Their uniforms unpeeled.
Romulus had seen a video of an Earth fruit called an apple, from which the peel had been removed into an astonishingly long spiral. He watched the top of Janna’s collar unwind around the back of her neck before coming back for another bite, and then another. The spiral of peeled uniform grew around her as her throat was bared. The pale green upper slopes of her breasts sucked at his gaze as hungrily as a singularity.
Janna watched like a hungry predator as Romulus was himself unwrapped. He found he enjoyed watching her excitement even more than the slow reveal of her parasite-hardened flesh.
They were soon unpeeled. Neither wore anything underneath.
“Well, hello,” he said with a flick of his hairless eyebrow ridge.
“Shut up and touch me,” she replied.
He didn’t. Not yet.
Janna reached over and started running her palms over his chest, but he was content to admire her with his gaze for a moment before moving in for more tactile pleasures.
To most people based at Khallini-4 they were both hideously disfigured freaks. Romulus never took offence at this sentiment. How could he? Janna was the most beautiful person in all creation.
He took his time to survey the delights presented before him. Where would he touch her first?
Janna made a grab for his hand. She wanted him to place it on her breast, but he had anticipated her move and dodged her. He speared his hands instead through her hair, a spiky riot of blues and violets streaked with iridescent red. When he’d first met her, auburn hair had fallen to her shoulders in loose curls. Janna’s hair had revealed that the symbiote that gave them their armor was doing more than embed itself in their skin. It was altering their DNA.
How an organism from another planet had attached itself to such a specifically Earth-based bio-mechanism as DNA was of interest to a lot of people, most of all the mysterious aliens they called mudsuckers. But none was interested as much as Romulus.
They kissed.
The light touch provided an almost chaste form of intimacy, but Romulus liked to build the passion gently, to Janna’s perpetual irritation.
Today things felt different, though. Outside of the old X-Boat’s cockpit was hard vacuum. This was nothing like making love in the bowels of a troop ship where they were protected by frames and bulkheads and an armored hull.
Romulus stretched out his fingers between Janna’s breasts, and traced a line down past the patch of still-human skin beneath, and down over more scales to her harness release.
A few moments of fumbling freefall later and Romulus was beginning to wonder whether he should have set the X-Boat to a micro-g acceleration: sex in a cramped two-seater Mustang cockpit was proving to be a challenge.
“Shush!” Janna pressed a finger to his lips. “You’re about to complain. Don’t. It’s all part of the fun.”
He kissed her hungrily. “I love you, Janna.” He laughed. “In anyone but you, being right so often would be a pain in the butt.”
She slapped his ass. The little skangat, it really stung.
“You want pain in your butt?” she teased. “I can do that.”
Her sudden movement made her bounce off the inside of the cockpit and then ricochet off the flight console. He caught her on the rebound and wrapped his legs around her. They could bounce around as much as they liked, just so long as they did so together.
The flight console screamed an alarm.
“I don’t think it approves,” she joked.
Laughter filled her voice but Romulus couldn’t share her happiness. His gaze was glued to the tactical update on the console.
No! Not now! No, no, no!
“What is it?” Janna demanded.
“Multiple bogies.”
“Shit! How many?”
Romulus swallowed hard. The galaxy had such an evil sense of timing. “I can’t tell, Janna,” he said trying to sound calm. “The Mustang’s tactical system can’t cope with any more than a thousand tracks.”
— CHAPTER 04 —
Romulus resisted the overwhelming need to act, to do something, while he assessed the tactical situation.
With the Leviathan – and her escorts filled with soldiers – safely away in deep space en route to the main theater of combat operations, the Khallini system flagship was the Beowulf, commanded by Captain Lubricant. Several troop ships and two new carriers laden with completed X-Boats were under construction in the orbital dockyard, but they had no defending fleet.
The harsh truth was that the advance of the Human Legion relied upon a vigorous offence to seize the initiative and keep their enemies off balance. They didn’t have the resources to siphon off ships and defend every captured system – it would rob their advance of impetus and present targets to be destroyed in detail.
Khallini had not been left undefended, however. A torus of automated gun platforms encircled the dockyard, and the moons of Khallini-4 were bristling with missiles and squadrons of drone craft. The minefield that had caused such trouble to the New Empire’s 3rd Fleet had been repaired and expanded.
On the tac-console, a smudge of red too thick to resolve into individual markers showed the enemy assault. It was advancing on Beowulf.
But that’s impossible! Somehow, the enemy had penetrated the entire sensor network and the minefield without being noticed. Who in the galaxy could possibly field the technology to pull that off?
His course of action was clear. He had to rejoin his patrol defending Beowulf and the orbital dockyard.
Training took over and he scrambled into action. Moments later he and Janna were secure inside fast-fit emergency pressure suits, strapped into their couches and speeding to protect Beowulf, which had been his home virtually his entire life.
The harnesses were a habit that made little sense in the X-Boat the instant Romulus had activated the momentum absorption system. This was the little fighter craft’s secret. It could accelerate at the limit of its engine’s thrust without crushing its inhabitants, and come to a stop in an instant, because momentum could be channeled into a Klein-Manifold region. Conservation of momentum remained a universal rule, but only if you looked at the big picture. Squint and you could appear to bend even this most rigorous law of nature.
Hell, the details were for science-twonks like his brother, Remus. What mattered to Romulus was that his nimble little fighter had the same kind of engine that could push a battlecruiser across the interstellar gulfs.
With a whoop, Romulus set the Mustang’s engine to maximum thrust.
They didn’t feel a thing.
— CHAPTER 05 —
The unidentified enemy came at Beowulf in waves, lining up as they materialized into view on the inner rim of the minefield before charging down the distance to the old troop ship. It was bizarrely similar to disciplined cavalry attacks on old Earth.
And just as effective as cavalry against the most advanced military tech in the galaxy.
Romulus kept his thumb on the firing stud and swooped down on the attack wave from above, raking them with fire from the Mustang’s railgun.
Only his years of training allowed Romulus to make any sense of the environment as he jinked around the attackers, accelerating faster than a missile one moment, and then dancing on a pin to fly at them from another bearing. Confusing as it was, he was seeing a sanitized version of reality fabricated by his Mustang’s fight system. The view stuttered and blurred as the display caught up with the furious pace of change.
He threw burst after burst of darts at the enemy, taking out dozens, scores of what he decided were probably drones. The enemy craft were slightly smaller than his Mustang, shaped like an aero engine with a pinched nose and an exhaust nozzle spitting fire.
Jeez! These things are using chemical rockets from the Stone Age, but can slip through our sensors unnoticed.
“Been having fun, Wolf Cub?” asked Dodger, or Flight-Sergeant De Silva when he was in trouble, which was often.
“Good of you t
o show up,” said Flight-Lieutenant Ormuz, the tension in her voice giving the lie to her banter. “The rest of this wave is ours. Stay out the way while we deal with them. Then form up on my wing until you’ve integrated your museum piece into our tactical net.”
“She’s not a museum piece, sir. She’s still a fighter.”
“I’m counting on it, Wolf Cub. You do realize that’s the same Mustang General McEwan flew at the Second Battle of Khallini?”
“No, sir, I didn’t. Leaving the field to you. Wolf Cub out.”
A premonition told Romulus that Janna was silently laughing at him. “What?” he demanded as he pushed the Mustang out from Beowulf.
“Wolf Cub!” Janna laughed. “You fliers with your silly names. Yours is so cute.”
“Yeah. Very funny. Now shut your mouth. I’ve a battle to fight.”
Romulus bit his lip. He hadn’t meant to snap, but he also hadn’t realized he had taken the general’s boat out for a sex cruise with the commander-in-chief’s former girlfriend. McEwan was long gone from Khallini, but his shadow was a difficult one to escape.
Then his flight commander saved him by leading her six Phantom 4s in a strafing run that weaved in and out of the lumbering enemy attackers faster than his eyes could track.
For once, Romulus obeyed orders and left his flight to its deadly task. He used the time scanning the area, not trusting his tactical systems to cope with so many enemy objects.
Beowulf was in high orbit around Khallini, and a safe distance of ten thousand klicks from the vast orbital dockyard and its torus of gun platforms. Safe in navigational terms, but dangerously divided in the tactical situation they found themselves in. The main moon bases, with their missile batteries and X-Boat squadrons, were on the far side of the planet. Only the dockyard with its newly built Phantom 5s were within range to help. Swarms of AI drone craft patrolled the region outside the minefield, but if they were on their way they would take many minutes to get here.
More of the strange little enemy craft lit up their rockets and announced their presence on the inner rim of the minefield. Romulus itched to close and engage them, but Ormuz had said to wait.
Her flight gouged great chunks out of the enemy formation with every swipe. A few had gotten through, only to be blown apart by the wall of high energy beams and darts thrown out by Beowulf’s point defenses.
Romulus’s home was safe for now. But the second wave was coming on fast, and already a third wave was forming up inside the minefield.
Ormuz’s flight left the few survivors of the enemy first wave for Beowulf to handle and formed up around Romulus. His tactical systems integrated with his comrades’, and an emergency software patch sent from Beowulf enabled his tac-display to cope with the huge enemy numbers and clarify the situation.
He immediately saw that Wing Commander Dock was sending a squadron of shiny new Phantom 5s over from the dockyard. 102nd Squadron… good guys.
Flight-Lieutenant Ormuz saw something quite different. “Wolf Cub, don’t you ever check your equipment?”
Romulus frowned. Ormuz sounded angry. What was she on about?
Oh, crap. The integrated tactical net reported operational status of all call signs in the flight. A separate high-priority pane in his display split away and showed his Mustang glowing red. His ammo was very low. Hell, I’m such an idiot. I bet McEwan never made mistakes like this.
“Stay with us for the next wave, Wolf Cub, then return to Beowulf to rearm.”
“Roger that.”
Then the next wave was upon them and the Mustang and Phantoms together skipped and dove around the incoming craft in an intricately choreographed dance of death that ripped the enemy to shreds.
Romulus was so absorbed by the constant high-speed maneuvering that it took a while to notice that none of the enemy were firing back. Did they even have weapons?
Help arrived in the form of 102nd Squadron, and it was one of the Fives that became the first human casualty when it collided with an enemy craft and was instantly vaporized in a vast green-tinged fireball. That was the answer, then. The enemy weren’t using fighter craft; they were flying bombs at Beowulf.
They were still dealing with the second wave, and the third was already upon them when the Mustang’s reserves of railgun darts were finally exhausted and Romulus ran for Beowulf’s dorsal hangar.
Once safely inside, the hangar rats tethered the Mustang with speed and skill, opening the hull section just aft of the cockpit and hooking up the ammo resupply tube.
The hangar crew were fast and robotically efficient, but not fast enough for Romulus. His kept his hands off the flight controls, and without the connection to his war machine, they shook like leaves in a hurricane.
Then disaster struck. The ammo resupply feed jammed. The crew were well-trained, but not in servicing this museum piece he was flying.
Damn!
Janna kept quiet but placed a hand on his thigh and squeezed gently, not wanting to spoil his concentration. She didn’t hate him, then. The thought loosened his mind a little. He’d apologize later for snapping at her, but he needed the comfort of her love right now, not her words.
While he waited to re-emerge into the fight, he tracked the battle’s progress.
If Janna hadn’t been there, what he saw would have chilled him with horror, but her presence kept him grounded, reminded him what he was fighting for.
More waves of flying bombs were on their way, but now the true attack was revealed. A wave of ships designated by the tactical analysts as troop carriers was headed their way. Worse, they were swarming around the dockyard facility and the orbital defense platforms that defended the planet far below.
Worse still, at the rear of the enemy formation emerged much larger craft, each the size of a heavy carrier but of an unknown configuration.
Romulus borrowed a sensor feed from Beowulf and got a closer look at the new capital ships. They took the form of two cones glued together at their bases. He couldn’t make sense of them. Big warships were normally hollow carriers that disgorged huge quantities of drone craft, and then stayed dark and silent far away from the danger of a combat zone. But no drones flew from these new ships. Their hulls too were odd. Instead of smooth plates of armor punctuated with weapons ports, Romulus had the impression of a central magnetized shaft that had attracted deep layers of random metal scraps. No weapons were on open display.
Despite the absence of any obvious offensive capability, there was only one class of large warship that would enter an active battlezone.
“Planet killers,” Janna whispered, and he knew she was right.
He counted around fifty, all of them headed for Khallini-4.
A familiar voice came over the comm. “Captain Lubricant to all fighter groups around Beowulf. Attack the enemy capital ships. I repeat. Leave the small fry to us and concentrate on the new craft designated Papa-Kilo one through fifty-one.”
“Roger that, Captain,” said Ormuz over the flight’s comm channel. “Disengaging and heading for the Pee-Kays.”
Then on a private channel, she said to Romulus. “Wolf Cub. The order was for fighter groups around Beowulf. That doesn’t mean you. You’re inside.”
Romulus couldn’t help but grin. Her flexible interpretation of orders was why he got on so well with his flight commander. “Officially, you’re too far away to rejoin my flight,” she said. “Unofficially, I’m relying on you to ensure I have a home to go back to. Got that?”
“Loud and clear, Flight-Lieutenant.”
“Good luck,” said Ormuz.
Romulus put her from his mind because the jam was cleared, his bird had been re-armed, and the hangar rats were about to release her tether.
But they hesitated… What were the chodders doing?
The Hangar Boss’s face appeared in the Mustang’s comm screen. “The XO overheard a rumor that you’re staying, Wolf Cub. Says if the rumor were true, then you shouldn’t waste your time shooting up the incoming troop carriers. Leave
them to us. Concentrate on the dirty wixers who get through to reach our hull. You didn’t hear that from me.”
“Roger that.”
“Now, go save our butts.”
The tether released and the Mustang streaked out into space.
The void was awash with troop carriers. They took the form of pods arranged in a ring, towed behind a central tube-shaped section. There was no obvious sign of propulsion but they were coming toward Beowulf at speed. Hundreds of them.
Beowulf’s missiles and laser batteries took a heavy toll out of the attackers, lighting the void with the blooms of their explosive deaths.
Romulus came in for an attack run, approaching the wavefront of attackers at a shallow angle, raking them with controlled bursts from his replenished railgun. He aimed for the central sections of the troop carriers, chewing up five of them until they were reduced to burning debris. He left the towed pods alone to drift onward. He passed one for a closer inspection and noted two features. What he assumed were the noses of the stubby pods ended in a heavily armored dish, the edge of which looked like a ring of Fermi drills. The drilling disks supported the idea that these were boarding pods, but the ring of pods had these nose drills oriented radially out from the center, not aimed at the boarding target.
As Romulus spun about for another attack run, the reason for the pod configuration became clear. The leading boarding craft came about.
They didn’t apply delta-vee to gradually change their vector in the manner of conventional spacecraft, nor did they shed their momentum instantly, sweeping it under the rug in the form of Klein-Manifold space as X-Boats did. The boarding craft slowly turned and slowed as if using a fluid medium to deflect its momentum. It came about like an ocean-going ship.
Romulus had seen that once before, on the day he left his mother behind on Tranquility. Even after they had captured one of the enemy ships, the Legion’s best minds still couldn’t work out how the craft had maneuvered. All Romulus did know was that he had only ever encountered one race that could come about in a vacuum.
Hardits!
As the boarding ships turned, the fan of pods rotated. Once up to speed, the pods were released, fired one after the other like slingshots at the target… at Beowulf.
War Against the White Knights Page 3
