A Fiery Sunset

by Chris Kennedy

  “Begin power-up,” he ordered, surprise turning to glee. He was going to get his chance at revenge.

  “We have another ship,” the sensor tech said. “It’s an unusual design.” The tech kept working at his instruments and staring at them in confusion. “Density, propulsion, and profile are all wrong for a spaceship, but it’s coming straight toward us.”

  “Is it a missile?” the admiral asked, annoyed at the incompetence of the sensor tech in his CIC.

  “No,” the tech said, “it’s over 30 meters long. It’s closing fast!”

  “Let me see it,” the admiral demanded. The station’s alarm started sounding, and he knew his crew would be waking and rushing to their stations in an orderly manner. The Tri-V broke away from Major Kleet, who hadn’t stopped screaming at the admiral, and centered on a…thing. He rearranged his eyes stalks to try and make sense of it. The fool of a sensor tech was right; it wasn’t a ship or a missile. It looked like…no. It couldn’t be. That wasn’t possible.

  “Priority to shields!” he yelled. The TacCom looked at him in confusion; that wasn’t the normal power-up procedure. Shields came after propulsion. “Now!” He looked back at the hurtling thing and all three eyes shook in fear.

  Battleships simply weren’t designed to go from standby to combat footing in a few seconds. The great ship’s three fusion power plants alone could take an entire minute to spin up to full power. One couldn’t simply dump hydrogen fuel into the core of a barely-contained star without expecting a potentially explosive outcome.

  The admiral watched through his pinplants as a slow trickle of stations came alive while the massive war machine hurtled toward his ship. He’d watched once as a massive construction crane slowly destabilized and fell. Thousands of hours of work had come apart before his eyes, and all he could think was, It’s so slow. The shields-manned indicators were lighting up, and power was still below 10%. Too slow, he thought. A second later the Raknar slammed into his ship.

  The impact location was 500 meters away from the DCC, and still the ship shook and rang like a bell. “Hull breach!” the DCC screamed. “Major penetration, at least 20 decks! Secondary explosions.” Galopooka had never felt an impact of that magnitude; he doubted many commanders had and survived.

  “Isolating damaged sections,” an assistant said. On the Tri-V, a three-dimensional view of the spherical battleship appeared with a lance of bright red indicating the path of destruction.

  “Entropy!” Galopooka gasped, his three eyes taking in all the damage indicators. The carnage was so extreme the computer said they were limited to one G of thrust or they’d risk destabilizing the entire ship’s structure. What sort of lunatic would launch a 20,000-year-old rusted-out robot at his ship like a missile? He splayed his eyes, their equivalent of a shrug. It seemed to have worked; his ship was critically damaged. It would take a space dock to repair his ship, but at least the attack was over.

  “Continue bringing critical systems online,” he ordered, “TacCom, switch doctrine to static defense. Center all support ships on our damaged quadrant to reduce vulnerability. We can’t take the fight to the Hussars, but we can still hurt them from here.” Orders to the fleet were transmitted. Then more alarms sounded, and the DCC started yelling to his staff. “What’s happening?”

  “The impact location,” the DCC said, manipulating controls with his pseudopods and managing messages with his pinplants, “I’m getting secondary reports of damage.”

  “Isolate adjacent systems if necessary,” Galopooka said.

  “I’m trying,” the DCC said, “but it’s almost like the damage is…moving!”

  “That’s impossible,” Galopooka said.

  “I know, Admiral, but look.” The damage board showed the ruined sections in red. It’d been shaped like a cone, with the point the end of the impact position. Now that tip was creeping laterally. He tried to make sense of it. Sure, he’d never seen a ship damage profile like this, but there’d been no explosion like a missile would’ve caused, so how could it be moving? “The secondary damage has almost reached the main power room.”

  “CIC, this is chief engineer.”

  “Go ahead,” the admiral replied.

  “There is some kind of damage affecting the space adjacent to engineering.” The connection was visual, and the engineer was using a hand-held camera to point at the forward area of the cavernous space. The admiral could just see the edge of a huge fusion power plant, the heart of the great battleship. Past it was an armored wall which provided protection to the power plants. Was the wall bowing inward?!

  Galopooka was thinking of calling for a security team when the wall exploded inward, showering the room with massive chunks of steel. An instant later, engineering began to explosively decompress. The engineer was stuck to his station by his foot, so he stayed in place, and he saw a huge armored hand, at least three meters across, reach inside and jam something against one of the fusion power plants. The buffers, incredibly powerful magnets, grabbed it and clamped it in place as the hand withdrew.

  On the main screen, the damage reports exploded across the secondary path, away from engineering and out toward the hull. Galopooka couldn’t understand what was happening. It didn’t make any sense. The damage moving, that hand, more damage. That Raknar couldn’t have been functional…could it?

  The ship shuddered, and another hull breach appeared. External cameras caught a perfect image of the Raknar ripping through the hull, arms held straight up, fusion fire roaring from its back and legs as it accelerated away from the stricken battleship.

  “Don’t just stare it at!” he screamed in rage and fear. “Fire, fire, fire!”

  “Weapons stations aren’t live yet,” he heard someone say. “They come after shields.” Galopooka was about to yell again when the 50-kiloton nuclear bomb magnetically clamped to one of the ship’s fusion cores detonated, and the entire ship exploded into fire and debris.

  * * *

  “Yes!” Jim said, exulting in the manifest power of being the Raknar again. This time was so much better because he knew what to expect, and the Raknar was in so much better shape! All the weakened armor had been repaired, the jumpjets were working, and he was armed to the teeth.

  The attack on the battleship wasn’t something he’d planned. Shortly after joining with Splunk and rocketing into space, the Raknar’s sensors took in the battlespace, recognized the fleet threat, and instantly chose the battleship as the highest-priority target. His logical mind rebelled; how could even a 100-foot-tall war machine take on a battleship half-a-mile wide? The answer turned out to be fun and exciting.

  I can do anything, he found himself thinking as he slammed into the ship. Nothing can stand against me. The sensation of power was intoxicating. The hull of the battleship was melted by the Raknar’s jump jets as it approached, then the much lighter interior structure acted like honeycombing to cushion the deceleration.

  Then, digging through the mangled superstructure and sticking one of the four nukes he carried to the fusion plant was a cakewalk, just like using the jumpjets to blast his way back out. The armor was already weakened near his impact point anyway, all he did was punch up as he hit. Every fiber of his being was quivering with energy. Come and get me! He laughed. The battleship turned into a nuclear fireball, and pieces of shrapnel bounced harmlessly off his legs.

  “The prisoners, Jimmy!” he heard in the back of his mind.

  Just ahead was a Bakulu frigate. His sensors showed the ship’s fusion cores were just beginning to power up. Too slow, Jim thought, and changed course. He flipped over feet first, like he had with the battleship, and fired his leg thrusters as he hit the frigate amidships. The frigate had only five percent of the mass of the battleship, and the Raknar was almost half its size. Jim hit the ship, and it crumpled like a cardboard box.

  A big section of the hull sheered away as he wrenched himself free from the wreck. He snagged the debris, fired his jets, and swung the junk with all the Raknar’s force. Anoth
er frigate a mile away was cleaved almost in two as the fragment of its sister ship hit it.

  “Jimmy, we have a mission!”

  Jim spun for a moment after the throw and fetched up against still another frigate, though not hard enough to do more than crack its hull. He was uninjured. Jim spun around and grabbed the ship, armor plates crunching like eggshells under his fists. The Raknar’s sensors showed a cruiser just a few miles away. That one had its shields up.

  So be it, Jim thought and, setting his angle correctly, he fired his jumpjets on full power. Fusion engines that could move the Raknar at many Gs of acceleration shoved the frigate sideways. The crew responded by bringing its own torch online, attempting to throw off the monster that was suddenly clamped on its side. Small anti-missile lasers fired at Jim. He laughed, as they did nothing more than burn paint.

  The Raknar’s internal systems sensed the new thrust vector, analyzed it, and Jim unconsciously moved his legs to alter his own thrust. The frigate captain looked on in horror as his attempt to shake off the Raknar only succeeded in accelerating him into the cruiser with twice the velocity he would have had.

  “Jim, god damn it!”

  “What?” he said impatiently.

  “The prisoners. You’re fucking up the plan.”

  Slowly, oh so slowly, he remembered he wasn’t out there to destroy everything he could. But this is more fun, he thought. We have a job, another part of him thought. The part that was still Jim sighed and changed course. The Raknar headed for Karma station.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Pendal Ship Saviour, Treakip System

  “What can you tell me about the Mercenary Guild’s headquarters?” Walker asked.

  The join-up with the Pendals had gone as Smokey had promised. The Humans had transitioned into the system, and the Pendal ship had arrived within an hour. A large cargo carrier with its own hyperspace shunts, the process to get the dropships and CASPers over to the Saviour had gone smoothly. The Golden Horde transport would wait for them in the system for 17 days. If they hadn’t returned by then, they weren’t coming.

  “I can tell you quite a bit,” the Pendal replied in its harsh, whispering voice. “I’ve been inside the facility.”

  “Really?” Nigel asked. “Do you know where they’re keeping her?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. She’s on the third sub-level, in Cell 307A.”

  “How in the world do you know that?” Nigel asked. “I’d have figured they’d be guarding her pretty tightly.”

  “Let’s just say that I’m able to get into some places where others might have a bit of…difficulty. Regardless, I know that’s where she is. There aren’t usually that many jailors actively guarding her and the other prisoners, though. It’s hard to get to that level and, realistically, how many Besquith does it take to control one small Human woman?”

  “So it should be easy getting her?” Nigel asked.

  “I didn’t say that. There are several platoons that are based in the building who fulfill routine ceremonial duties, as well as some who provide security and some who are guards in the jail. All of these are real mercenary forces. After the alarm is given, you can expect them to arm themselves and defend the guild hall to the best of their abilities.”

  “Are there any of them that might help us?” Walker asked.

  “None that can be counted upon,” the Pendal replied. “There are certain other individuals who might be of some assistance; my…associate was going to speak to one of them, so we may have some help. We can’t count on her, though, so we’ll have to plan it all out.”

  “Who is this ‘helper?’” Nigel asked. “We don’t want to shoot her accidentally.”

  The Pendal made a noise like steam escaping a boiler, which Nigel knew to be their version of laughter. “Don’t worry,” the Pendal said. “You won’t see her if she doesn’t want to be seen.”

  “Okay,” Walker said. “What can you tell us about these platoons of armed guards and any sort of security procedures you’ve seen?”

  “The normal security and ceremonial duties are performed by a company of MinSha. There are always several of them in the building’s atrium and scattered throughout the building. There’s also a security control station where the building’s cameras are monitored. There’ll be two in there, as well.

  “There are also a company of Besquith who run things in the jail level,” the Pendal added, “and at least a company of Goka as a rapid response force.”

  Walker twitched. “Fucking hate them,” he muttered.

  “Okay,” Nigel said, “I don’t see any show-stoppers. The MinSha and the Besquith might have some heavy weapons or some big laser weapons we’ll have to watch out for, but they’ll be spread out. The Goka are tough and could be concentrated, but there aren’t that many of them. All in all, I think we can get this done.”

  “There is one issue,” the Pendal announced.

  “Of course there is,” Nigel replied.

  “The only way to get to the third sublevel, where your leader is being held, is via an elevator on the second sublevel, which is controlled by the security station.”

  “Where’s the barracks for the Besquith jailors?” Walker asked.

  “By the elevator on the second sublevel.”

  “And the barracks for the security forces?” Nigel asked.

  “Near the security station.”

  “Of course they are,” Nigel said.

  “It’s where I’d put them,” Walker noted.

  “Yeah, me too,” Nigel said. “We’ll have to split our forces. I’ll take and hold the security station while you go get your boss.”

  “That works for me,” Walker replied. He turned to the Pendal. “So, how do we get to both places?”

  The Pendal pulled a slate out of the folds of his robe. “I have a schematic I put together that shows you where you need to go.”

  * * *

  Cell Block 307A, Mercenary Guild, Capital Planet

  The door slammed open, and a CASPer’s bulk filled the doorway. The suited figure didn’t say anything but waved for Sansar to come out. She tried to get out of bed but couldn’t. Something held her there; something kept her from fleeing. She looked but couldn’t see the chains. Sansar laid back and tried to scream, but a giant knife appeared at her throat, threatening to slit it if she moved or screamed. It began pressing down, and she could feel her skin part under its razor-sharp edge. She was powerless and about to die, with rescue so close…yet so far…

  The door to her cell slammed open, awakening her from the dream, and two Besquith filled the opening, laughing. Sansar shuddered as she sought to return to the dream, unwilling to respond to the reality the two Besquith represented. She’d never seen them this happy before…and that could only mean one thing.

  “So this is it, then?”

  “Yes,” said the one she had privately come to call ‘Dumb.’ “Today’s your day to die!”

  “And we get to eat you!” added the one she thought of as ‘Dumber.’

  “Well, we don’t get to eat her entirely,” Dumb said as Sansar shivered involuntarily. “We have to bring her to the execution alive.”

  “But we can still have a bite or two? I’ve never tasted a Human before.”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  The Besquith entered her room. While they were unarmed, they didn’t need weapons to dismember her; they towered above her, were many times stronger, and had razor-sharp claws and teeth. If you wanted to design a perfect killing machine, it would look very much like a Besquith.

  Sansar vaulted from her bed, looking for something—anything!—she could use as a weapon as they closed in on her. While she’d let them take her back and forth to the tribunal without a fight, she was not going to let them abuse her. As nothing magically appeared to help her defend herself, she dropped into the Krav Maga fighting stance, hands up, elbows and chin down. She shrugged her shoulders up and rounded them forward, as ready as she
was going to get.

  “This is going to be fun,” Dumb said, chuckling. The two aliens split to come at her from different directions.

  As they closed in on her, Sansar knew she couldn’t let them get their claws in her, or she’d be finished. Just before they reached her, she sprang at Dumber, using his bent knee as a stepping stone to leap and kick him in the jaw. She felt a crack in both her foot and the alien’s jaw as the blow connected, and her leg erupted in fire as one of its claws ripped through her prison attire and tore three bloody lines down her leg.

  She landed and staggered to get her balance, trying to keep most of the weight off her damaged foot. She hadn’t had time to think about it, but the soft prison shoes weren’t up to the task of kicking something as hard as a Besquith’s head. Dumber growled, shaking his head to clear it, but Dumb only gurgled.

  Risking a glance at the other Besquith, she saw it was spurting blood from its neck as it looked around in a confused manner, its mouth open, then collapsed to the floor.

  “What did you do to him?” Dumber roared as it reached for her.

  Sansar stumbled back away from the monster. Before she could say anything, a slash opened across Dumber’s throat, and it erupted in a spray of blood that rivaled his partner’s. He stood for a couple of seconds, looking at her, then fell to the floor near the other Besquith.

  A small, clawed footprint appeared in one of the blood puddles, then a small furry form appeared holding a wicked-looking knife. It stopped to wipe it off on Dumb, then stood up and addressed the two Besquith. “Welcome to our negotiation,” she said. “Too bad it wasn’t a little longer.”