No Graves for Heroes

by Jason Winn

  They were met with a long metal stairwell leading down. Axel didn’t need to tell the group to keep moving. Devon led the way, no doubt guided by the maps she’d managed to download from a maintenance network.

  At the bottom of the stairs, two large metal doors led to an open corridor. Small bands of terror-stricken resort staff ran, clutching luggage. Devon pointed to the right and they fell in behind a group of men dressed in green maintenance uniforms. Everyone looked scared. Some spoke frantically into phones.

  The floor shuddered and everyone was thrown screaming to the ground. Plastic ceiling tiles crashed to the floor. One struck a man in the head. He collapsed to the floor. More gunshots rang out in the corridor and Axel watched as a security guard shouted at a group in evening attire. He was gunned down by a woman wearing a flowing red dress.

  The intercom voice was back. “Attention. Attention. The outer hull has been compromised. Please proceed to the nearest life pod. Pangaea personnel are ready to assist.”

  Axel doubted that. He smelled smoke, accompanied by the whooshing sound of the fire suppression system. The floor rocked again and he was pretty certain that those ships docked outside were firing on one another in order to break free of the scramble to leave. A railgun round must have missed its target and slammed into the hull, which could withstand a stray meteor but not repeated impacts from military ordinance.

  He pushed away thoughts of Zulu Dancer being hit in the crossfire. That thing probably wouldn’t survive a bullet strike, let alone a meter-long rod of tungsten traveling at Mach 2.

  “What is that thing?” asked McKenzie, pointing to Chang’s computer.

  “Secure sub-space coms connecting us back to the operations desk,” replied Chang.

  “Any news on the other teams?”

  Chang winced. “This is just one-way. We needed a way to transmit once you blocked all the Pangaea communications with the ship, here. They want to know as soon as the targets are eliminated.”

  McKenzie glanced back to the main bridge monitor and gasped. He jumped up from the captain’s chair. Thousands of ships suddenly began departing from docking arms, extending out from Pangaea. A traffic jam of cosmic proportion unfolded on his monitor. Yachts, freighters, passenger liners all began drifting away from their moorings simultaneously.

  “That’s crazy,” said Chang, looking up from his monitor.

  What the hell happened down there? McKenzie wondered.

  McKenzie, crewless save for the strike team still on the resort, looked on in horror. Ships began crashing into one another. A sleek, metallic green Silkworm cruiser slammed into a cargo hauler. Blue plasma flames shot out from the hauler as their reactor went critical on impact.

  “Um,” said Chang, “do you think we need to get out of here?”

  McKenzie looked away from the swarm of ships, some of them perilously close to the Zhong Kui. His fingers flew across the captain’s control panel. One half of the main bridge monitor switched to show the area in three dimensions. Five ships, several showing weapons emerging from concealed compartments, were cruising straight for them. The naval commander in him wanted to take evasive action to avoid a collision. However, he had a mission and until Silva reported all three targets were neutralized, he had to stay put. If he left the docking arm, he might never be able to return.

  The brandishing of weapons by the incoming ships sent the message they intended to maintain their course, no matter who was in their way.

  “You ever man a weapons console?” McKenzie shouted at Chang.

  “Thought you’d never ask,” replied the sweaty keyboard jock. His breathing mask was clouded with fog and his eyes twinkled.

  McKenzie pointed to a bank of monitors above a series of switches. “Sit there. I’ll tell you what to do.”

  “Aye, Captain.” Chang looked excited for the first time.

  “Activate the perimeter defense AI,” said McKenzie.

  “One sec.” There was a pause. “Got it.”

  The bridge lighting turned a stark red as the defense AI took over. McKenzie’s calm returned as the weapons systems he’d tested weeks ago as part of the Yang Liwei’s shakedown engaged four ships at once.

  “Incredible,” whispered Chang as he stared at the main monitor.

  Super-heated needles fanned out from the top of the frigate as a dozen mini guns let loose on the incoming ships. In three seconds, they were converted into clouds of debris. The defense AI carefully avoided the reactors, so as not to cause explosions that could damage the ship.

  In the distance, several more ships blossomed into blue fireballs. The scramble to leave intensified.

  “Why are they shooting at each other?” asked Chang. “Can’t everyone just be cool and orderly?”

  “They’re scared to death of something in there.”

  McKenzie had seen this sort of behavior before—terror of anything even remotely dangerous. The rich were always afraid of death. They didn’t pray to a God. They worshiped themselves and money. A poor religious man, when faced with certain death, gets on his knees and asks God for safe passage into the next world. The rich scatter in the wind, without a thought or care of anyone standing in their way. All that matters is that they and their money are safe.

  The immediate threat of the incoming ships out of the way, McKenzie had a moment to process the situation. Something must have gone horribly wrong with the attack. He went over to the drone operator’s console and initiated two scout drones. He plotted a course over the top of the resort. From his ship’s position on the docking arm, all he could see were ships trying to leave the immediate area.

  “Just a note, Captain,” said Chang. He was hunched over the weapons console, hammering away on a keyboard.

  “What?” McKenzie barked.

  “The software for your ship is out of date by a few days.”

  McKenzie’s brow knitted. “We’re fine.” What difference did it make? They would be underway in a few minutes. He had to stay focused.

  “I mean, I’m not trying to tell you how to run your ship, but this new weapons control AI needs to be updated hourly. Sun-Gi is the developer and they recommend a steady connection to their update services.”

  “We’ll fix that later. Now shut up.” This wasn’t something he could deal with right now. Connecting to the Sun-Gi maintenance networks could give their position away to the Imperial Joint Forces Command.

  On his view screen, the drones hovered over a city in chaos. McKenzie zoomed into the streets around the imperial residence. He saw six mech infantry cutting a path through a host of fleeing guests, as the prince made his way to his personal docking bay. Thankfully, it was on the other side of the disk-shaped resort.

  Two bright flashes washed out the main bridge monitor.

  “That’s bad,” said Chang.

  McKenzie turned to see blue plasma flames shooting out from one of the force field control stations on the top of Pangaea’s superstructure. The protective bubble shimmered above the generator and an arc of red light began spreading outward from the outer edge of the force field.

  Axel looked over his shoulder. A swarm of terrified people filled the underground corridor end to end. Automatic gunfire echoed. Sparks cascaded from the ceiling. The station jolted, followed by a roar of terror from the swarm behind him.

  “Ship’s ready,” shouted Devon. “Danso says to hurry up or he’s leaving without us.”

  “You tell him…” Axel stopped himself, realizing threats would not help the situation. In his heart he knew Danso wouldn’t leave them stranded there.

  Down a long ramp, the group found an access door to the docking bay. Red warning lights spun on the walls. Ships hovered just above the floor. Zulu Dancer was the largest ship in the bay, dwarfing the neighboring luxury craft. The long black-streaked tube of the old passenger cruiser looked hideous compared to the modern sleek lines and ornate hull decorations of the yachts parked beside it.

  They sprinted across the polished metal floor, pus
hing and elbowing people out of the way. The attendants that had once stood waiting patiently for guests were all gone, replaced by a plethora of discarded luggage, overturned cargo drones, and frantic tourists. The air reeked of fear.

  A tempest swirled in Axel’s stomach. If the trigger-happy idiots behind them started shooting, their only ticket out of Pangaea would be done for. He steeled his mind and crushed the defeatist thoughts. They would not fail. They were so close. He would get these kids home.

  Jean-Baptiste tripped over a handbag and was almost trampled by a pack of hotel maids charging toward a cherry-red galleon with the words “2.0 GPA” across the bow. Axel pulled him to his feet and pressed on.

  Ships filled the view beyond the blue force field of the landing bay. Axel counted twenty, but there was way more than that. Blue plasma flames shot out of the side of a stubby yellow one, the force of the escaping flames forcing the craft into a tailspin before slamming into the side of a giant old warship.

  As Axel watched billion-dollar mega-yachts open fire on one another, he wondered if a few of the owners were taking the opportunity to settle old scores in the chaos.

  Zulu Dancer’s cargo bay lowered and Axel hurried the rest of the group aboard. A throng of humanity followed them into the ship’s cargo bay, too many for Axel to fend off. Blood ran from wounds and ripped clothing fluttered as the panicked pushed their way on board. He caught Devon’s eye.

  Frowning at the look on his face, she snapped, “What difference does it make?”

  She was right. What difference did it make? The station was coming apart and anyone not on a ship in the next few minutes was destined for the cold vacuum of space.

  Axel found an intercom on the wall and buzzed the bridge. He watched as Devon led the stowaways up the staircases and toward the passenger compartments.

  “Can we go?” shouted Danso.

  “Yes,” Axel replied. “Secure the cargo bay door and get us out of here.”

  The door started to raise and immediately Axel’s heart sank. Whole bodies gave way to screaming heads and then just hands reaching to find purchase on the slick edge of the door. Then the cargo bay was silent. All the chaos in the docking bay was sealed off, but a sixth sense told Axel there was still a sea of desperate people out there. But they were not his mission. They had to get underway.

  As he turned to go up the stairs, his eyes caught a porthole with a view of the sea of people below. Zulu Dancer lifted and a man’s face appeared on over the porthole. He screamed and pounded on the transparent aluminum. The ship traversed the force field and the man’s expression shifted to pure terror. Axel wished he could reach through the hull and pull him in. Eventually the man’s face froze in a mask of horror and he slid from view.

  Zulu Dancer made a deep dive away from the resort to avoid the tumultuous naval battle just outside the docking bay. Axel waited a moment, fearing a stray railgun round would tear through the ship, but one never came. He took a deep breath and made for the stairs.

  A loud banging came from the other side of the Zhong Kui’s airlock door. McKenzie stifled a flinch at the sound. He opened the door to see Silva, half invisible and splattered with blood.

  “Take off immediately,” said Silva as he panted for breath.

  “Where are the others?” asked McKenzie as he looked down the corridor on the other side of the airlock.

  “They’re dead. Let’s go, Captain. I won’t ask a third time,” said Silva. He flashed a pistol on his belt.

  “Did you get them all?” asked Chang. His fingers hovered over his computer.

  Silva let out a low growl, before responding. “We missed La Paz. We’ll have to track him.” He pulled another pistol from behind his back and ejected a luminous blue wafer from the grip. “Where’s your jellyfish?” he asked Chang.

  Chang responded by opening a pouch on his vest and producing a spongy, fist-sized ball. He placed it next to his computer. Silva stabbed the wafer into the jellyfish. Chang’s screen lit up.

  The screen showed a dot in a three-dimensional rendering of the area around the Zhong Kui. “Which one are you?” muttered Silva. His eyes darted across the bridge monitor, surveying thousands of ships all trying to flee the imploring resort. The red arc from the damaged generator slowly spread across the force field dome. While ships that cleared the traffic jam streaked away, finally able to safely engage their main engines, several more explosions blossomed within the cloud of spacecraft.

  “What happens if they find the tracker on La Paz?” asked McKenzie.

  “They won’t,” Silva shot back. “It’s only a millimeter wide. Soft impact. He didn’t even flinch when I shot him.”

  Two luxury corvettes drifted toward the frigate. The defense AI tore into them with the mini guns.

  “I’m getting us away from this mess,” said McKenzie. “Then we can worry about finding La Paz.”

  “Fine,” said Silva.

  McKenzie began punching icons on the navigator’s station. “Did you get a look at the ship he’s on?”

  “Shouldn’t be hard to find. It’s an antique luxury liner. Big tube of a thing. It will stick out like a sore thumb.”

  “What happened in there?” asked McKenzie as he skillfully guided the ship clear of the others.

  “Costas got cold feet.”

  McKenzie didn’t believe that. He’d been around killers all his life, from marines to politicians. He knew a man of action when he saw him. He wanted to press Silva on his bullshit story, but now wasn’t the time.

  “What do you want us to do when we catch up with this ship?” asked McKenzie.

  “This is a warship, yes? We’ll disable the engines and board her.” He went back into the room behind the bridge and started opening the weapons crates.

  Watching Silva load an assault rifle, McKenzie wondered if it would be better to just shoot these two, dump them out the airlock, and go live a life of piracy with his ship. But Silva probably had eyes in the back of his head and would shoot him first. So, he decided to continue the mission. Besides, they were very close now.

  He wished he could scan the Chinese military frequencies, but with the signal jammer engaged, all he would get was static. Subspace transmissions equipment like Chang’s gear were onboard the Zhong Kui, but required both parties to be connected to one another. Given the necessity for secrecy, having a direct connection with a military signal outpost was a bad thing.

  Chang synced his computer with the main bridge screen. Silva’s little dot began speeding away from Pangaea.

  “Contact, off the port bow,” said McKenzie. “Three thousand kilometers out.” He nodded toward the dot on the screen. “They’re headed for one of Titan’s gates.”

  Silva slid back onto the bridge. “Good work, Captain. Even for an American.”

  McKenzie gritted his teeth. “Shall we arm torpedoes?”

  “No, Captain. I wish it were that simple. My orders are to see these men die. Blowing that ship up is not an absolute. What about the Brazilians on Titan? Have they responded yet?”

  “We’d have to turn off the signal jamming to find out.”

  Silva considered for a minute. “Do it. We need to see how the rest of the operation is going. The emperor should be dead by now.”

  Chang spoke up. “The news about Pangaea will get out. What’s left of it, anyway.”

  The main bridge screen switched back to the image of the resort and ships trying to flee. A long dark crack now ran down the superstructure from the force field reactor. Debris floated away from the ragged hull.

  McKenzie’s mouth dropped open, seeing the floating city begin to come apart. The red arc was now almost halfway across the force field dome. Blue plasma flame now billowed from ten reactors that he could see. He knew that once half of the reactors failed, the shield would falter and all of Pangaea would be exposed to cold space.

  Silva waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s already out, I’m sure. Once those ships started leaving, they are out of the range of the
ship’s signal jammer. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “Once La Paz’s ship hits the jump gate, they could go anywhere,” said McKenzie.

  “Leave that to me,” said Silva. “Chang, call Rota. It’s time to call in some favors.”

  “We’re going to go to another jump gate, near Titan,” said Danso. He stared down at a monitor with his arms crossed. “It’ll take us past the Jupiter orbit, into the Belt.”

  Axel stood with the captain on Zulu Dancer’s bridge. “Why?”

  Danso pointed to a monitor. The screen showed Pangaea’s jump gate and a trail of ships waiting to get away. “There’s still some shooting going on, around Pangaea’s main gate. And look at this.”

  The monitor changed to show Pangaea. Danso pointed to a line running down the main axis of the entire resort. “One of the main reactors was hit and the superstructure is cracked.”

  Axel looked closer. The force field over the top of the entire resort was a cloud of blue sparks and electricity arcing in all directions. It looked like the top view of a lightning storm. Debris floated in the electrical cloud.

  “The force field is down?” asked Axel. He was shocked to think about the carnage and wondered if the Chinese prince made it out alive.

  “Yes,” said Danso. His eyes showed fear.

  Axel wanted to tell him about some things he’d seen that were far scarier than that. But the man had seen enough for one day. He needed the captain to keep his wits until they got home.

  “How long will it take to get to the other gate?”

  “Less than an hour. Which brings up another little problem. Your four hundred new friends on my ship.”

  Axel smirked and lowered his brow. “The ship can hold ten times that many people. So what?”

  “So what, the man says. I’ll tell you so what. Did they bring their own food?”

  “You don’t have food stores on board?”

  “For you and my crew, yes. Not for hundreds of others. The water system can barely sustain us, not all of them.”