by James Palmer
Standing, Marshal Vortex approached the tracking camera mounted above the screen. The camera would transmit his image across the vastness of space toward the approaching Scavenger horde. “This is Marshal Maxwell Vortex of the United Planetary Alliance to the fleet of vessels on approach to Earth. We are aware of your intentions and are under direct orders to keep you as far away from planet as possible.” He stopped, allowing them time to respond.
He turned to face Natalie. “Anything?”
“No response.”
Setting his jaw, Maxwell Vortex gave it one more try. He hoped the situation could be resolved peacefully. “If you stand down now, there will be no need for bloodshed. I don’t want to fight this out any more than the rest of you do. Let us end this here. Enough people have suffered and died already. We can find a way to work this out.”
He waited.
Again, nothing.
“Natalie?” he asked after a second of silence, his unspoken question clear.
“They can hear you, but they are making no attempt to answer. We will be within weapons range in thirty-three seconds. Shall I try contacting them again?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Channel open. You’re on, Dad.”
“This is Marshal Vortex to the incoming ships. I implore you to turn back now. Don’t make me destroy you.”
He motioned for Natalie to close the outgoing signal. “That should get their attention,” he said once he was no longer transmitting.
“They are not responding.”
“I guess they aren’t to interested in talking,” Walker said from the pilot’s den.
“I hope you’re wrong, Mr. Walker,” Vortex said, motioning the channel back open.
“Transmitting.”
“Damn it, listen to me! I can understand what you all must be feeling. I understand. I sympathize, believe me, but you are breaking the law and that cannot be tolerated. I know...”
“You know nothing!” a gravelly voice interrupted, echoing across the open comm frequency, voice only, no picture.
“We have tried to do things within your laws. We have tried for many years, but as they say, money talks. The Earthers have it. We don’t.” The voice stopped for a moment as the words hung over the bridge crew like a shroud. “This is the only way left. This is our last option. Our last hope.”
“No, dammit! No, it’s not.” the marshal argued. “Is this what you want to fight for? Do you want your children to grow up thinking the ends justify the means? Do you?”
“Sometimes difficult decisions must be made,” the gravelly voice cracked slightly. “We do not revel in what we do here today, but we must do this. Not for ourselves. We do it for our children. They need a place to call their own. This is the only way to give them that.”
“At what cost?” the marshal asked, trying to keep them talking. “If you take Earth, what’s to stop the next group that wants it from taking it from you the way you took it from the people living there now? What’s to stop them? Will you expect us to help you then?”
The gravelly voice, filled with emotion, continued. “We only want to coexist, to live together peacefully. We are not conquerors. We only want a place to call our own. Don’t you understand that?”
“Yes I do,” he said. It was not a lie.
.
“Magnify.”
At the marshal’s command, the small speck enlarged, becoming a small armada of vessels of various sizes, shapes, and makes.
“You were right,” Natalie said. “Scavengers.”
I hate it when I’m right, the marshal thought.
“Thank you.”
“But I cannot condone it. If you continue on this course, we will be forced to stop you. Lethally if necessary.” Marshal Vortex said, making his stand. His position was firm, non-negotiable. What happened next was dependent on whether or not the Scavengers chose to cross the line that he had drawn.
A moment of silence suspended across the depths of space separating the two armadas. All sound suspended, as if waiting for the gravelly voiced man’s answer. The crews looked around, afraid to breathe, lest it have unpleasant repercussions.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Marshal. You do what you have to. So will we.”
The transmission ended, severed on the Scavenger’s end. The marshal had hoped a conflict could have been avoided with diplomacy. Damn! So much for that idea. He slammed an open fist onto the arm of his command chair. “Shit! Put me on with the fleet.”
“Mic’s open, Marshal. She’s all yours.”
“All ships, this is Maxwell Vortex. You heard what the man said. Take care of business. Vortex out.”
Solemnly, he returned to his seat, a heavy burden weighing down on his broad shoulders.
“I hate this part,” he said quietly.
Chapter 42
39
Alliance Starship Pegasus
Marc Allen watched in awe.
From his post on the bridge of the wounded starship Pegasus, the lieutenant watched helplessly as the two groups stand off at the outer edge of Earth sector. Through the communication station he overheard much of the dialogue between the commander of the Alliance fleet, Marshal Vortex, and the unidentified spokesman for the other side.
“Who are they,” Lieutenant Andersen asked.
“Scavengers would be my best guess” Allen said while scratching at the stubble on his chin.
“Scavengers? Isn’t Earth a bit bigger than what they’re used to hitting?”
“Looks like they’ve been planning this for some time, Lieutenant,” Lt. Allen said, glancing at the monitor trained on the damaged Space Lab station. Realizing that the space station made for a tempting target for the terrorists, he wished he had a way to contact Captain Harmon and fill her in on the current situation.
Unfortunately, contact between the Pegasus and the station was spotty at best. The captain and her team should be on their way out of the station any moment.
He hoped she would be back on board and in command of the Pegasus soon. Not that he was afraid of assuming command. He had certainly demonstrated that he could handle the responsibility in a pinch, but in a time of crisis, a starship needed its commanding officer on deck.
Lt. Allen forced himself to turn away from the problems going on outside, focusing more on the problems going on inside his own ship. He toggled a switch that was becoming all too familiar. “Bridge to Engineering. Mr. Thomas, I need some good news.” He waited impatiently for the chief engineer to respond.
“What can I say, Mr. Allen? The chief replied. “This ship is dead in space. We’ve only been able to restore cruising engines. They won’t move this big tub very far or very fast, but it will keep us from crashing. We haven’t given up, but it’s the best we could do in so short a span. Sorry.” Harry Thomas’ voice was filled with annoyance.
Lt. Allen had reached the limits of his patience with the chief engineer and his annoying attitude.
“I’m sorry too, Mr. Thomas,” Lt. Allen’s said solemnly as he cut transmission. He sighed. Nothing left to do but sit back and enjoy the show. He wished there was more he could do, but if the chief engineer could not repair the ship’s engines, what chance would the Pegasus’ chief communication’s officer have?
None.
Lt. Allen’s field of expertise had taken him as far from the inner workings of a starship as possible. These massive vessels were quite complex, but surely, there must be some way to repair the damage that had been done. The radiation burst that struck the ship earlier had managed to stop the Pegasus dead in its tracks.
“How can that be?” he wondered aloud.
“Sir?”
“I was just think,” Lt. Allen said. “Space is teeming with various radiation spikes and surges, right? Starships are designed with these impediments in mind, correct?”
“Sounds reasonable,” Lt. Andersen said, not sure where this conversation was going.
“My question then, is how did they know what freque
ncy would penetrate the Pegasus’ shields so effectively?”
“How?”
“It’s not like we broadcast our shielding specs. Pegasus’ shields work on a modulating frequency that continuously fluctuates. A random radiation spike would likely have no direct impact. Yet these guys took us out with one punch. My question again is how?”
“I’m stumped,” Andersen shrugged. “There’s no way they could know what frequency we were running.”
“Unless it was an inside job.”
“Oh come on.”
“We can’t discount the possibility, Dag. Could someone aboard Pegasus be in contact with the ship that attacked both the ship and the space station? Is it possible?”
“Well, yeah, it’s possible. Anything’s possible, I guess,” Lt. Andersen said skeptically. “But, with all the communication’s problems we’ve had just trying to contact Captain Harmon’s team on the space station, I don’t see how any other signals could be getting through.”
“Only one way to find out,” Lt. Allen said, turning his full attention to the communication command console. With practiced ease, Lt. Allen began systematically searching all frequency carrier waves currently in use aboard Pegasus. Several carrier wave frequencies were active, giving him options.
A starship had many different systems operating concurrently, each with its own unique wave frequency signal. His task was simple. All he had to do was find the signal being used to communicate through the lingering radiation, if such a frequency actually existed.
“Okay, maybe this won’t be so easy after all.” he said as he got to work.
Outside, the standoff continued.
40
Space Lab Science Station
Heart hammering in her chest, Virginia Harmon ran.
In the bowels of the massive orbital research facility called Space Lab, she ran with all available speed down the flights of stairs after her charges. She had sent them ahead while she prepared a diversion. “Just in case,” she had told them. It paid to be prepared for any possibility. Her task accomplished, she hurried to catch up with the others.
A sense of urgency that permeated the space station. It was a strange feeling, not something she could readily put her finger on. It was just a bad feeling.
A very bad feeling.
Increasing her stride, taking two and three steps at a time she closed the gap. More than once she nearly lost her footing. A fall on the hard metal alloy stairs would surely inflict massive injury so she slowed to a more manageable speed. The run made her feel better about wearing the ridiculous workout outfit instead of the bulky Alliance military uniform pants. She mentally congratulated herself on planning ahead, although she was aware how unprofessional she looked dressed as she was. Given time, she would have changed into her uniform before boarding the station.
There had not had the time.
Moving at this rate, she would catch the others any moment.
Rounding a corner at the bottom of the stairwell exited her into a carpeted corridor. “Nice,” she complimented, hoping she was alone on this level. Scanning for a sign to tell her where she should go next, she spotted another stairwell farther down the hall.
She presumed Doctor Morgan would have kept the others moving via the stairs as planned unless the group had run into any unexpected problems, which would have diverted them. If there had been a need to change plans, would they have dared leave a message or clue for her? Probably not.
From what she has read of them, the A.L.’s were very intelligent little robots. They would pick up the trail far faster than she, being the lowly little human that she was. Drawing in a deep breath, she sprinted for the stairwell at the end of the corridor.
Hoping her deductions were accurate, Captain Harmon burst through the door at full speed, oblivious of the dangers that could possibly be lurking on the other side. Not like this place isn’t dangerous enough as it is, she mused.
Stopping at the top of the stairwell, gasping in lungs full of dusty air, she listened for any indication that her people passed this way. After a moment, she heard footsteps clanging on the hard metal of the stairs. One, maybe two levels below her. Re-energized, the captain of the Pegasus once again flung herself downward toward her fellow officers and the Space Lab survivors.
Two levels down, she stopped. Ahead of her was a doorway into another carpeted corridor. It was propped open. Did they leave the stairs? she wondered. Why?
Carefully poking her head out the door, her heart instantly seized with icy fear. The smoke and dust filled corridor was occupied, filled to capacity with a horror that Captain Harmon had hoped never to see again.
A horror that was rapidly advancing on her position.
“A.L.’s.” Her voice died in her throat as the unrelenting horde bore down on her. She could only assume they had registered her presence.
Luckily, the others had not exited the stairs on this level. .
Diving headfirst back through the open door into the stairwell, she rolled and landed on her back so she was positioned to kick the door closed. With a loud slam the stairwell door closed. Taking no time to aim, she unleashed the energy of her blaster at the door, fusing it closed as the horde of Artificials reached the opposite side.
She heard a loud noise as the lead A.L.’s slammed against the thick steel door, which bent under the force pushing against it.
“Maybe they’ll trample each other to scrap,” she said as she got to her feet.
Not wanting to stick around to see how well her quick welding job held up against the robot’s relentless onslaught, Captain Harmon thrust herself down the stairs, more determined than before.
A jumble of conflicting thoughts rumbled through her mind at once.
Have the A.L.’s found the others?
Did the others see the A.L.’s and alter their destination?
How many of those damned robots are there on the station?
How do I get myself into these things?
These thoughts and others raced through her mind.
That and a healthy dose of fear.
Running full out, her footfalls drowned out by the clanging of many small robotic hands banging against the door she had just sealed tight rang in her ears one level above her.
“That won’t hold them for long,” she said. “Got to get out of here before they catch up to me. Or the others,” she finished between heavy gasps for breath. Once more she increased her speed as she ran headlong down in a spiral toward the dusty unknown.
“I hope you know what you’re doing Harmon,” she told herself.
“I really hope you know what you’re doing.”
So do I, that tine voice in the back of her mind said.
42
Alliance Starship Pegasus
“Are those guys crazy?”
Lt. Marc Allen allowed himself a brief moment from his search to look up at the approaching ships on the monitor screen.
“This is going to be close,” Lt. Andersen added. “Way too close.”
Allen depressed a button, opening a comm-channel that put him in contact with all points of the Pegasus. “All hands, this is the bridge. Brace for impact,” he ordered. “This is not a drill. Brace! Brace! Brace!”
Following his own advise he pushed against the bulkhead and the nearest station and braced for impact. Allen wished there was something - anything - more he could do besides watching helplessly as the incoming vessels made their way toward the Pegasus.
“Are they going to attack or pass?” Andersen asked.
“That’s a really good question.”
They watched and waited for what felt like an eternity. The small vessels approached, but eventually Lt. Allen could surmise from their flight path that they would miss the Pegasus, but only by a short margin.
Too short a margin for his taste.
“Looks like they aren’t after us,” Andersen said, exhaling.
Lt. Allen realized that he too had been holding his breath. “That means th
ey’re going after the station.”
“Probably.”
Allen pointed to communications. “See if you can raise the captain. We need to warn her that more company’s coming.”
“I’m on it. Looks like we dodged a bullet, huh?”
“Looks that way,” Allen said. “But we’re not out of the woods yet.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “Something’s not right. Something’s…”
Then, the unexpected happened.
Marshal’s Office Starship Bounty’s Pride
“Marshal!” Natalie shouted a warning.
“The Scavenger vessels have opened fire on the Pegasus, sir.”
“What?”
“Compliment of cobalt tipped missiles. I’m reading twenty, correction, thirty missiles on course for Pegasus.”
“Status of Pegasus?”
“Defenseless,” Natalie confirmed. “Shields are down. They won’t survive impact.”
“Damn it,” the marshal checked the status of the ship’s weapons. All systems were functioning to specs. “Mr. Walker,” the marshal motioned, although the pilot could not see him. “Pegasus. Get us there now.”
“You got it,” Walker said, his tone belying the strain the maneuvers were putting on the ship. “Consider us there, Marshal,” he said after inputting the course correction.
The Bounty’s Pride shook as Walker pushed it past its safety limits.
A spark lanced out from a console off to the left of the marshal’s chair.
A technician ran to the section, promptly sealing off the problem.
Marshal Vortex gripped the arm of his chair, holding on tightly
“This is going to be close,” Walker said over the rattling of the ship.
Now there’s an understatement, Vortex thought.
“How close?” he asked instead.
“Trust me, boss, you do not want to know,” the pilot muttered.
Thankfully, the marshal did not hear him.
