by Chris Turner
Sket took the starboard guns, acting as auxiliary gunner and raked fire at the incoming bogies as Bruus moved in precision to intercept one of Zaul’s aggressive harriers.
In the same way, on Bruus’s and Berlast’s team, Sket would act as principal gunner, should the Jakru gunner be killed or wounded.
A ship came out of nowhere behind a dough-shaped mass of ice and rock, taking Miko by surprise. It peppered his ship across the stern.
“You’re dead, Lieutenant,” jeered Janel from Eagle 5, the locust gunner who had watched and treacherously assisted Zaul’s Falcon fighters.
Miko grinned. “Maybe, Corporal, but we’re in training, aren’t we?”
Miko saw him give his head a shake on the command screen.
Fenli came out of his dive, pumping hard at the controls. He drew the cannons about in a sharp sweep to rake the side of Zaul’s ship that had taken down Miko. “Ha ha!” he cried. His lasers pummelled both stern and underbelly of Miko’s aggressor.
Miko laughed alongside Fenli while Usk did a loop and reeled back to fly side by side with Fenli. In parallel formation, the two ships raged in to assault the fleeing lightfighters.
On the Kestrel’s bridge came Zaul’s rabid cry. “Fools! This is not a kindergarten tit-for-tat.”
Lexia’s voice suppressed a giggle.
“You can do better than that, Eagle 1. Even that Sket’s ham-handed spatter-fire is scoring points off you. Look lively, laggards! Falcons, included.”
“Copy that, sir,” grunted Falcon 5.
“But we can’t take them on at once,” protested Miko. “I thought we were to strike hard and warp out?”
“Those chittering locusts will make mincemeat of you if they swarm wide with their aphids. Falcon 5 and 6, give them hell!”
Zaul’s innovation included forcing the trainees to dogfight till the death until one ship remained standing. He monitored their kills and rankings, and had actual numbers from which to draw conclusions. The drilling went on for hours, both sides scoring wins and suffering losses. Fenli’s team did admirably well, considering his reckless shooting, even approaching Miko’s takedown counts.
Zaul was not displeased with the rebel gunners’ results at the end of this session, though he offered no praise to Miko or Fenli. Miko suspected it was Zaul’s way of making his men strong, to make them work harder. A risky tactic. If the stakes were so high, and the future of the Jakru and human race depended on their sabotaging the locust and Zikri alliance, then instigating an inter-stellar war between their enemies might not go so smoothly.
The Colonel was eager to push on. The next training session would be 23.5 hours later at Vexus 9, a hundred light years away. From there, on to Kraetoria.
* * *
“Code blue,” hissed Jinquar. “Zikri activity on decrypt-channel 9.”
“So, they’ve posted scouts,” mused Zaul. He gazed at the viewscreen that displayed the lurking Zikri orb, a spiked behemoth, much too close to their training ground.
“Cloaking stable at .8,” murmured Deral.
“Lucky for us... Small probability they registered anything unusual. No chance they could have guessed our purpose. Lucky I had those close-circuit cloaking devices installed on our Doraxu before fighting. Chrysalis, be damned! Shit, I was having a bad feeling about that last training site.”
“Nothing you could have done, sir—Fenli and Miko are still out there with Vembrod and Laren.”
Zaul held up his hand. “Rein them in. Make sure they stay cloaked. Take the Kestrel out.” The massive destroyer, true to her name, leaped to action to face her down. She was a veritable bird of prey, one of the fastest and most versatile of Zaul’s ships. No wonder it was named after the falcon whose fast-beating wings propelled it so ruthlessly to snatch prey off the ground.
The orb, sensing she was outnumbered, retreated on an escape vector at a leisurely, if not arrogant, impulse course in the direction of Kraetoria.
* * *
Nothing had come of the Zikri reconnaissance. The Jakru dropped out of light drive on standard disrupt cloak. From a safe distance, Miko and the others all gathered on the bridge with Zaul’s team staring at a viewscreen filled with huge warships of every imaginable configuration—locust rings, Zikri ovals, toruses and figure eights.
The mesmerizing Starfish Nebula lurked light years behind, in full multicolour, its spiralled mass lit in pale blues, oranges, whites and yellows.
Two giant locust crafts, ring-shaped and ominously predatorial, docked against each other. Hosts of smaller lightfighters of Doraxu design, aphid-shaped and lethally-equipped, berthed on the rings’ central pod bays. Not far away drifted the half ruined Mentera station, the one from which Miko had escaped, a broken, crippled pod-complex with myriad smaller craft hovering around it like gnats. Miko gazed, spellbound. These ships busied themselves repairing the mass’s superstructure with disturbing speed, the gaping mess of wreckage and wirings at its extremity where it had been ravaged by the Jakru cannon not so long ago. How had the locusts transported this hulking ark-like complex these vast light years from its former position in its crippled state?
Hundreds of Zikri war orbs loomed opposite the locust station, a wall of spiked and twisted metal, arrayed in hostile ranks. At the edge of the phalanx loomed a massive box-like shape, an ugly monstrosity, glowing a dim purple in the eerie blackness.
Jinquar gasped. “I never thought there would be so many, Colonel.”
Zaul gave a low whistle. “Nor I. Visual, Jinquar. Zoom. Magnify. Engage the auxiliary cloaking.”
“Aye, aye.” He reached to obey.
“It’s the biggest congregation since the migration of Zikri-Mentera from their home planet,” Laren hissed.
“All to colonize, what?”
“Their ancient battlegrounds.”
“Remind me again, what is the planetoid they orbit?” Bruus asked.
“Kraetoria,” responded Deral. “A mysterious dead world, one whose Zikri and Mentera origin turns up time and time again in the earliest space records.”
“It has a high gravitational field,” observed Jinquar, “for such a small world.”
“The core is dense—of some unknown compound.”
“Scanners,” ordered Zaul.
Jinquar wore a puzzled frown. “I’m detecting minimal life readings, sir—Little flora, many craters and ancient mountains. Some primitive, domed metal structures show up, product of an ancient culture. For all purposes, Kraetoria is dead.”
Miko and the others gazed in speculative wonder. A constant stream of ships sped from the Zikri ranks ferrying cargo to the Mentera ring station then to the planetoid below.
“Re-terraforming it?” suggested Lexia.
“It’s evident the Zikri and locusts plan to form a bilateral alliance and set up bases on this gloomy world. A hideous place for such business. A central headquarters.”
“And there’s that ugly station,” pointed out Miko.
“Zaul, you should have blasted that monstrosity out of the sky when you had the chance—instead of gallivanting around the galaxy after me.”
Zaul retorted, “We would not be here, if that were the case, Empress.”
“Here, here!” murmured Deral. A buzz of appreciation rang amongst the crew.
“Little is known about this sector,” Zaul mused. “A thousand years of hate has forged this.”
“A thousand years of hate is not going to end soon, Zaul. Are your men ready?”
“As ready as this reckless plan will have it.”
Miko shook his head, gazing at the massed forces. “We’re going to need more ships.”
Fenil grimaced in agreement. “It’ll never work...”
“It has to work!” boomed Zaul. “Don’t forget these decoys were your hare-brained idea—against my better judgement.” He slammed a fist in his palm. “We will defeat them with sly tactics of our own.”
“But look at them,” said Miko. “Are you forgetting they will be parked out the
re waiting? They will see through our ruse the moment our ships uncloak. How are they not going to recognize unauthorized ships?”
“Deral here has cracked their codes,” explained Zaul. “She’ll send in signals of authorized craft. We need only a diversion. Consider a Jakru vessel stripped of identifying marks going in, threatening attack. One of the decoys comes out of light speed, pursues and destroys it. It gives our decoys more credence.”
“Sending a Jakru craft in is a risky and foolish plan,” countered Jinquar.
“Says who?”
“I agree,” asserted Lexia. “No Jakru craft.”
“As you wish,” conceded Zaul.
“A lot of variables here. It means a lot of things could go wrong,” said Miko.
“So is life—a game of war,” Lexia murmured and she looked sombrely at the gathered ships and flurry of locust activity.
Zaul waved a hand. “Open fire on the Zikri vessels. The Zikri will think the Mentera have played them and orchestrated a treacherous attack. Jump to light speed at the first possible opportunity.”
Fenli rolled his eyes. “Let’s hope they don’t clue in to how stupid it would be for locusts to attack armed vessels superior to their force out in plain view. Other than that, it just may work.”
“It will work!” repeated Zaul. “I’ve put significant effort into masterminding the final details.”
Miko, remembering the daring audacity that the colonel had exhibited in rescuing the Empress, could not help but think that he would make it happen.
“There,” pointed Zaul. “See how those Zikri transport vehicles are coming out of light drive? That’s precisely where we will strike. It won’t look so obvious or hare-brained—Mentera attacking a weak point. The ruined Mentera station will continue to orbit Kraetoria. They will attempt repairs, rebuild their mother colony.”
Miko stirred. Other mini toruses and grid-shaped locust ships from the space colonies hovered around the main ship. A shiver ran through his spine.
Lexia’s lips twitched grimly. “I had no idea their network was so vast.”
Zaul redirected. “We attack there at the transpo-hub.” He turned. “Miko, Laren, you take the main target. Fenli, you and Vembrod and Sket and Bruus give them cover and blast any Zikri that try to interfere. That way we maximize our chances of hits. Then warp out of there at the first available instant.”
“Which transpo-hub? There’s like a dozen,” muttered Fenli.
“There, a new transhipment, hyperdrived from god knows where. Those Zikri orbs. Scanners wide,” he ordered Deral.
The holo scan revealed the box-van to hold a variety of ships and space station equipment scavenged from across the galaxy.
“Colonel, we are seeing multiple fuselages and engine parts of spacecraft of untold races—no less than a thousand.”
Zaul shook his head in amazement. “How I would like to see that shit box blown out of the sky. Our attack will initiate an appropriate trigger incident. A decisive moment in history, Ladies and Gentlemen. When we’ll witness the end of the Zikri and the Mentera.”
“With no immediate follow up attack by the Mentera,” pointed out Miko.
Fenli grunted. “It’ll look suspicious.”
“It’s a risk we have to take.”
Lexia motioned to Zaul. “I’ll go aboard the Brexon with Deral and two of your senior officers. Have a craft waiting to join me with the second wave team. I want to observe this fight at as close a range as possible, and lend aid if necessary.”
“You’ll join the fight?” asked Miko incredulously.
“If I have to. I do not hide behind my front lines. It’s not the Jakru way. That’s why I have men like Zaul here ready to die for our cause.”
Zaul straightened, inhaled a proud breath. “I highly discourage what you suggest, Empress. Yet if you insist, I will accompany you.”
* * *
The five Doraxu ships swung out of the launch bay like silent wraiths. Lexia’s Angels, they were called. The dusky globe of Kraetoria filled the lower half of space, lurking like a waiting giant below.
“Battle positions,” Laren’s voice rang through the speaker.
“Systems check.” Miko gripped the controls at the gunner’s console, flanked by Laren and Star. They sped on half impulse power toward the enemy fleet. This is it, he thought.
“Steady now,” Laren said.
“Usk, put on your translator,” advised Miko.
The locust clipped the device to his antenna, grimacing, but complying. His pincers clacked back to the nav controls.
Zaul growled. “We don’t have a lot of time here. The locusts and Zikri will detect our main fleet within seconds of your uncloaking despite the authorization codes—so act fast. Attack the sentinels and the van first. But don’t get too close to it.”
Dropping out of stealth mode, the attackers buzzed in like wasps before a wall of ships: spiked menaces, gleaming gunmetal grey and black. Orbs, massive hulks of machinery, loomed in their field of vision, with hundreds of rovers and scouts. The box-van ate up most of the viewscreen, monstrous beyond belief. Miko’s throat was dry as a desert. His heart sank when he thought of their chances.
Laren uncloaked the Doraxu just as a large Zikri scout craft, an elongated torus, swept within range. “Now!” he cried to Miko.
Miko blasted the port hull with instinctive ease, while Usk whisked them away on an escape vector. The scout burst into a ball of flame. Usk whipped them up and over the convoy’s shuttle vessels and Miko trained the cannon, shooting at each passing orb. More came in. His heart raced. His training kicked in, but he never liked full-on assault, even if the future of the human race depended on his killing spree. Unsuppressed memories of the mayhem he and Audra had stirred around the galaxy came flooding back to him in a wild rush.
Fenli whooped through his speaker as he blasted orbs as if they were ripe tomatoes. His ship swerved in and amongst attacking sentinels like a drunken firefly. Ironically, the unpredictable manoeuvres saved it from getting blasted by converging fire.
“Veer in to protect your flanks!” shouted Zaul over the com. “Eagle 2, what are you doing? Why are you spraying their destroyers?”
“Having a little fun, Colonel. Don’t get your cock in a knot,” came Fenli’s voice.
“You stupid weasel! Vembrod, what gives? Don’t get too close to those aphid lightfighters. You’ll jeopardize the mission!”
“Let him destroy the ships, Zaul,” said Lexia. “It’s his call, his life. As long as they rain havoc on the enemy, what do we care?”
“What of the life of my men?” rasped Zaul.
“It’s your man Vembrod who’s flying,” insisted Lexia.
“Fenli’s egging him on.”
“How can he be?”
“Kestrel, Vembrod is down,” called Varon desperately. “I repeat. Vembrod is down. Electrocuted from panel surge from enemy fire. Shields are low. Fenli is flying. I can’t control him. I’m taking over the guns.”
Zaul choked. “That weaselly—”
“Kestrel, do you see any holes we should explore?” redirected Eagle 2.
“Negative Eagle 2, get out of range! You’ve caused a stir. Zikri mobilization has rippled across the line like wildfire. They’re looking angry and rounding in on you to take their pound of flesh.”
“Eagle 2 copy. We’re ready to depart.”
“Wait!” cried Zaul. “I see Zikri and locust craft in formation side by side. That doesn’t look like enmity. They’re still not convinced. Eagle 3, hit them hard! Those Zikri orbs escorting the new cargo shipments. They’re your targets.”
“Copy,” said Bruus, “We’re the closest.”
Miko’s throat tightened on sight of the twin orbs hurtling in from around the box-van and the yellow-pink flash of incandescent bombs. “Get us out of here, Usk!”
Usk dipped the Doraxu at a stealthy 270 and the craft plunged ninety degrees to the Zikri front.
Miko’s stomach lurched. His eyes grew
wide at the sight of the massive rectangular box, surrounded by scores of Zikri orbs and hundreds of lighter craft. The octagonal plates of its prickly, chiselled hide seemed to glow with an inner, unnatural hue.
The viewscreen flashed with myriad flares. A firefly swarm of incoming enemy ships opened up bright laser fire and disrupter bombs on the invaders. The main battleships of both locust and Zikri turned to engage.
“Yeehaw!” Fenli cackled over the speaker. “Get yourselves some choice fodder, boys! Varon, keep your finger on that trigger.”
“Fenli, don’t get crazy!” said Zaul. “You’ve a mission.”
“Shove it, Colonel. Get your own ship and follow your own protocols.”
Laser spatter and Zikri bombs erupted over the invisible no man’s land between Zirki and locust. All the Doraxu Eagle company’s shields were getting hammered. Emergency klaxons rang on the bridges and Miko’s ship skewed sideways. A bright light flared to port, blinding him and Usk.
Star screamed. Orbs flared in ruin and imploded. Enemy Doraxu collided with each other, igniting, sending slivers of metal and flame everywhere. Fights had broken out all over the buffer between fleets. Casualties were heavy on both sides.
“There’s enough local battles to keep them busy,” cried Miko. “There’s a chance we can sneak through this mess and not be slaughtered.”
“Blast them to hell!” came Zaul’s fanatic hiss over the com.
“Don’t hit locusts,” warned Varon.
“I’ll hit what I bloody well like!” said Miko. “Just fly your own ship, Varon.”
“Out, Eagle 1. Now!” cried Zaul.
Usk slammed the controls but nothing happened.
Miko’s face creased in horror. “Usk!”
“Time drives are on standby,” said Deral. “What the devil—”
“Sir, a new weapon! Some tracking systems indicate a kind of strategic defense,” Jinquar reported.
“What?”
“An unknown signal of unclassifiable signature, disrupting Doraxu light drive function. I traced the source to the Zikri war orb at 0.32. It’s a defense orb.”
The spike-armoured monstrosity rose in the viewscreen and Zaul’s teeth showed in a grimace. “That’s impossible! We would have known of such technology.”
