Space Cruiser Musashi: a space opera novel

by Dean Chalmers

Brattain shook her head. “I can’t believe… It’s making baby ships?”

  Within seconds, this process of division was completed before her eyes.

  Brattain watched in horror as, on the main screen, where before there had been one Valorian ship—there were now ten of them.

  Nine much smaller ships had emerged. Each was a black, lozenge shaped craft about the size of one of the Musashi’s shuttlecrafts. They hung in a circular formation… And a larger black sphere remained at the center of it.

  Is that where you are, Enoch, you bastard? she thought.

  The Valorian ships floated apart slowly. It was almost a thing beauty to watch…

  And then, suddenly, they spurred into action, spinning off from each other.

  Five of the smaller ships headed towards the Musashi. Meanwhile, four of them curved away from the others on a different trajectory, taking them straight towards the Spartacus.

  On the tactical display, Brattain saw the Colonial ship firing its retro thrusters… Soon, it was behind the Musashi.

  Then, using maneuvering thrusters, it turned and jetted away.

  “You can’t protect us anymore,” came Washington’s voice on the comm. “They’re gunning for us. Gotta run while we can.”

  “Understood,” Brattain replied, knowing that she was now unable to make any promises of safety to the Colonial Captain.

  “Xue,” she commanded, “take evasive action.”

  “Finally!” Cruz snapped back, pushing her stick forward—and jerking the ship down and away from the spinning rush of the five oncoming Valorian vessels.

  On the tactical display, Brattain could see grazer beams streaking out from the top of the Musashi, lancing at the rapidly maneuvering Valorian ships.

  “Sergeant Molokos,” she asked over the comm. “Grazers having any effect?”

  “No,” he replied with a growl. “Some of these Colonists can shoot fine, but it doesn’t matter. We’re just tickling them. Not doing a damn thing.”

  “You’re too vulnerable up there in the gunnery corridor,” Brattain said. “Get to a more secure part of the ship.”

  “Commander,” Molokos protested, “My job is to fight.”

  “We may need you to help with wounded soon,” Brattain replied. “Right now, just clear that gunnery corridor. We don’t want to lose you or any more of the Colonists.”

  “Yes, Sir,” he responded.

  The five smaller Valorian vessels pursuing Musashi swarmed all about her. One fired a burst of swirling projectiles, then another ship fired—

  Still, the tactical display wasn’t showing any real damage.

  Sivarek seems to think that we can use their attacks to charge our batteries somehow, Brattain thought. But I wonder how much of this we can take before the hull is pierced.

  Two of the smaller Valorian ships swirled around each other as they came on—then let loose a coordinated volley at the lower port side of the Musashi.

  The ship shuddered, and on the tactical display, the engineering section flashed red.

  “Damage report,” Brattain barked. “Sivarek, what’s going on down there, Sivarek?”

  But there was no response.

  Brattain looked up, and on the main screen, three more of the lozenge-shaped Valorian vessels spun towards them, swirling in a coordinated dance.

  They’re headed right towards the bridge, she thought.

  Simultaneously, each unleashed a burst of the strange ball-lightning like energy projectiles. The blue-yellow energy of them seemed to fill the main view screen—

  —and then Brattain was rocked in her seat as a ship was struck a hard blow. Her nanosuit, adhering to her seat, protected her; but she was blinded momentarily by an explosion at the front of the bridge.

  There was a whoosh of outrushing air—

  Depressurization!

  It stopped after long microseconds as the hull sealed itself. Lights flickered and smoke filled the air…

  Along with smells of melting plasteel and charred flesh.

  Time seemed slowed…

  Brattain was back in a familiar place—a nightmare place—just like on the bridge of the Juno.

  At the front of the bridge, Tactical Officer Simak’s station had been utterly smashed into the bulkhead. Brattain could see some of the woman’s body protruding, her head crushed. She was obviously dead.

  Close by, at the front of the bridge, Cruz was—

  Xue, no! Please don’t be dead, I need you, don’t…

  She hung limp in her seat where her nanosuit had adhered. The console in front of her was charred and still sparking.

  And Cruz herself was badly burned. The left half of her face was a blackened mess, her arms charred, the right arm below the elbow just… gone.

  A pink medical cocoon began to spread out from the material of her seat, enveloping her body in stabilizing fluids and restorative nanos… But would it be enough?

  Reynard’s face was bleeding, small bits of shrapnel studding his cheek. But he seemed conscious, looking around the bridge.

  Panic, fear, hopelessness threatened to overwhelm Brattain, just as they had on the Juno.

  But there was something else now…

  Something else that she had to support her.

  She closed her eyes for just a moment, saw peace in the darkness behind her eyelids—an emptiness that could bring certainty.

  The Void, she thought

  She could hear Captain Kane’s wise paternal voice, sharp as if he had been whispering in her ear even now—

  Sharpen the swords of perception and sight…

  And when the clouds of confusion melt away, there is the true Void.

  And Brattain opened her eyes.

  She turned towards the small-statured colonist, Albert Hawking, who sat looking terrified in the dignitary’s chair near the back of the bridge.

  “Mister Hawking,” she said, “Take the XO’s station in front of me. I’ll configure it for piloting functions.”

  To his credit, the Colonist was immediately on his feet, moving quickly to obey her command. “Alright, madam,” he said. “But what you require me to do?”

  “Just keep the ship moving, and try to keep us alive,” she told him.

  “Ah yes,” he said, taking his seat, the console chair automatically adjusting for his height. “Simplicity at its finest. Aye, Sir, I will try.”

  “Doctor Xon to the bridge,” she called over the comm. “Medical staff, we have casualties.”

  She turned to Reynard. “Jesus… Cruz’s vitals… What are they can you tell? Is she…”

  Reynard studied his console. “Sir, I’m not a medic, but she looks stable. The cocoon seems to be helping.”

  Thank the People. I have that, at least.

  Another voice chimed up on the comm—one that Brattain hadn’t solicited.

  A voice that was deep and calm, with just a hint of arrogance: Seutter.

  “Commander,” he said, “I am the only one who can stop them now. Get us close.”

  “He’s right,” came a voice from behind Brattain.

  She turned to see Doctor Xon entering the bridge. He was still wearing his hard-shelled space suit…

  But hadn’t he taken it off, after the expedition to the Valorian station?

  The middle of his forehead was bruised and bleeding, as if he also had suffered an injury in the attack.

  He arrived so soon, Brattain thought. It’s almost as if he had already been on his way up.

  Xon rushed forward. He turned to look toward Simak’s station, and merely shook his head. Then, he turned to toward Cruz.

  “She will survive,” he told Brattain. “If any of us do.”

  He turned towards Reynard…

  “Don’t worry about me, Doctor,” Reynard said. “It’s just a bit of shrapnel.”

  “Yes, alright,” Xon said, seeming strangely detached.

  The ship tilted and shook, and Xon had to grab onto the edge of Brattain’s seat to keep on his feet.


  Hawking was doing his best to evade the attacking Valorian ships. There were more flashes of ball-lightning energy from them, but they hadn’t scored another coordinated hit—not yet, anyway.

  “Commander,” Xon said, “I must apologize if it seems that I am abandoning my duty as a physician—but there are things that must be done. Seutter is right.”

  He pointed towards the main screen, where in the distance, the spherical Valorian vessel—the largest one from which the others had split off—still sat seemingly motionless in space.

  “Enoch is there. We need to get there. And Seutter won’t admit it, but he can’t do it alone. I will leave Mister Khoury in charge of the medical staff.”

  Seutter’s voice was on the comm again. “The damn engineer won’t open the sensor sails, Commander.”

  Then another voice came over the comm: Sivarek’s. “Commander, we shouldn’t do that during combat.”

  His voice sounded strained and pained, but he spoke clearly enough.

  Thank the people, Brattain thought.

  “We need to do that!” Seutter snapped. “And you need to get me out in my little pod, onto the booms in front of the ship. Poke those booms right at that Valorian sphere. We’re going to get that bastard where he sits.”

  “That’s not a good idea,” Sivarek’s voice came back, “That… probably would be fatal.”

  “I didn’t know you cared,” Seutter said.

  “I um… I do, Mister Seutter… Graham… please don’t do anything—”

  Seutter ignored him, speaking to Brattain. “Commander, trust me.” Seutter’s voice had confidence in it, yes—but also something of a childish petulance.

  Brattain reached inside herself for guidance.

  What would Captain Kane have done?

  No, what would I do?

  Seutter’s is the best living psionicist in the fleet. If it wasn’t for him, we never would have found the Colonists.

  And our other weapons are useless…

  So certainty—the right course of action—

  Yes.

  There could be no debate in her mind.

  “Mister Sivarek, deploy the sensor sails,” she commanded.

  “Ummm… Yes, Commander,” Sivarek answered.

  “Mister Hawking, we are going to need to get close to the main Valorian sphere.”

  Hawking nodded, “I can spin her around a bit as we go, but if you really want to stick that sphere with the booms on the ship… We’ll end up sitting still, like a proverbial duck on a very small pond.”

  “I know,” Brattain said, “Thank you for the warning… But do it.”

  Xon nodded. “Goodbye, Commander. And thank you for your faith in me.”

  He turned towards the exit.

  “Where are you going?” Brattain asked.

  “Seutter,” he said. “He still needs my guidance.”

  There’s something he’s not saying, Brattain thought…

  But she trusted him, and let him go.

  48

  There were four of the smaller, lozenge-shaped Valorian vessels on Spartacus’s tail. They spun in space and corkscrewed around each other as they chased the Colonial ship.

  “Damn it, Musashi, your armor doesn’t mean a thing now,” Washington said. “We’re a soft target here.”

  But if he could lead them away from the Republic ship, where most of his comrades were—and Janny, and the baby and Jeremy—maybe that would be worth something.

  One of the Valorian pursuers fired a blast of lightning-like energy. It struck the rear port side of the Spartacus.

  The ship shook violently, though there was no apparent damage on the bridge.

  “We got some conduits overloading here,” he heard Joachim’s voice say on the comm. “I’m trying to control it, Captain, I’m gonna—”

  But suddenly, there was a secondary explosion.

  Isaac Bell’s console detonated in a shower of flame and sparks.

  “Bell, damn it!” Washington swore, turning to his gunner.

  But his friend’s burnt body was sprawled on the floor, his chest a burnt and bloody mess, his open, unblinking eyes staring at the ceiling.

  Another one dead, Washington thought. I should have flown this mission alone.

  Joachim’s voice came over the comm again: “Another hit like that and we’re just gonna be so much space dust.”

  We need to find cover, Washington thought. We don’t have many options.

  He could try taking the ship into the atmosphere of the planet… But Spartacus wasn’t very flexible when it came to re-entry. He would have to keep the ship’s belly with its heat-shield plating down, the nose slightly up. With very little room for maneuvering, they would be a sitting duck all the way down.

  The only other object around was the Valorian station. The hideous, organic-looking thing loomed ahead. Roughly the shape of slightly squashed sphere, it looked kind of like a giant stomach floating in space—albeit a stomach that had the intestines inside of it, as he could see through the translucent walls.

  But it’s Valorian material, he thought. Like the ships, right? Would those torpedoes work?

  Hell, it’s worth a shot.

  Might be the only shot we have.

  He gunned the ship towards the Valorian station. Their pursuers were close behind.

  Within several thousand meters of the station, he fired two of the torpedoes. They hit the organic skin of the station.

  A silvery webbing spread out from the impact points, turning into a whitish foam. And then the hull—or skin, or whatever you wanted to call it—on the station began to dissolve away rapidly, leaving an opening big enough for the Spartacus.

  He took her into the opening, trying his best to dodge obstacles that looked like gigantic loops of intestine and nerve bundles. Some of them he hit, but fortunately the ship tore through this structural tissue.

  The smaller Valorian vessels continued in pursuit, following him into the hole he’d made. But the contagion was spreading. He checked the smaller screen on his console that showed the rear view from the back of the ship. On it, a dying, foaming section of the station, composed of what looked like a bundle of entrails, floated down into the path of two of the Valorian pursuers.

  They hit it—and although they initially plowed through the soft material, the infection spread to them.

  They lost control, slamming into each other and spinning aimlessly, as their hulls disintegrated into masses of white particles.

  Washington launched two more torpedoes, which struck the material in front of the ship and extended the tunnel in front of him. Spartacus plowed along, while an abundance of disgusting organic objects bounced off the front of the ship.

  For a split second, he thought he saw several pale, spindly bodies, flashing on the main screen as the ship struck them and reduced them to goo. Had they been Valorians without their bonesuits?

  Roadkill, he thought. Serves ‘em right.

  He checked the rearview again. Another one of the other pursuers had become infected. It exploded, gushing out foam that quickly became a zero-g cloud of particles.

  But there was one more ship on his tail, also infected… But this one must have only lightly touched by the nanos. The infection was spreading slowly, silvery webbing glistening on the curved black surface of it.

  This one fired his weapons, ball lightning streaked out… The Spartacus shook.

  The Valorian pursuer fired again—and then suddenly exploded in a cloud of black tissue and white foam, as if the effort of expending energy to fire its weapons had detonated it.

  But this time, the Spartacus shook wildly. It spun, turning end-over-end. Despite the compensation of the gravity spike, Washington was knocked off his feet.

  He grabbed the console, got up tried to steady the ship as smoke and flames filled the bridge.

  “Joachim,” he asked over the comm. “What’s the situation?”

  There was no response…

  Alarms sounded as a r
ed square on his console flashed: REACTOR CRITICAL.

  Damn it! he thought. If this has to be it, at least I took some of them with me.

  #

  The engineering section of Musashi was a damaged mess.

  Seutter glanced up to the inside of the main cylindrical silo of engineering—where cables and panels were loose, sparks and flames were everywhere. Pale green flame retardant foam sprayed down in a shower.

  He tried not to get it on himself… But he was standing in it, wading in it. Clad in his hard-shelled space suit now, he was going out in the Psionicist’s pod…

  And he was no longer a victim of his old sensitivities, no longer needing loose clothing or any such fetishes.

  Crutches, he thought. I’m done with them.

  Sivarek was kneeling in the green foam at the bottom of the silo, feverously rewiring a console. The left side of the Engineer’s face was burned, the little tufts of hair on the scalp singed. Shrapnel had pierced the right arm of his nanosuit, where blood was dripping copiously.

  Still, he turned his head up to Seutter and nodded. “The sensor sails are deploying—but are you sure you want to do this during combat?”

  “Why?” Seutter asked, “You think your diamond-woven sails will break?”

  “No,” Sivarek said. “Actually, I think they should stand up to an impressive array of forces. It’s just…you will be, um, kind of exposed out there.”

  “You can give me that pulse with a theta wave generator, when I need it?” Seutter asked. “And the Valorian gauntlet is fully integrated into the jump system… Just like you promised?”

  “Yes,” the Engineer nodded. “But, will you be okay with that? I mean, I think the pulse would be enough to knock you unconscious at best, we haven’t tested the process….”

  Seutter growled, “No time to talk about it, I need the EM envelope.”

  “Set to nine?” Sivarek suggested.

  “No.” Seutter shook his head. “Turn it off, deactivate it. I don’t need that crutch—not anymore.”

  “Oh,” Sivarek said. “There was a message from Doctor Xon, he wants you to —”

  “I don’t need that crutch either,” Seutter spat back. “Don’t listen to him. I have to do this now or we’re all dead, understand?”