Rogue Messiah: Fleetfoot Interstellar Series, Book 2

by P. Joseph Cherubino

  “To all ships,” Drexler announced. “Confirm convoy network, Prepare for arrival. Stand by for commands.”

  “Four minutes to destination,” operations announced.

  “Reggie,” Drexler subvocalized. “Are you ready?”

  “I hope so, Captain,” Reggie replied. He did not sound sardonic.

  “I was hoping for something a bit more confident,” Drexler replied.

  “I thought you’d be happy with honesty,” Reggie replied.

  “From you? That scares the shit out of me,” Drexler said.

  “Were I capable of laughter, Drexler,” Reggie replied

  “Three minutes,” announced ops.

  Drexler watched and waited.

  “Two minutes.”

  “Reactor 100%. All convoy network notes active.”

  “One minute.”

  “Boson field stable. Prepare for inertial transition.”

  “Ten seconds.”

  “Prepare main drive shutdown.”

  “Nine, eight, seven, six …”

  “…shutdown sequence…”

  “..five, four, three…”

  “Blink drive shutdown initiated…”

  “…two…”

  “…reactor stable, boson field stable, gravity bubble optimal…”

  “One!”

  “And we exit the blink!” operations announced.

  “Helm!” Drexler barked, “Get me a bearing. Ops! Full scan, all frequencies, all spectrums. I want to know every grain of dust for twenty-million kilometers. Protocol station! Report Armada status!”

  Mumlo snapped into action, bounding about the bridge to make certain the flurry of orders bore fruit. Drexler unrolled a display scroll and held it in front of him with trembling hands.

  “And someone open the damn window! Let’s see what’s out there!”

  Someone tapped a console and the bridge forward bulkhead turned transparent. The Captain’s eyes were greeted by six ships nearly a hundred kilometers distant, clear enough to identify with the naked eye. One of them was the Protector.

  “Ops! What’s the status on our formation?”

  “We have none, Captain.”

  “All ships,” Drexler ordered. “Form up as planned on my location.”

  Drexler watched the protector move off in a wide arc. She was assigned as the Armada’s center. Fleetfoot I was always to be the tip of a diamond-shaped spear.

  “All ships moving into position, Captain.”

  “Time to formation?” Drexler queried nervously.

  “We’re looking at thirty standard minutes, Captain.”

  “Not bad. Any faster and we’d all overshoot,” Drexler replied, mostly for his own benefit. “Ops! Do we have contacts?”

  “I am picking up Trade Union transponder signals just past termination shock zone. I’m reading gravity waves that appear artificial just inside the heliosphere. No transponders there.”

  “OK, I want you focused in on those waves. Look for anything coming our way and be ready!”

  Drexler watched the reports roll in as he paced the bridge with his display scroll. As soon as their formation was solid, he wanted to move past the heliosphere and get into orbit around Medina 3. He sidled up to Mumlo.

  “Those Union ships running transponders are really stupid,” Drexler said. “Makes them bright targets.”

  “Indeed,” Mumlo replied. “Once we establish contact, we’ll have to tell them there’s a new way of doing business.”

  “Yeah, our way,” Drexler replied. “Before the war, we’d get heavy fines for disabling transponders. I wonder if they even know how to turn the damn things off?”

  When Mumlo laughed, it sounded like boulders rolling down a rock face in a quarry. Drexler was grateful for the sound he had not heard in many weeks. “And we all tried to tell you that crime would never pay,” Mumlo said. “I guess we were all wrong about that.”

  Drexler didn’t know what to say. The compliment was odd, but it struck him in the heart. Drexler Fleetfoot, Captain of an aging freighter in need of numerous repairs, CEO of a struggling, broke and heavily-indebted company, now led a fleet of ships that was the best hope the Trade Union had.

  “Ain’t life just…strange,” Drexler replied. Mumlo fixed him with black eyes larger than human fists and placed a hand on his shoulder. Then he walked away.

  “Captain!” Darl shouted.

  Drexler gave a start, said, “Go!”

  “We have contact! Gravity distortion two-hundred-thousand kilometers, bearing 286 mark 19. Consistent with blinkpoint translation. It’s big, sir.”

  “How big?” Drexler asked.

  “Given the wave forms and levels of gravity distortion, object is at least 1.5 kilometers long and .75 wide and at least .5 deep.”

  “OK,” Drexler said. “That is pretty big.”

  “It’s smaller than a City Ship,” Mumlo observed.

  “But bigger than a breadbox,” Drexler replied. “All ships,” Drexler called. “Be advised, we have enemy contact. Monitor network for sensor data,” and he pointed at the ops officer, who understood to post all data to the convoy network.

  “Mumlo, we need to form up fast and get into that solar system faster,” Drexler said.

  “We have time,” Mumlo said. “Now is not the time to make rash moves. At that distance, they are hours away from being a threat.”

  “We can’t assume that,” Drexler replied.

  “And we can’t make a panic move either. It’s not a threat until it starts shooting,” Mumlo replied. Drexler knew common sense when he heard it.

  “OK, Crew.” Drexler said. “Excellent work. Let’s stay focused on forming up and heading in. The enemy is right behind us, but I guarantee they’re more surprised to see us than we are to see them.”

  “More contacts, Captain,” Darl announced.

  Drexler sidled up to the simian stationed at ops and read the screen. “They’re not moving,” he said. “Why not?”

  “They are moving, Captain, you can’t see their progress at this resolution. They’re moving way below sublight.”

  “No transponders, so they’re probably enemy. What else can you tell me?”

  “A lot, Captain. They are surrounded by gases and plasma. It’s like they’re inside a mini nebula, eighty-thousand kilometers around, just inside the termination shock zone.”

  “Gasses? In the termination shock region? How the hell is that possible?”

  “I’m reading ion trails all around that area. My best guess? I think those Trade Union ships are running circles around them and venting reactor gasses.”

  “Keeping them bogged down! That’s brilliant,” Drexler said.

  “To all ships,” Drexler called. “As soon as we have tight formation, I want you to head toward the incoming coordinates,” and Drex pointed to the protocol officer, said, “Send them the position of these ships.”

  “Affirmative, Captain,” replied protocol.

  Fourseven called Drexler on an exclusive channel over his hearing implants. “Captain, I am familiar with this approaching ship. It is the Alpha Lead of the Reptilian battle fleet.”

  Drexler froze. “Oh shit,” he replied.

  “Qualify, please,” Fourseven replied. “Explain excrement.”

  Drexler almost laughed, but pivoted and explained, “It’s an idiomatic way of saying ‘this is not good.’”

  “Yes,” Fourseven replied. “Oh shit.”

  Drexler did laugh then and said aloud, “You Insectoids have a special talent for language.” Drexler addressed his crew. “Listen up! I have word from General Fourseven that ship out there is the Reptilian Alpha vessel. That’s the big boy, everyone! It is not here to play games and neither are we!”

  The bridge exploded into motion and the sound of urgent voices. Drexler straightened with pride. Every station worked the problem like the professional astronauts they were. That meant gathering data. The Captain unrolled his display scroll, fastened it to the forward bul
khead and watched the data flow. He searched for useful patterns.

  “Ops, what’s your best guess here?” Drexler asked, still peering through reams of streaming data.

  “Clarify,” the officer replied.

  “What would you do if you were the Captain of that lead ship?”

  “Sir, I never imagined myself to be a blood-thirsty Lizard before.”

  “Right. This is new to all of us. Think,”

  “We have to assume they see us, because we can see them. I’d want to know our disposition. When I found out we were just a bunch of freighters, I’d move in and wipe us out.”

  “That’s about what I’d do too. Let’s give them pause then,” Drexler said. “Protocol, I want you to make contact with the Reptilian ships in that cloud of gas ahead.”

  “What are you doing, Captain,” Reggie asked.

  “I’m going to capture or kill those bogged down Lizard ships. Show some force,” Drexler replied. Reggie said nothing. “Comm. Open channel to Protector, open channel to all bridge hands.”

  “Protector here,” a synthesized voice said, filling the bridge.

  “General Fourseven, I recommend that this Armada head toward the Reptilian Vessels indicated by my ops station.”

  “To what purpose?” Fourseven replied.

  “Capture or kill,” Drexler replied. He held his breath and waited.

  The Armada agreed to follow orders from Fourseven or Drexler as the situation warranted. This would be their first test.

  “I agree,” Fourseven replied. “You have command of the Armada.”

  “To all ships,” Drexler called. “Fleetfoot I in the lead. Be ready for combat and stand by for orders. Proceed to indicated coordinates at matched speed and ready weapons.”

  The ship stayed put. Drexler walked over to his helm officer and gently said, “Helm, that means head toward those ships at one-half C. Time?”

  “Oh! Yes sir!” The helm officer replied. “That will put us in weapons range in just under one hour.”

  “I have positive contact with the Reptilian fleet,” comm station reported.

  “How many are there?”

  “Fifty, sir. Freighters, by the looks of them.”

  “But we know their freighters carry weapons. They’re really light attack craft in disguise,” Darl remarked.

  “Yup. That’s how they took the Trade Lanes,” Drexler said. “Now, let’s start taking them back. Open a channel to the lead Reptilian craft.”

  “Channel open,” Midge said.

  “This is Captain Drexler Fleetfoot of the Resistance Armada. Prepare to surrender.”

  “Captain!” The comm officer interrupted. “We are getting…a flurry of incoming calls from Medina 3 Orbital and…about a hundred other ships scattered around the solar system. They picked up our signals and are eager to talk.”

  “Ask them if they would please hold, Keff” Drexler replied, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of the statement.

  “We do not surrender,” came a Reptilian voice over the bridge comm.

  “Identify yourself,” Drexler replied.

  “We do not surrender,” the Reptilian replied.

  “Is that your given name, or just what your friends call you?” Drexler replied.

  After a pause, the Reptilian replied, “Clarify.”

  Drexler made a chopping motion with his hand and Keff muted the channel. “How the hell did that get a response? Humorless bastards,” Drexler said running his hand across the crown of his head. “OK, open the comm again.” The Captain took a deep breath and said, “I want to know your name. Tell me your name and title so that I know who I am about to destroy.”

  The response was immediate. “This is Attack Alpha Chaass, and It is we who will destroy you.”

  “OK,” Drexler replied. “Now that we are on speaking terms, let me ask you this: how do you expect to destroy us? At your current speed, it will take you twenty standard hours to reach clear space. We have two-hundred-fifty ships to your fifty.”

  “You are weak. We are strong,” the Reptilian replied.

  “I respect that,” Drexler said. “I really do. But we are getting stronger. Do you really want to lose your entire sortie to test our strength?”

  “We do not surrender,” the Reptilian replied.

  Drexler made a chopping motion with his hand. Comm station closed the channel. “That went about how I expected,” the Captain said. “Let them stew in that for a bit. Let’s see about some of these other calls. We are suddenly very popular.”

  “The rest of the Armada is asking if it is OK to reply,” comm said.

  Drexler looked a Mumlo for an answer. Mumlo shrugged and said. “I had not thought of this. They are probably eager to make contact.” The Armada had agreed to maintain strict communications silence, leaving Drexler and Fourseven as the primary contacts. This situation made the agreement difficult. Drexler believed he had to act fast before things broke down. He did not want the Reptilians listening in on too much chatter.

  “To all ships. Please hold off on communication with Medina Orbital until further notice. We will have plenty of time to chat later.”

  “Ah, sir, they don’t like that,” Drexler stole a glance at the comm station display and saw hundreds of channels opening up with many more hails and protocol requests.

  “Comm to Medina Orbital, Fleetfoot I acknowledged,” Drexler said. “We would appreciate it if you’d restrict your comm traffic to my ship or the Insectoid craft identifying itself as The Protector.”

  “Affirmative, Fleetfoot I . We heard you were coming,” Medina Orbital replied. The bridge went silent for a moment, and quizzical glances bounced around the room.

  “Well, glad to be here. We also ask that any ships in the vicinity keep a distance of at least one-hundred-million kilometers. Things might get kind of messy out here.”

  A long pause stretched out across space. “Medina Orbital asks for clarification on your last transmission.”

  “Well, Medina Orbital,” Drexler said, “we are about to take care of some problems for you. Also, there is a Reptilian Battle Cruiser bearing down on your system that we need to deal with.”

  “Acknowledged,” Medina Orbital replied. “We have an encrypted comm request for you, personally, Captain Fleetfoot.”

  Drexler balked. He scanned the bridge crew and many eyes stared back. “What makes me so special,” Drexler asked aloud.

  “Channel secure, captain,” comm station reported.

  “Drexler?” a familiar voice filled the bridge. Drexler could not breathe. He could not speak. “Drexler, are you there?”

  “Yeah,” Drexler whispered through a thought a restricted throat.

  Margaret laughed and Drexler heard the tears in that laughter because they mixed with his own. “Hi, Margaret,” Drexler said. “Are you OK?”

  “Yes. Are you?” Margaret replied.

  “I am now,” Drexler said.

  “Is Mumlo there with you?”

  “He sure is.”

  “And Samuel?”

  “Yes. He’s with us.” Drexler replied. His voice sounded in his ears as if he was a child again, talking to his big sister over the interstellar tangler channel.

  “Mumlo,” Margaret said. “I want you to take care of our boy, OK?”

  Mumlo nodded his head and could not speak. “He’s nodding his head,” Drexler said.

  Margaret’s laughter filled the bridge.

  “Margaret, I love you,” Drexler blurted.

  “I know, Drex. I love you too.”

  “I have to go take care of this thing, now,” Drexler said. His voice aged as he spoke. Margaret paused.

  “I know, Drexler. I will see you soon, OK. You keep that ship in one piece, take care of that crew.”

  “Yeah,” Drexler said. It took every ounce of will for him not to collapse into his flight chair. “Close channel.” Drexler said.

  He snapped his head from side to side, and took a deep breath through clenched teet
h. “Ops, how far?”

  “Twenty minutes,” ops replied.

  “Prepare the particle emitters for directed energy discharge. Target those ships as soon as we are in range.”

  The twenty minutes went by fast, and the armada stabbed itself at the seventeen Reptilian attack craft just ten-thousand kilometers distance. It was point-blank range for their energy beams.

  “They’re not making any moves to fire,” Drexler noticed.

  “They can’t, sir,” Darl replied.

  “Explain,” Drexler ordered.

  “They’re surrounded by hydrogen and helium.”

  “So, basically, they’re traveling through a sleeping star,” Drexler said.

  “More like an unlit fusion reactor,” Darl replied.

  “How far is that Reptilian Battle Cruiser?” Drexler asked.

  “They’re moving in at nearlight, it looks like they could go to blink at any moment, in which case, they’ll be on is in seconds.”

  “Yeah, but they’d tear their ship apart doing it in space this dense.” Drexler thought for a moment. “Ops, what is the compliment on those ships?”

  The officer didn’t have to look up the information. “I know that hull configuration. They hold about three-hundred crew each.”

  “That makes fifteen-thousand Reptilians, maybe more, maybe less.” Drexler said. The bridge grew silent. “You all know what we came here to do, yes?”

  Nobody said a word. “Ops, target a wide-angle electron beam at that cloud. Full power, duration: ten seconds. Be ready to fire on my command.”

  “Target set, Captain.”

  “Open a channel again to Alpha Chaass,” Drexler ordered.

  “Captain Fleetfoot,” Chaass said. Drexler was surprised at the quick response.

  “Alpha Chaass. Thank you for accepting my hail. I am giving you one last chance to shut down your drives and surrender. Comply!”

  “We do not surrender to inferior species. We are Reptilian, and we ―”

  “Fire,” Drexler said. He peeled the display scroll off the transparent bulkhead and squinted through distant space. He he saw the electron beam as a minor distortion like a heat mirage on the desert floor. In the distance, a white light flashed, turned yellow and began to flicker with bright, white pulses as fusion reactors exploded. If he hadn’t just killed more than fifteen-thousand living, thinking beings, Drexler would have found the sight pretty.