by James Palmer
The Armitage grew larger and larger in the viewer as he hurtled the Onslaught toward it, bearing numerous impacts from the larger ship’s weapons. A panel near him shorted out, exploding in a blast of heat and light. He ignored it. He felt something warm and moist on his forehead and swiped at it, thinking it was sweat. It was blood. Some bit of debris had cut him. It didn’t matter. Taking out Straker did.
The Armitage was clearly trying to get out of the way, but it had suffered heavy damage. The once proud vessel had been reduced to a limping brute. Kuttner wondered if Straker was trying to contact the Onslaught. Without the tightbeam encoder, the ship’s communications were inoperable. But he liked to think Straker was trying to contact him. Kuttner wanted him to know what was coming and that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
The Armitage kept up its assault. Most of the shells went wild, but a few struck home in strategic places, detonating in critical sections of the ship. Kuttner gave full power to the engines. If he was going to be dead in minutes anyway, he planned on taking Straker with him. The dying Onslaught shuddered and rocked with each impact, warning messages from the ship’s computer going unheeded. A section of metal fell from the ceiling, falling atop Kuttner’s command chair behind him. If he had been sitting there it would have killed him.
Kuttner chuckled at the irony and winced as the panel next to him shorted out. The whole ship was shaking now, and he imagined bolts and rivets shaking loose all over the once proud vessel.
The Armitage loomed closer. It had managed to alter its position, attempting to dive beneath the Onslaught’s fatal trajectory. In this position the Onslaught would still impact it near the engine core. Kuttner grinned as he poured on the speed, gripping the edges of the navigation console tightly as the old ship finally threatened to tear itself apart.
“Just a little further, old girl. For glory’s sake.” He muttered. “Once more into the breach. Or some shit like that.”
Captain Henry “Hank” Kuttner was laughing at his little joke when the Onslaught struck the Armitage, the leading section of his ship’s forward rail gun impaling the slightly larger vessel just forward of the engine core. There was a shuddering concussion and a flash of white light as the ruined vessel fell apart around him. Then he knew only oblivion.
36 Trapped
Leda stepped away from the terminal. It was hard to work the controls with her wrists fastened together, but she got it done. She stared at the silent army of metal Ix warriors, which were now starting to awaken. Their eyes burned an eerie blue, with a matching blue coming from their chests. She had to get out of there. But how?
She shrank away from them, getting as close to the far wall as she could. Any moment they would become aware enough to sense her presence. Then she’d be finished. The first casualty in a new kind of war. She scanned the ceiling, spotting an access panel between her and the Ix. If she could get up there, she’d have unimpeded access to most of the ship. She could steal a shuttle and get out of there. But it was too high.
She stared at the Ix. One in particular caught her attention. Standing at the end of the front row, its right arm ended in a wicked looking scythe.
All of the Ix still hadn’t come online yet, and those that seemed to be were not yet aware of her presence. Leda ran over to the scythe-armed Ix and slid the center of the manacle chains quickly down the blade. Just as she’d hoped, the magnetic connection was severed, and the manacles clattered to the floor.
One problem solved, but she still had one more, and it was a big one: how to reach the access panel. She carefully studied the scythe-armed Ix’s companion, a solid-looking robot holding a long, gleaming rifle at parade rest. She looked it over, wondering how it worked. The Ix were vaguely humanoid. Their knees bent backwards, giving them legs like the Draconi, but their upper torsos resembled human anatomy. They all seemed to have five fingers on each hand, and their weapons were designed for use with a being matching that physiology. Still, it was a gamble.
She watched as a another row of the alien killing machines hummed to life. That made her decision for her. She had no more time for study; it was now time to act.
Leda gripped the Ix weapon in both hands, wrenching it from the thing’s grasp. It was surprisingly light; whatever it was made from was better than any alloy mankind could produce. Flipping it around, she wedged the scalloped stock against her shoulder, took quick aim, and squeezed the trigger. The weapon glowed blue and hummed, and a powerful stream of bluish energy pulsed from the gun’s tip. It struck its former owner, and there was a shower of sparks as the Ix’s torso turned to super-heated slag before what was left of it fell to the ground.
Leda shot too more in quick succession, dragging them out of line by their feet and stacking them haphazardly beneath the access panel. This had to be the craziest idea she had ever come up with, but there was no backing out now.
As each Ix came fully awake and took aim at her, she fired, blasting it to pieces. It was like shooting ducks in a barrel. She had five or six in a pile before they got the upper hand.
The next one she fired upon was ready. A shimmering blue field of energy crackled over it seconds before the particle stream from her gun could strike, the beam dispersing harmlessly into the field. Emboldened, the Ix marched toward her as one body now, weapons and blades raised and ready. They studied her for a long moment before revealing another surprise, their legs shifting around so that their knees bent like hers, which had the added menace of making them almost a foot taller.
Leda shouted as she fired at them again, the blasts hitting their energy fields. Leda had never seen a weapon more powerful than the one she now held in her hands. If the Ix’s own weapons couldn’t defeat them, then Navy weapons didn’t stand a chance.
Leda wondered why they didn’t just fire on her and end it. They still seemed to be studying her. They almost had a half-distracted look, like they were seeing her but their minds were really somewhere else, like when someone spoke to her through her cochlear implant.
This, she knew, was her chance to get out of there. She looked at the pile of Ix bodies she had created. She raised the gun and fired at the panel. It disappeared instantly under the blue beam. Then she leapt onto the bodies of the Ix, tossed the weapon up through the hole, and went up the hole after it.
She almost made it up and into the access space, when a cold metal hand wrapped itself around her right ankle. She kicked at it with her left, screaming as the extra weight threatened to pull her down. Another grunt and she was up and through, grabbing the Ix weapon and moving as far away from the hatchway as she could. A metal head jutted up into the space, and she kicked it hard three times before it disappeared. Leda waited, covering the hole with the Ix rifle. No other attempts were made to come after her, but she heard the sound of more of their weapons fire, as the place filled with the smell of ozone. Leda looked through the opening in the ceiling to see the Ix charging at the door, now turned to slag. They killed the guard, and were now making their way through the ship.
Leda was pondering her next move when the whole ship suddenly shook violently. She heard the sound of distant warning klaxons, and the air filled with smoke and the tang of burnt wiring. The concussion knocked her head-first out of the hole, still gripping her rifle. She fell down into darkness.
37 Out of the Frying Pan
Commander Hamilton, Drizda, and the Onslaught’s command crew had stuffed themselves into a shuttle that was now headed for open space. “Brackett, can you get the Razor?”
“I can try, Commander. “The shuttle’s tightbeam relay isn’t as powerful as the Onslaught’s but this little black box gizmo should boost the signal.”
Hamilton was confident it would work. The encoder held the Draconi ship’s quantum frequency from when they had conversed aboard the Onslaught. It was just a matter of finding her. The ship could be too far out of range, or destroyed, or—
“This is Grand Leader Kark of the Razor. Identify yourself.”
&nbs
p; “This is Commander Hamilton, formerly of the Onslaught. Me and my crew are that ship’s only survivors. We are formally surrendering ourselves to you. If you still want us, come and get us.”
Silence for a long moment, then, “Send me your coordinates.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” asked Gunner Cade.
Hamilton shifted uncomfortably in his seat. This was the largest shuttle the Onslaught had on board, but Hamilton, Hudson, Bracket, and Drizda were still crammed in elbow to elbow. “It’ll have to be. The Razor is the closest ship in range.”
“But we’ll be their prisoners.”
“It’ll be all right, Lieutenant. I have a plan.”
Hamilton glanced at Drizda before adding, “Sort of.”
The Onslaught’s remaining crew didn’t have to wait long for their questionable rescue. After about thirty standard minutes the Razor loomed large in the shuttle’s viewport, looking more intimidating than ever. Hudson cocked his head to the left, listening to his cochlear implant. “We’re getting docking orders from the Razor,” he said, nervously.
“It’s all right, Lieutenant,” said Hamilton. “Do as they say.”
“Leave your weapons,” ordered Hamilton. “If interrogated, give name, rank and serial number only. Let me and Drizda do all the talking.”
“Sir,” said Cade. “The Draconi eat their enemies.” He glanced self-consciously at Drizda as he said it.
“Don’t worry, Gunner,” said Hamilton. “They won’t do that right away. They’ll want to cook us first.”
Lt. Brackett groaned. Hamilton looked down at the floor and sighed. He did not have the old man’s flair for gallows humor. He missed Kuttner already.
“Look. I know you’re apprehensive. But I wouldn’t have suggested this route if I didn’t it had a good chance to succeed. Our people are out there fighting a war based on false pretenses. Both sides are fighting and dying while the real enemy is still among us. We are going to do the best we can to stop that war and defeat that enemy. Our ship is gone. Our captain is gone. But we are still soldiers.”
The others nodded, mumbling in the affirmative.
“I will do all I can to protect you,” said Drizda. “You have all shown me great honor these past few weeks.”
Hudson navigated the shuttle up and around the big ship toward an opening that had formed in the vessel’s rear. Navigation beacons switched on, the magnetic beams guiding the shuttle in as Hudson slowly decreased their speed. In another few minutes they were inside.
The ship’s interior was much brighter than Hamilton had expected.
“Atmospheric pressure normalized,” said Hudson, checking the shuttle’s instruments.
“Open her up,” ordered Hamilton.
The shuttle’s main hatch opened outward, forming a ramp. Awaiting them outside was a squad of six Draconi warriors, mostly male, wearing crimson uniforms and brandishing lethal-looking pulse rifles.
Hamilton let Drizda step out first. “We request an audience with Grand Leader Kark immediately,” she said.
“You’re in no position to request anything, casteless one,” growled the squad’s leader. He was a big, imposing dragon with a wide white scar on his snout just below his left eye.
Hamilton stepped out next. “We humbly request to speak with your captain according to Article 8 Subsection B of our treaty.”
The squad all clicked their teeth together. “This war makes your precious treaty null and void, mammal,” said their leader.
“What is your name?” asked Hamilton.
“I am Grand Leader Kark’s second in command, Sub Leader Zarn.”
“Sub Leader Zarn,” said Drizda. “We have information vital to this campaign. I must deliver it to Grand Leader Kark immediately.
“The Leader is in no mood for more of your lies, casteless one.”
“These aren’t lies,” said Hamilton. “Let Kark make that decision for herself.”
Zarn looked at Hamilton, and he got the feeling he knew what it was like for the first proto-mammal to be scarfed down by a T-Rex. “Fine,” said Zarn. “We will escort you to the bridge. Fetter the mammals!”
Drizda started to protest, but Hamilton put a hand on her shoulder. He and the others let themselves be placed in heavy magnetic manacles and marched up to the bridge. Drizda he did not chain, but shoved along in front of him as they walked.
“The prisoners request an audience with you, my Leeader” bellowed Kark as he pushed Drizda through the hatch of the Razor’s command deck.
Hamilton moved through the opening after Kark, his face covered in sweat. It was hot on board the Draconi ship, and humid.
Kark looked them over slowly, one by one, a predator sizing up her prey. “Where is Captain Kuttner?”
“He died attacking the real threat,” said Hamilton. “Colonel Straker.”
Kark’s eyes flickered as her nictitating membranes slid quickly back and forth over her eyes. A nervous tell? The Draconi were still difficult to read, but thanks to his contact with Drizda, Hamilton was getting better at it.
“He tells the truth, my Leader,” said one of the crew. “Two Navy ships have just impacted. The smaller vessel was almost completely destroyed.”
“So the Navy attack each other now,” said Kark, clicking her teeth in amusement. “It will make our victory that much easier.”
“But you’re still ignoring the real threat,” said Hamilton. “The Swarm probes. Straker means to use them against you.”
“More lies!”
Drizda stepped toward her, causing Zarn to move in between them. Drizda ignored him, looking over his shoulder at the Razor’s captain. “He tells the truth. We sent you everything you need to see these are not lies. Why will you not examine them?”
“How dare you question our Leader, casteless zhakt!” growled Zarn.
Drizda flashed her teeth at him, a clear sign of aggression.
“Maybe because she was working with Straker,” said Hamilton.
“Work with a human?” said Kark. “Never!”
“Then explain to your crew how you were able to find and attack the Onslaught. You had our precise coordinates, yes? Who gave them to you?”
The other members of her crew looked at her warily now. Zarn turned toward her. “You did seem to know exactly where the Onslaught was, in all this chaos.”
“You dare question me, my Second? I will rip out your throat with my teeth.”
“You were working with Straker,” said Drizda. “Conspiring against your own people.”
“What of you, casteless one? You have been helping them this entire time. I know who you are. Your theories are sacrilege. That is why you are without family or title or--”
“They could have killed me,” said Drizda, stepping up onto the dais to face Kark. The rest of Kark’s crew seemed taken aback by this; clearly it was a major breach in Draconi protocol. Zarn stepped away and moved quickly to one of the workstations behind Kark’s command chair, saying something in low tones to the Draconi stationed there.
“They took me aboard their ship, not as a prisoner, but as a trusted adviser. Together we learned the truth,” said Drizda. “This war is not meant to be.”
“You have developed the humans’ haughty manner, scientist,” Kark spat. “You have no family, no caste mark. To me you are lower than a hatchling.”
“And to me you are completely without honor!”
Kark stepped back as if struck. “How dare you!” Her long tail swished angrily behind her.
Zarn left the workstation and returned to the dais.
“Zarn, put her in chains with the others. Prepare the humans for our next meal.”
“No,” said Zarn.
Kark glared at him. “What?”
“They are telling the truth,” said her second in command. “I had our tightbeam logs for the past several hours pulled. It was encrypted, but we decoded it. The human Straker contacted you and told you about the humans’ ship.”
“So? W
hat of it? We’ve captured the crew of the Onslaught. What I do, I do for the glory of the Egg Mother and the Empress.”
“What you do only brings glory to yourself,” said Drizda.
“Are you ready to die for your words?” said Kark.
“I am. I hereby challenge you in accordance with our laws and traditions.”
Kark clicked her teeth together. “You wish to challenge me? But you are casteless. You have no title, no property. What do you forfeit when I gut you?”
“My life, and the lives of this fine crew,” said Drizda evenly. She glanced once at Hamilton, whose face had turned white.
“Who will echo your challenge?” said Kark. “The humans cannot. They are not Draconi.”
“I will,” said Zarn.
Kark stared at him, her yellow eyes narrowed to slits. Zarn returned her stare. One by one, the rest of the bridge crew chimed in as well.
Hamilton nodded grimly. Kark’s crew didn’t trust her anymore. That was something, at least. He didn’t know if they would survive another hour, but it was something.
38 Ascension
Once the formalities of ritual combat were out of the way, Hamilton and the rest of the Onslaught’s command crew were escorted in chains to a room apparently designed for that purpose. It was round, like a fighting arena, with a slightly raised floor in the center that appeared to be covered in old, faded blood stains. The walls were lined with some sort of artificial rock, and it was even hotter in there than it had been on the command deck of the alien ship.
Everyone lined up along the edge of the raised platform while Kark and Drizda hunched low, circling each other, each of them growling low in their throats, their tails swishing back and forth.
Suddenly the two closed on each other and grappled. Claws slash, drawing blood. As Hamilton watched he considered the odds. Kark was a seasoned commander of a warship, a soldier. Drizda was a scientist. The two were worlds apart, especially in this highly regimented society. But Hamilton had watched Drizda hold her own before. Still, he worried for her.
