She couldn’t finish the sentence. The control panel went dark as if the life had been turned out of the Stryker. Ross flashed a panicked look, and Ramya knew her face was just as horror-stricken.
“Dakrhaeth, stop this,” she yelled, punching randomly at the buttons, hoping one would work.
None did. No one listened. The Stryker turned with a terrifying suddenness, tipping on its right wing, then righted itself and zoomed up toward the clouds. Ramya fell back against the seat, exhausted. In the minute before, she was concerned about the fates of the hapless Mwandans, but now she was not so sure even about her own life.
“All right, so what do we do?” Lefrasi broke the stunned silence.
“There’s nothing we can do,” Ramya replied, the realization of their helpless situation dawning slowly but surely. There was no escape hatch, no eject button on the Stryker that she knew of. They were stuck. “There’s no way out unless Dakrhaeth lets us out. We go wherever he takes us.”
“Let’s hope he takes us back to the Endeavor.”
There . . . an idea. Even if Dakrhaeth didn’t tell them where he was going, the Endeavor could track them. She tapped the button of the communicator on the console. It stayed silent.
“The stupid AI must’ve cut off the link,” Ross said through gritted teeth.
“Or maybe not,” Ramya said. “They were switching channels, remember? Trying to contact the Mwandan HQ?”
Lefrasi shook his head. “You still have faith in this creature?” he asked, his gaze morose.
“Why the hell is it slowing?” Ross blurted just as Ramya sensed the slowdown of the Stryker. “And what in the name of the stars is that?”
Ramya forgot to breathe, her thoughts wiped clear in a heartbeat. She kept seeing and yet her brain registered nothing.
24
RAMYA BLINKED. Her eyes were glued on the spectacle in front of her, but she couldn’t answer Ross’s question if she tried.
An enormous ship—almost the size of the Endeavor, if not slightly bigger—was flickering into sight ahead of them as it dropped out of the layer of clouds. It was shaped like a four-pointed star and almost iridescent. She’d never seen this ship before or even heard of before. It had to be Locustan, but how could that be possible?
Ramya blinked again, squinting as familiarity dawned and punched the air out of her guts. Those lines, that angle, the nose . . . her eyes scanned the contours in a mad rush. She knew these all too well.
These were Strykers. No, they had once been Strykers. Now they had turned into this megaship—four Strykers connected somehow by a web of almost-translucent beams and bars, forming a deadly, monstrous, four-headed beast that stared down at them.
“Dakrhaeth, please tell me it’s not what I think it is,” Ramya whispered, not even expecting a reply. The massive craft looming ahead was undoubtedly and unmistakably hostile seeing the way their Stryker stopped and cowered like cornered prey.
“It’s the others, Mihaal,” Dakrhaeth whispered back. His voice seemed to have aged years in the last few minutes and Ramya could detect a whiff of futility in it.
“The four missing Strykers?” Ross asked what Ramya already knew. Habardein had said the Strykers morphed. This was what they had morphed into—a megaship woven together from individual units, forming a collective of sorts. Along with their metamorphosed pilots, it was laying the groundwork for the next invasion, conquering the galaxy from within.
“I failed you, Mihaal,” Dakrhaeth said. “I have to go.”
“Dakrhaeth, what do you mean? Go where?” Ramya asked, panic rising fast inside her.
“Be part of them, Mihaal.” He paused a second and added drily, “I told you we should leave. Too late now.”
A strange, low hum hit Ramya’s ears. It swept over her in a wave, making her spine tingle. The Stryker lurched forward, its gait almost reluctant. Then it started to move, at a snail’s pace, toward the towering megaship.
“No, no, no, no!” Ramya yelled.
“I have to,” Dakrhaeth said. “Don’t you hear them call?”
Next to her, Ross’s fingers danced over the levers and switches at a frantic pace, but nothing he did stopped the Stryker or slowed it.
This was it. They were all going to be dead soon, or rather turned into Locustan soldiers. A thought, a desperate one, took shape in Ramya’s mind. She sat up stiffly, staring dead ahead, planning.
“Dakrhaeth,” Ramya called. She had to make this work. She could die, but her death could not be in vain. “Dakrhaeth, do something for me?”
“I told you, Mihaal, I cannot turn back,” Dakrhaeth replied, his voice cracking.
“Not asking you to. Just send the visual of this ship to the Endeavor. Can you do that?”
There was a moment of silence. “Done, Mihaal.”
Captain Milos, whenever he got back to checking on their channel, would find that picture. He could show it to the Confederacy, convince them on how real and immediate the threat was.
The megaship loomed ahead, and the closer they went, the louder the hum grew. Sweat trickled down Ramya’s forehead, her ears buzzing painfully, the sound rattling her to the core. Her vision had long blurred but Ramya still saw the belly of the megaship open.
It’s going to swallow us.
The hum grew to fever pitch. Ross plugged his ears with his fingers and fell back into his seat, Lefrasi sat down with a loud thud. Ramya closed her eyes and tried to shut the noise out.
“Mihaal, I know,” Dakrhaeth said, clearly laboring to get his words out. “I know when they’re coming. I know what the fading star is.”
She wanted to ask how he knew, she wanted to know what he knew, but there was no time left. Her head seemed to crack open, the pain raw at the edges. Heaving to fill her lungs, Ramya struggled to string together her instruction. “Send everything to the Endeavor, Dakrhaeth. Everything you know. Everything!”
“I’ll try, Mihaal.”
Dakrhaeth’s words had just about faded when the radio crackled.
“Commander,” the captain called, his voice rushed. “Do you copy? What’s your position?”
Any other time hearing the captain’s voice would’ve brought relief and a hope that his presence would somehow get them out of the direst circumstances. Not this time. They were mired too far in an unsalvageable situation.
“No idea, Captain,” Ross replied, his words coming in broken spurts. “We’re being sucked into a gigantic ship.”
“Sucked in?” The vehement voice didn’t belong to Captain Milos. It was Trysten Kiroff’s. “What’s stopping you from turning around? Have you forgotten to fly a spacecraft, Lady Ramya?”
Ramya’s nose crinkled. That was what he had to say to his soon-to-be-dead daughter? What was her father doing in the Endeavor’s COM anyway?
“Of course I remember. How do you think I got so far?” she snapped. “The Stryker seems to be in some sort of a trance. They’re calling him. There’s a loud hum that’s driving us crazy. It’s just—”
“Quiet!” His voice cut through the buzz in her ears and the ache in her head. For a second, the world around her cleared. “Listen to me carefully, Rami,” her father said, his voice slow and deliberate. “There’s a green button, sort of a plunger, on the left of the console that says “Muffler.” Press that. Now!”
“What? Why?”
Her father drew a sharp breath. “It’s something we used to keep them from talking to each other. It might work in disrupting their call.”
“Just do it, Rami. Now!” The captain’s order came like an impatient whip. Ramya’s hand thudded against the round mushroom-shaped button that sat conspicuously on one side.
Nothing happened. No change in the Stryker’s slow but sure crawl toward the megaship, no miraculous release from the heart-numbing drone. Nothing! Then suddenly, the hum ebbed, and then it disappeared completely as if a magic wand had been waved. The Stryker decelerated slightly, and with a sharp screech, it rolled over and turned around completely. A
tremor passed under Ramya’s feet and the engines roared. Like a meteor, the Stryker shot out from under the megaship’s shadow.
“Yes!” Ross yelled. The radio had been holding its breath and now it erupted in wild cheer. Ross raised a triumphant fist and turned backward to look at the megaship. His raised arm sagged a little. “We have a good head start at least.”
One look and Ramya knew. The megaship’s belly was closing. It was preparing to chase them down. Ramya’s eyes narrowed, her gaze impinging on the web-like structure that held the Strykers together.
Ramya’s fists clenched, nails digging into her palms and rousing the fury coiling in her guts. She was not going to run away. She had to strike back. She had to try one last thing.
“Dakrhaeth,” she called. “What do you think of a fly-by over that beast?”
“Rami, no,” Ross said, shaking his head vehemently. “Let’s just try to outrun them. Maybe we can—”
Ramya held his gaze and made her case. “We can outrun them, Ross. But then what? They’ll move on to the next planet and harvest it.”
“We can’t fight this huge thing, Rami. We have no backup. And we can’t risk drawing the Endeavor into this fight.”
“We can’t destroy it altogether, but we can slow it down.”
Ross sighed. Then shrugged. “All right. What’s the plan?”
“You’re sure of what you’re about to do?” Lefrasi asked.
“Not really, no,” Ramya said truthfully. She didn’t see it clearly through yet, but she was going to try. She looked askance at the silent radio and took a deep breath.
“See those spindly connectors? That’s what holds the four Strykers together. I’m betting those are the weakest links in that structure. If we can tear one down it’d make the whole thing unstable—”
“You’re correct, Mihaal,” Dakrhaeth said. “Those beams are quite newly generated. Not as sturdy. We might have a chance.”
“Torpedoes?”
This time, the launch button lit up almost instantly. A flick of her wrist swung the Stryker back and facing the monstrous megaship. Ramya pressed on the throttle.
“Attack from over it.” The radio crackled with her father’s voice. “That structure’s too bulky to turn very quickly to launch a weapon at you.”
“Understood,” Ramya replied. She tugged lightly at the flight stick, making a slight change of her path but not as much as to make the plan evident. She had to swing up and away when she was close enough, but keeping her path straight meant she had to stay in the path of fire.
“They’re preparing to fire torpedoes, Mihaal.”
“Shields up?”
“Yes, Mihaal.”
“Here we go.” Ramya’s forced her aching fingers to press the throttle as much as possible.
A pair of torpedoes streaked out of the megaship, leaving a smoky trail through the atmosphere. Ramya waited until they were fearfully close. Then she tugged at the flight stick with all her might. The Stryker shot upward and over the pair of screeching projectiles. The projectiles streaked past, then swerved and turned back around. Ramya’s fingers on the throttle ached, but she pressed on. She aimed for the webs.
“Come on, come on,” Ross said.
Lefrasi was staring at the torpedoes behind them. They were close, and getting closer. “Faster, Rami,” he said.
“I’m trying,” Ramya said through gritted teeth.
They were close. A few more seconds and she could make it between two of the main bars that connected the foremost units of the megaship.
“Brace for impact,” Dakrhaeth’s calm voice came just as a jolt threw Ramya forward. A ball of fire erupted behind them and swirled around them like a golden halo. A thunderous sound deafened Ramya for a second. Her vision blurred. But she held on, pointing the Stryker’s nose at the bars.
A shrill alarm pierced her fragile consciousness. “Shields down to 35%, Mihaal.”
The last torpedo had burned through the Stryker’s shield. They couldn’t sustain another direct hit.
“Turbo boost, Dakrhaeth,” Ramya yelled. She wanted to keep the boost for later, but if they couldn’t shake off this torpedo, there wouldn’t be a later.
“Rami!” Ross yelled. The boost kicked in right then. The Stryker shot through the bars and the space behind them exploded in another spectacular fireball. The Stryker wobbled from the aftershock but Ramya steadied it quickly. She pointed its nose up and away from the megaship and pressed on the throttle.
“Are we hit?” she asked. The shield was still flashing at 32% and she hadn’t felt an impact. But she needed to hear they were all right.
“No. The torpedo hit the Locustan ship,” Ross reassured, looking over his shoulder. “Not sure if it did any damage, but at least their shield took a beating.”
“Good, Rami!” Lefrasi said, thumping Ramya’s shoulder.
“We have some more work to do before we’re done here, guys,” Ramya said. She tugged on the flight stick and the Stryker spun around.
Ramya zoomed toward the megaship at breakneck speed. The goliath started to tilt upward also, but it was far too slow. The Stryker reached firing range long before its target could swivel around.
Nearing the top of the megaship, Ramya swooped, launchers pointed at the shiny black beams that held up two adjacent units. They’d have shields, but if she could penetrate it, the hit would cause enough instability. Enough, at least, for the pest to give up chasing them, as well as delay its plans of moving on to pillage the next planet.
She zoomed in close, and just before pulling up the flight stick to straighten the Stryker, she pressed the torpedo launch button. The area at the middle of the web of beams exploded in a wave of fire and a deafening boom.
“A hit, Mihaal. But the shield deflected part of it.”
“We’ll do it again then,” Ramya declared. Beneath her the megaship was still turning, desperate to point its weapons on the Stryker. She didn’t have too long to make this work.
Spinning the Stryker around to face the beams, she steadied the craft. “Better work this time,” she whispered, and fired their last torpedo. The projectile streaked across the purple skies and slammed into the beams, forming a fiery ball at its center.
“Yes!” Ramya shot a fist into the air. She pulled the Stryker up and away from the megaship, feeling the reverberations from the explosion sweep through her. She saw the web twisting. It could fall apart, and even if it didn’t, that megaship was far too unstable to move on to the next planet right away. They’d bought themselves a few hours to get Bucifer P9 quarantined if the Confederacy chose to believe their account.
“Dakrhaeth,” she called. “Back to the Endeavor, please.”
“Surely, Mihaal.”
The radio crackled and the captain’s voice drifted out. “Great flying, Rami,” he said. There was no mistaking the pride in his voice. “You cut it dangerously close though.”
“No one threatens my ship and goes about unpunished, Captain.”
The captain chuckled. Ross reached out to pat Ramya’s shoulder. “Good job, you,” he said, eyes shining with appreciation.
“We’re not out of trouble yet, Commander,” Dakrhaeth said, candid as ever. “They’ll come. They’ll get us.”
“Could you contact the Mwandan HQ, Captain?” Ross asked.
The captain’s reply was prompt and grim. “We got no response.”
The joy of a moment ago ebbed away in a blink.
“Well, we’ve done what we could,” Lefrasi broke the stifling silence. “We’ve got evidence at least. Space Command will believe us now.”
The captain didn’t reply. Ramya knew that Captain Milos still didn’t have much hope on the Confederacy.
Fixing her gaze on the clouds, Ramya fought the sting in her eyes. They couldn’t do this alone. The Locustans were not a bunch of small-time space pirates they could take on and win. Heck, they barely just escaped today.
The galaxy’s fate was as good as sealed.
Lefrasi sighed behind her, obviously coming to a similar realization. Ross fidgeted. He slammed a fist on his knee and let out a snarl. “We’ll find a way, with or without the Confederacy. Or anyone else,” he said through gritted teeth.
They could try. They would try. But the truth remained, stark as ever. They were too small. Too powerless to matter.
“We’re not alone, Commander,” the captain’s voice came like a gust of wind. “We have the Berkari with us, and I’m sure Chief Dal has been able to find an ally in his government.”
Ramya looked askance at Ross and his dim and still hopeless face. The Mwandans were good allies, but they needed more. They needed weapons and ships. No, they needed an endless fleet of powerful ships.
“Lord Paramount Kiroff,” the captain addressed her father, making Ramya frown immediately. Did the captain have to waste his breath? Trysten Kiroff wasn’t one who’d budge, especially if it meant publicly going back on his decisions. Yet the captain didn’t mind asking. “Where do you stand, Lord Paramount?”
Ramya sucked in a lungful of air, all her senses focused on the radio, which had fallen silent after the captain’s question.
“Didn’t we discuss that already, Captain?” His voice was sharp with an air of finality, and even though it conveyed an intent Ramya had expected, hearing it was disappointing as hell. The breath she’d been holding made its way out in a tormenting wave.
“Ah! So we did,” the captain replied in a lighthearted, almost teasing tone. “Doesn’t mean we can’t talk about it again. You saw things today that you hadn’t seen before. Smart men like yourself are not afraid to reassess their positions.”
Her father chuckled. “You’re playing me, Captain. I’m smart enough to understand that also.”
“No, Trysten, I’m not playing you.” The captain’s voice had turned dead serious. “I’m appealing to your good sense. If we don’t prepare right now, it might be too late to save the galaxy.”
“I know. That’s why I’ve already ordered my factories to ramp up production.” Trysten Kiroff paused. Ramya sat up. She almost pinched herself to make sure she was not in a dream. Her father continued in a casual way. “Every ship on the assembly lines is being stockpiled. Yours when you need then, Captain.”
The First Covenant (Dark Universe Series Book 2) Page 22
