami.
But truth be told, there wasn’t much for Isaacson and the other officials to actually do—the United Earth government had already dispersed from the central location in New York, scattering throughout the world to ensure a functioning government would survive any attack targeting the capitals, and CENTCOM was quite busy repelling the invasion. As it was, Vice President Isaacson sat back, stone faced, watching the updates and video feeds scroll by on the wall of viewscreens nearby.
A voice in his ear mumbled, “A word, Mr. Vice President.” He turned to see the sallow face of Yuri Volodin. What now? Hadn’t the bumbling fool done enough already?
“What is it?”
“Do you know President Avery’s current location?”
Isaacson shook his head. “Classified. It’s part of the contingency plans for an invasion—she gets whisked away immediately to a secure location.”
Yuri regarded him with a cold expression. “You didn’t answer my question. Of course it’s classified. The question is, do you know where she is?”
A pit was forming in Isaacson’s stomach. This whole scheme had gone too far. Millions were dying, and if things didn’t turn around, billions more would follow. And now Yuri was still focused on killing Avery? After his odd insistence that they avoid the Miami area, where ostensibly they’d be the safest given its extensive defenses, Isaacson had become suspicious of Volodin. What were the man’s true motives? He’d acted quite surprised at the treachery of the Swarm, but now seemed to be taking it in stride, keeping his focus on overthrowing or killing the President.
“Yes.”
“Where? Miami?”
“Is that important?” Isaacson snarled, keeping his whisper low enough to not be heard by the nearest senators, all of whom were talking frantically on their personal comm devices anyway. “After this, there’s no way she’s staying in power. When we repel the invasion and pick up the pieces, people will be calling for her head for allowing this to happen. Her and all the other proponents of the Eagleton Commission.”
Volodin smiled. Cold and deliberate. “But that might not happen for months. We need to move fast. We may only have a few days. Tell me where she is.”
“What in high heaven are you going to do with that information, Yuri? Order a Russian strike force to take her out? They’d never get within a hundred kilometers of her.”
“Of course not. Don’t be a fool. But if the Swarm were somehow ... encouraged ... to move in her direction, it would play to our benefit.”
The words ran like ice through Isaacson’s spine. Was he still communicating with the Swarm? How?
And suddenly their earlier conversation made a little more sense. Was it possible? Was Volodin being influenced by the Swarm from afar?
Or worse, was he ... compromised? Was he wiser, and smarter? Was he completely controlled by the Swarm?
My God, what have I done?
The smart-steel quantum modulation codes. The defense network frequencies. Dammit—the Russians had all of them now, and so did the Swarm.
He needed to figure out a way to ensure Volodin wasn’t under the Swarm’s influence. Somehow.
He nodded. “Good point. Let me see what I can do—I don’t know her coordinates, but I may be able to convince one of our officers to tap into her personal comm channel and we can triangulate from the source.” He stood up and motioned for Yuri to stay where he was. Across the room Admiral Gregory was barking out orders. He’d be too busy to handle something like this. But his eyes rested on a commander coordinating responses across the various stations scattered across the room. Isaacson approached him.
“Commander, I need your help.”
“Sir?” The lanky man paused between stations.
Isaacson leaned in close to the Commander’s ear. “We have a possible security breach. Don’t look around. Don’t look at the group of senators and dignitaries behind me. In fact, nod a few times and point up at the screen as if you’re telling me something helpful.”
For the barest moment the Commander’s eyes widened and Isaacson almost saw him glance back to Volodin and the senators, but to the man’s credit he nodded and pointed up at the screen. “What’s this all about, Mr. Vice President?”
“Tell me, Commander, can you do a meta-space scan of this room?”
“Of this room?” said the Commander, blankly, obviously trying to keep the surprise out of his voice.
“You heard me. Scan for meta-space signals originating from this room.”
“But how is that even possible, sir?”
Isaacson glanced back at Volodin, and winked. “I don’t know. But humor me.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Near Earth
Bridge, ISS Constitution
The odds went from impossible, to ... Granger squeezed his head between his hands, trying to think through the growing pain. What came after impossible? Especially when he was fresh out of ideas and pushed into a corner, with his body breaking down at a rate that rivaled the battered old ship around him?
“I’m open to suggestions,” he said, glancing at Proctor, and around at the rest of the bridge crew.
Ensign Prince turned around. “Ram them.”
“Ram them?” Granger raised an eyebrow. “Suicide run?”
“Their armor is strong, but not as strong as ours. Maybe we can cripple them one by one, and—” He trailed off, realizing his idea sounded foolish and desperate now that he said it out loud. “Sorry, sir.”
“No, Ensign, you’re right. We may get to the point where we will all have to do exactly what Lieutenant Miller just did. We may have to sacrifice the Constitution. But not yet.” He turned back to Proctor. “Anyone else?”
“Sir!” Lieutenant Diaz had stood up, tapping the controls on his console furiously. “It’s the aliens. It’s....” He trailed off.
“What is it, Lieutenant?” Granger turned to the screen to see for himself.
The two remaining ships were leaving. Plowing through the debris field, darting away from the handful of IDF ships that still limped along, firing feeble blasts at the fleeing ships.
“Are they retreating?” asked Proctor.
Granger shook his head. “No. They’re heading towards Earth.” He looked at the distant globe far below. Valhalla Station had been in an orbit about double that of a geosynchronous orbit, so the surface was still a good fifty thousand kilometers away, but the continents, and even several large cities were clearly visible.
Lieutenant Diaz nodded. “Confirmed. And the four new ships haven’t even slowed down. They flew past twenty seconds ago and never even fired a shot at any of us.” He tapped a few more buttons. “And they’re heading”—he looked up at Granger—“straight towards Earth. Western hemisphere.”
They were relentless. The aliens were not going to even stop to mop up the remains of the fleet that had met them at Valhalla Station, but were going straight for the prize. Right to the endgame.
“Engine status?”
The engineering officer on duty shook his head. “We lost main engine power during the battle, sir. Got hit pretty hard back there. I can give you ten percent thrust. If that.”
Granger frowned. “How fast does that get us down to low Earth orbit?”
“We’ve got Earth’s gravity working for us here, but even so, all we can manage is one-point-two g’s. We can’t match the aliens—in fact, they’re already almost there....”
In desperation, Granger thumbed the comm. “Rayna, bridge. Please tell me the caps have had enough time to recharge for another q-jump.”
A few moments of shouting and clanking sounded over the speakers before Commander Scott’s voice fluttered through the bridge. “Well, Cap’n, I got good news and bad news.”
“Fine. What’s the good news?”
“I can get you down to low Earth orbit pretty quickly. We’ve built up enough charge for a short q-jump.”
“Brilliant.” He hesitated. “And, the bad news?”
She didn’t answer for a few seconds, and when she did, it sounded like she was trying to hold back tears. The Constitution was hers as much as it was his, but his chief engineer had always had a more emotional attachment to her, like she was her baby. “We got hit pretty hard in that battle, sir. Cracked the containment vessel clean in half. We’re not spewing radiation ... yet. But we will be once we make this jump, sir, and when we do, it’ll be her last.”
The words sank into the bridge crew. This would be the last journey of the Constitution. Granger had been holding out hope the last two weeks that somehow they’d be able to put off decommissioning. That something would unexpectedly come up. Some clerical or administrative issue would be discovered that would buy the Constitution an extra month. An extra week.
The aliens returned, and it bought the Old Bird an extra day.
“Understood, Rayna. Make preparations to execute jump. Get your people out of there—once that thing loses containment, I want the core ejected before it goes critical.”
“Got it, Cap’n,” she replied—Granger could hear the hint of a sniffle. “It’ll be a few minutes. If we don’t take a few precautions we’ll just explode in q-space, half of our molecules showing up and the other half staying here. I’ll let you know. Scott out.”
Granger turned to Proctor. “Are the weapons crews reloading?”
“Already on it, sir.” She’d been issuing orders during his conversation with Commander Scott, and he nodded his approval. “And we should check on the escape pods. Get a few people from ops to make sure they’re all operable—some may have been damaged during the fight.”
“Aye, sir.”
“And get a repair crew on the lasers that can be fixed up in the next ten minutes. Looks like those bastards are vulnerable to them, but only if we’ve punched through their armor first.” He turned to tactical. “Incorporate that into your firing patterns. Puncture with the mag-rails, then boil the shit out of them with the lasers through the holes we punch.”
The seconds ticked by inexorably, slowly, and every moment felt like he was abandoning some North American city to a hopeless, cruel, fiery fate. Surely the alien ships had arrived by now, and he doubted there were any ships left to defend their planet—everything had been sent to Valhalla Station. The aliens had free rein over the entire surface. There were a few orbital defense platforms, sure, and the surface defenses were nothing to sniff at, but the planetary defense command had no chance against the forced singularity weapon. Nothing did, except mass. Lots of it.
