Rogue Messiah: Fleetfoot Interstellar Series, Book 2

by P. Joseph Cherubino

Aahloh activated the suit logic and waited for it to read his bio signs before he stood with tentative effort. “That is excellent. I did manage to see the reports while your medical staff repaired me.”

  Drexler hung on the word “repair,” unsure at the reference to his body as a mechanical device. He paused to choose his words. “I hope your healing goes well. The Armada will move out within the hour for another attack. Your ship is assigned to rear support.”

  “I understand,” Aahloh said. “It will take some time for my new crew and I to learn Armada protocols.”

  “Same for the rest of us,” Drexler said. “We are making things up as we go along. That is why it is important for you to stay in the rear, take direction and observe.”

  “Of course,” Aahloh agreed as he fastened the front of his flight suit.

  “I must be forthcoming with you, Captain,” Drexler said. “I am concerned for your mental health.”

  Drexler did not know what to make of Aahloh’s quick response. “Your Doctor believes I am mentally ill.”

  “No, he does not. If he thought so, you would not be going back to your ship. He is concerned for your well-being, as am I.”

  “I do thank you for your concern, Captain. Your kindness is very welcome after recent events.”

  “You mean the attack, and the murder of your crew,” Drexler said. His aim was to put a name on the horror.

  Aahloh hesitated, said, “Yes. That is what I mean.”

  Drexler took a chance by placing his hand on Aahloh’s shoulder. He hoped the Captain understood the friendly human gesture. “You went through a great ordeal. As a professional astronaut, I hope you will trust me when I tell you that I see your distress. You are not well. I don’t think you realize your condition. When this is all over, you and I need to talk. That means I want you to go back and run your ship. You are on light duty. I know you run that ship well because you are the only Captain to escape a Lizard attack so far.”

  “I understand, Captain,” Aahloh replied. “Thank you for your assessment. I will comply.”

  “Thank you, Captain Aahloh,” Drexler replied. “It is an honor to have you with the Armada.”

  Drexler left feeling a bit better about the situation. Aahloh and his ship were still wild cards, but at least he had some kind of understanding. But even that was Drexler’s best guess. Everything became a gamble.

  Back on the bridge, the air was thick with operational chatter. Mumlo stood in the middle of it all like an orchestra conductor. It took Drexler a while to get a handle on ship status. Even after he caught up, he let Mumlo continue his command. A few minutes later, the Armada Captains checked in ready to go.

  “Lead ship, checking in,” Drexler said. “Protector is in command of this sortie, so listen close. Launching in ten seconds.”

  Drexler closed the channel and secured himself to his flight chair. The straps crossing his chest provided an odd sense of comfort. He watched the display scrolls on the ceiling as the time counted down. The formation was tight. Helm announced the launch and the flight chair pressed his back as the ship moved from a full stop to one-half the speed of light.

  Drexler took note of the hull stress readings. The inertia field strained to breaking and the capacitors drained quickly.

  “Engineering!” Drexler called. “Power levels are dropping too fast. What can you do for us?”

  Gajrup took a few precious seconds to reply. “Not much, Captain. Trying to squeeze out all the efficiency we can, but the cooling ducts are beyond safe limits.”

  The unspoken fact in Gajrup’s reply was that the Armada ships refrained from dumping heat into space for fear of revealing their position. They wanted the ship heat signatures as low as possible.

  “Do what you can, engineer. Out.”

  “Captain, we are approaching the target,” the helm station reported.

  “Are we in their weapons range?”

  The answer to Drexler’s question came as a flash of red light and a crashing against the hull. The ship pitched to the right, and Drexler’s neck snapped painfully as his cheek slammed against the flight chair.

  “Damage report!”

  “Protective field fifty percent! Hull stress on critical the keel below the nose section. Plates are buckling!”

  “Shoot back, damn it!” Drexler bellowed. An instant later, his chair vibrated as the ship channeled a massive pulse of energy through its conduits.

  “Comm!” Drexler shouted. “All ships! Fire at will! Focus on that damaged section!”

  “We are away, captain,” helm station reported. Drexler saw the enemy ship fall away to the bottom right of the viewport as the first wave turned away from their swooping run.

  “What’s our sortie status?” Drexler asked.

  The ops station replied, “All ships accounted for. Four ships took heavy damage, they are falling back. Replacements incoming.

  Drexler read the tally on the display scroll as the list of ships shrank by four. The replacements did not show up on the list for several minutes.

  “Protector to all ships,” Fourseven called. “Second wave inbound. The Cruiser is changing position. Be advised, the second enemy fleet has just left blinkpoint and is on approach at a hundred thousand kilometers.”

  The bridge chatter went silent for a moment as the crew absorbed the bad news as a single mind. The bridge chatter came back louder than before. Drexler’s attack wing formed up as planned behind the advancing Protector as the second wave attacked. All Drexler could do was watch.

  The second wave followed the same path as the first, concentrating fire on the previously damaged section of the enemy ship. The distortions in space no longer concealed the attackers as the Reptilian ship moved from the asteroid field into open space. But the Armada had one more surprise.

  “How is that collective gravity bubble coming, ops?” Drexler asked nervously.

  “A bit too well,” came the reply.

  Drexler changed his display to show a wide area of space affected by the growing bubble. He saw thousands of symbols representing asteroids of every size that approached the ships of the first attack wing.

  “Those rocks look like they’re coming towards us kind of fast,” Drexler said.

  “Yes they are, captain,” ops station said.

  “Can we ah, do anything about that?” Drexler asked, his voice rising in pitch.

  “Not if we want to succeed,” Mumlo replied from his own massive flight chair.

  Just then, drum beats sounded as the smaller, lighter asteroids made contact with the hull. The plan was to gather as many asteroids as they could inside their collective gravity bubble, then make another run at the Battlecruiser while dragging the rocks with them. When the ships separated again, the rocks would continue on, and hopefully do heavy damage to the Reptilian ship. They just had to survive traveling at fractions of light speed in close proximity to other ships and giant space rocks.

  Drexler watched the progress of the second wave. Eight ships blinked out from the display. He forced himself to keep his eyes from the viewport. Drexler preferred to see a schematic view of ships being destroyed, and not the flares in space as reactors exploded. He could not keep his mind from the deadly calculus. Eight ships meant more than three thousand people lost their lives. It also meant the Armada lost significant capacity. They could not afford such losses.

  The Captain was grateful when Fourseven called to the first sortie again. “First wing, proceed with attack.”

  “Go!” Drexler shouted. Gravity multiplied again and smashed him against the flight chair.

  “Bubble holding!” operations station reported.

  “It better!” Drexler said. “We are dragging twenty-million metric tons of rock with us. It’s working!”

  But the Reptilian ship was now in open space. The protector herself moved forward to draw its fire, but the Battlecruiser had more than enough capacity to shoot at both the oncoming attack wing and the protector.

  “Ops!” Drexler sa
id. “Lay down some fire, anywhere you can. Doesn’t matter that we’re not in effective range.”

  “Acknowledged,” ops replied.

  “Captain, Gajrup here. Capacitors are drained. We are pulling directly from the reactor.”

  Drexler pulled up the reactor stats. Capacity was below fifty percent and dropping quickly. “That looks bad,” Drexler said. “Do what you can, engineering.”

  “Captain, the enemy fleet is within range,” the ops station reported.

  Drexler’s heart sank. They were close enough to read the Reptilian script around the airlocks and data transmission arrays. “Time to contact?”

  “Less than a minute,” ops replied.

  “When can we release these rocks and pull back?”

  “We can release the bubble in two minutes.”

  “Request protocol authorization,” a voice said, filling the bridge.

  “What the hell,” Drexler said. “Who is that?”

  “It’s the Jubilee, sir,” comm replied.

  “Get her off the damn channel! Aahloh! Get control of your ship!” Drexler yelled. No response.

  “Request protocol authorization,” Jubilee repeated.

  “Captain! The computer core is spiking!”

  “Reggie, report your status,” Drexler said. Reggie did not reply.

  The hull shook again as the Battlecruiser returned fire. This time, the shaking was deep enough to make Drexler’s teeth chatter. His insides felt like chum in a bucket.

  “Compute core temperature critical, Captain,” Ops reported.

  “Give me admin function status!” Drexler ordered.

  “Stable. Systems under management, but the compute core is running at full capacity.”

  “Reggie! What the hell is going on!” No response. “Time to release!”

  “Past time!”

  “Shit! All ships! Release the bubble!”

  Helm plunged the ship down in relation to the onrushing Battlecruiser that now consumed the entire viewport. An incoming photon beam glanced off the Fleetfoot’s protective field and made complete contact with the ship behind them. Drexler watched the ship blink out on his display scroll. The first wing scattered, and the asteroids they dragged with them continued.

  “Time to impact?” Drexler asked.

  “Thirty seconds,” ops replied. “The cruiser stopped firing at the Armada and is aiming for the asteroids.”

  “Protector to all ships,” Fourseven called. “Resume formation facing oncoming attack fleet.”

  “I have a count, captain! The fleet numbers three-hundred ships,”

  “Comm. Exclusive channel. Fleetfoot I to Protector. I recommend we run, Fourseven,” Drexler said.

  Mumlo glared at him from his flight couch.

  “Hold fast, Deliverer,” Fourseven replied.

  “Don’t call me that!” Drexler shouted, losing control in spite of himself.

  “Believe,” came the reply.

  Drexler bit his lip and tasted blood. The Armada formed up with the Protector as the tip of its diamond shape. They matched her speed. At fifty-thousand kilometers distant, the enemy fleet shone through the viewport as a field of blue and white stars.

  “Their particle fields are at full power,” ops reported. “It will take a few shots to take them down.”

  “We might not have the time,” Drexler said, taking note of the Armada status. All ships reported damage, some of it major. Not a single ship reported full power to its protective fields.

  “Protector to all ships,” Fourseven announced. “Launching second fleet.”

  Hundreds of Arachnid vessels undocked from the wide brim of the Protector’s main disc and formed a second, smaller spearpoint around the main formation.

  “We are in weapons range, Captain,” Darl reported.

  “Protector, we really should fire now,” Drexler said.

  “Hold,” Fourseven said again, as the enemy ships let loose with photon beams, electron spikes and other forms of energy ops could not read.

  “What the hell are they hitting us with?” Drexler shouted, dismayed as the ship rocked to port. “Formation is breaking up!”

  The Arachnid attack wing split off into two lines and moved to flank the incoming ships. “Return fire,” Fourseven ordered. “Hold formation at all costs.”

  “Reggie, where are you?” Drexler asked. The compute core was still spiked. “Vent heat! Engineering, Vent heat!”

  “Our signature, Captain!” Darl objected.

  “I don’t care! We need a computer, or we’re dead,” Drexler replied.

  Sure enough, the venting heat drew concentrated fire.

  “Protocol authorized,” Reggie said.

  The oncoming fleet broke apart suddenly. More than a hundred enemy ships scattered in all directions.

  “What was that?” Drexler asked.

  “Unknown,” ops answered. "But the odds just evened up. Those ships are running in the opposite direction."

  “Protector to Armada. Hold formation. Concentrate fire on remaining ships.”

  “You heard the insect!” Drexler said. “Fire at will!”

  The oncoming wall of ships broke apart as the main formation cut through them. They passed so close that several ships among both Armada and Enemy lost their gravity bubbles dropped to ballistic speed. The Arachnid fighters immediately gathered up and destroyed the stragglers. In minutes, the formidable fleet became a scattered collection of ships desperately struggling to regain formation. The Armada made a wide turn.

  “What’s the status on that Battlecruiser?” Drexler asked.

  “Heavily damaged, three hundred thousand kilometers to port. Out of weapons range.”

  “Protector to all ships. Break formation and pursue enemy.”

  “Ops, give me status,” Drexler ordered.

  “Forward hull has several sprung plates, we are down twenty-seven emitters. Protective field at forty percent. Reactor climbing upward from seventy-five percent. Capacitors at full.”

  “OK, then,” Drexler ordered. “Take us in. Acquire the nearest target and let loose.”

  Helm brought them around to grab the ion tail of a ship that once belonged to the Trade Union. By the design, Drexler guessed it Simian in origin.

  “It feels almost a shame to say this,” Drexler said. “But open fire!”

  A photon beam formed, and spiked out from the Fleetfoot I . The former Simian ship jogged to port under full impact. Its speed slowed dramatically, and helm matched its speed.

  “Comm! Open a channel to that ship,” Drexler ordered.

  “Channel established,” comm replied.

  “Reptilian crew of stolen craft. Shut down your drives and prepare to surrender!” Drexler said. There was no reply. “Ops, target reactor and prepare to fire,” Drexler said, making sure to broadcast his order to the enemy ship.

  “We surrender,” Came a reply over static.

  “Hold your fire,” Drexler said. “Enemy ship. Hold position and drop your protective field. If you move at all or raise your field again, you will be destroyed. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” came the reply.

  “Next target!” Drexler ordered.

  They captured more than a dozen ships using the same method, taking minor hits in the process. Five would not surrender and were destroyed. Twenty minutes later, the battle was over.

  “Fourseven to Armada,” the General called. “Regroup. Stand by.”

  Drexler ordered helm to take the ship back to formation. They proceeded slowly through a field of shattered hulls and drifting bodies.

  21

  The Alpha Lead ship took heavy weapons fire in the first wave of the Trader attack. Gholss executed two low-ranking bridge crew members and the rest of the team still did not respond fast enough. Fire control teams were slow to target the incoming ships. HIs foot claws slipped on blood and flesh as he rushed around the bridge, hissing orders.

  The ship was already reeling when the second wave burst out of the
asteroid field. At first, Gholss was pleased that the second formation was tighter and presented a better target profile. They managed to destroy or disable six or seven enemy craft. But when the attackers broke formation at the end of their strafing run, the asteroids caught in their gravity wake pounded the ship. The protective field held for a few seconds, then blinked out as thousands of rocks slammed home.

  The Alpha Lead ship of the Reptilian invasion fleet sounded like the inside of a war drum. Alarm tones keened, and the bridge lights flickered. A protective screen slammed closed across the main bridge viewport after a crack formed there and atmosphere hissed mockingly into space.

  Throughout the attack, Sslolg stood calmly at the center of the bridge staring into his holographic display column. He bellowed an occasional order that made little sense. But Gholss stayed the course. His Alpha had a plan in mind. Gholss was certain of it. As the attack wore on, his faith in the Alpha also took damage.

  “The reserve fleet joins the battle!” announced the operations officer.

  Sslolg called to the new arrivals, “Incoming fleet, focus all fire on the enemy formation.”

  The ops officer transmitted target coordinates to the fleet. Sslolg stared on at his display.

  “Damage control teams, report!” Gholss called out, then bounded over to stand beside his Alpha. Gholss tapped the controls and brought the damage reports forward on the display. “Heavy damage, Alpha Leader.” Gholss said. “But we can still fight. We must come around and support the incoming squadron with heavy fire. We may yet have a chance.”

  “No,” Sslolg replied. “We must wait until they weaken.”

  Gholss calmly took a few paces away from his Alpha. He tasted the air with his tongue and found sweet, tangy fear that made the venom sacs in his throat swell and burn.

  “Clear the bridge!” Gholss bellowed. The alpha did not move. Gholss set his sidearm on a nearby console and stepped out into the open space between himself and the Alpha.

  The last crew member scurried from the bridge. As soon as the door closed behind him, the Alpha whirled. Gholss leaped at the first sign of motion and the electron beam set the left shoulder of his uniform on fire. He smelled his flesh burning, but the rage blocked most of the pain.