Blue Star Marine Boxed Set

by James David Victor

  “We’ve lost our deflection shielding, sir,” Knole reported. “Stability shielding fluctuating. We’re losing it. We’ll be defenseless.”

  A Skarak warship broke away from the mastership and moved in on the Resolute.

  “Sergeant Dorik.” Featherstone looked over to the sergeant at the defensive systems. “What’s happened to my defense?”

  Dorik looked up at Featherstone, a vacant look in his eye.

  The Skarak warship was only seconds from crackle beam range.

  “Spitz guns firing,” Cronin said. “High-energy laser firing. Mass beam powering up.”

  Then the blue crackle beam hit.

  The lights flickered around the command deck. A console blew out on one side, showering sparks that lit up the deck momentarily. Emergency lighting kicked in and washed the deck with a red glow.

  Featherstone climbed up into his command chair.

  “Sensors, surveillance,” Featherstone said. “Come on, Knole, let me see what’s going on out there.”

  Yanic Knole was a genius with the sensor array, but with main power fluctuating so wildly after the Skarak crackle beam, it was difficult. He transferred power from the mass beam and laser assembly to the sensors, bouncing the signal off a retreating freighter and snatching a glimpse of the battle outside.

  Featherstone saw the stuttering holo-image on his command chair armrest. The Resolute was dead in the void and being drawn into the belly of the Skarak mastership. The image was grainy and incomplete, with only a snatched moment of data here and there to build a scruffy image, but Featherstone could see one of the freighters already deep inside the belly of the mastership.

  “Doc, can you give me a combat drone?”

  “Just the one. Tubes are all loaded but only one set of tube doors are open. It’s set on maximum yield. It’s the only one, but its ready and at your command, sir.”

  Featherstone tugged his collar. “Target the Union freighter inside the mastership. Target her main reactor and fire.”

  Doc looked at Featherstone. “Sir?” he said, his voice quivering with concern. “She’s got a crew of twenty civilians, sir.”

  “And a cargo hold full of black ice. Fire. Now.”

  Doc Cronin launched the combat drone then dropped his head, his chin on his chest and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  “Drone away,” Knole said. “Contact.”

  The rumble that began to shake the ship grew more violent by the second. Conduits ruptured.

  “Main drive is online,” Hemel said. “Getting us out of here.”

  “Go,” Featherstone said. The main holo-stage flickered back to life. The scene showed a huge plasma explosion in the belly of the mastership. The force of the blast had thrown the Resolute clear of the mastership’s clutches, but a Skarak warship was already on her tail.

  Featherstone walked over to the defense console. Dorik was staring at it. The deflection shield and stability field were available, but offline.

  “Activate defensive systems, Sergeant,” Featherstone said. He waited, but Dorik made no move to do so. Finally, he pushed the sergeant aside and activated them himself.

  “Skarak warships falling behind,” Hemel said. “Do you want to give me a heading, sir?”

  Featherstone stared at Dorik. The big sergeant turned and looked at his commanding officer.

  “Umm, sir,” Dorik said, as if waking from sleep, “the defensive systems went offline.”

  Featherstone held Dorik with his stare. “Doc, take the sergeant to your med-bay and check him over. You hear me, Dorik? Go with Doc.”

  “I feel fine,” he said, shaking his head and staring around the command deck.

  Featherstone looked his sergeant up and down. One of the best sergeants he’d ever worked with. A great combat leader and a safe pair of hands at the defensive console. But not this time.

  “Let Doc check you over.” Featherstone could not shake the uncomfortable feeling that Dorik had badly slipped up.

  “The Skarak have taken four freighters, sir,” Knole said. “And the Faction raider killed two. Compiling all data. I have attempted to send an update to command, but communications are down.”

  Featherstone watched as Cronin led Dorik away.

  “We need to warn command that the Skarak are back. Set course for Supra.”

  The Resolute charged ahead, its drive throwing it across space, catching up to the convoy only to race past and leave it behind, making for the planet Supra with all speed.

  Featherstone looked at the defensive systems console. He ran back through the log. He could not believe what he saw. Sergeant Dorik had deactivated the defenses moments before the Skarak attacked. He trusted the sergeant, and no man aboard had shown more dedication to his uniform than Dorik.

  The systems would be checked at Supra. Firstly, Featherstone needed to inform fleet command.

  The Skarak were back.

  7

  Boyd wrapped his jacket around his shoulders more tightly. The flight deck of the Odium Fist was cold. The frost from his breath covered the consoles across the flight deck. The Fist had been on minimal power for days and was only just warming up now that power was back online.

  The glow from the consoles only served to make the flight deck appear even colder than it was. The blue flickering light from a dozen consoles chilled Boyd.

  He moved to the communications and surveillance console. The Fist was still adrift in the gas giant’s clouds, being tugged around the huge planet by thousand kilometer-per-hour winds. It was tumbling but with the gravity field operating again, Boyd felt as if the Fist was drifting on a gentle stream. Occasionally, when the grav field fluctuated, he felt a wave of nausea as the true movement of the ship in the gas clouds became apparent.

  Moving to the defensive system console, Boyd felt a sudden fluctuation. The grav field failed momentarily and his feet drifted off the deck only for him to be pulled back down suddenly. He reached out to the console to steady himself as he dropped.

  The defensive systems were all operating. The deflection shielding was standing by. The hull stability field was at maximum, holding the Fist together as she spun wildly in the gas giant’s extreme winds.

  The weapons systems were standing by. The hail cannons were all online, but the Fist had expended most of its ordnance. Only the spitz guns remained as the Fist’s primary weapon.

  Boyd moved to the center of the flight deck. The pilot’s chair that he was so familiar with looked strange to him now. He had been running the entire ship for days. With his only shipmate, Thresh, still recovering from her injuries, he had been in command of the ship. His only objective was to get the Fist back into space and to continue his covert operation—to find Kitzov and have him brought to justice.

  Dropping into the pilot’s chair, Boyd checked the drive systems and navigation. Everything was ready to go.

  Boyd stepped back from the pilot’s chair. If he was going to run this ship singlehandedly, he would need to run it from the command chair. The chair overlooked the entire flight deck and he could access all systems from the holo-display on the armrests.

  Boyd looked up at the command chair.

  “Don’t be hesitant.”

  Boyd looked to the sound of the voice. Thresh was leaning in the entrance. She was wearing a fresh Faction trooper uniform. It was slightly too big for her.

  “You are up and about then, are you?” Boyd said, stating the obvious. “You sure you are fit enough?”

  Thresh pushed herself off the bulkhead and walked slowly across the flight deck to the engineering station.

  “I’ll survive. Not sure if the ship will, if I let you run her by yourself.”

  The Odium Fist was designed to be crewed by a small flight crew of half a dozen. It was possible to run it with fewer, but it was never intended to be operated by a single person, no matter how skilled.

  “I’ll take over at engineering and make sure the reactor behaves itself.”

  Boyd looked u
p at the command chair. “Like it ever does that. It’s about time it was swapped out for a new one.”

  “Might as well scrap the entire craft,” Thresh said. “The core is the ship.”

  “Spoken like a true engineer,” Boyd said.

  “I’m ready when you are,” Thresh said, taking her position at the engineering console.

  “I’m ready,” Boyd said. He stepped up onto the plinth that the command chair sat on and took a deep breath.

  Sitting down, Boyd instantly felt at ease. The chair gave him a commanding view of the flight deck. Everything seemed within reach. He activated the holo-displays on both armrests. A holographic flight console slid across in front of him. He tapped it experimentally.

  As he hit the holo-display, he saw the corresponding panel light up on the actual flight console down on the deck—his usual position on the ship.

  “Reactor symmetry is optimal. Drive field ready. She’s all yours, Boyd.” Thresh looked up.

  Boyd accessed the thruster controls. “I’m going to stabilize the ship, and then make the maneuver to orbit.”

  He tapped at the holo-controls, satisfied that every move made the ship respond as if he was in the pilot’s seat. It was possible to take control of the entire ship from here, but he could only do one thing at a time. Shrunk away to the side of the holographic console was the weapons console, then the defensive systems, then communications. The display could be swapped for another system with a swipe of the hand. Boyd could swap from flight to weapons in a moment. He focused on steadying the Fist.

  With a few blasts of the thrusters, the Fist stopped tumbling. She was oriented with the wind direction, her nose pointing upward slightly.

  “Preparing for maneuver to orbit,” Boyd said.

  “Ready when you are,” Thresh said.

  Boyd looked down at Thresh in her oversized trooper’s uniform. She was becoming someone special to him. It was not just her ability, he found her dark eyes and her light, short hair irresistible. She was fun, exciting, creative, and mischievous. He almost forgot she was the enemy.

  Since Boyd had entered the Faction as an undercover operative, he had met many surprising people. Most in the Faction were just ordinary people, born in a settlement so far from the seat of Union power that they naturally fell under the Faction’s control. They were average Joes, no different to the miners, farmers, or engineers of Terra or Supra.

  The Faction raider crews were a different breed. They were all pirates and criminals, brought into the Faction under the influence of Kitzov. No different to the criminals that operated in the Union, but in the Faction, they were given legal standing—to raid Union ships, to bring in plunder, to destabilize the Union. They were hard-edged pirates and killers, and instruments of a developing Faction state.

  As a Blue Star Marine, Boyd had more in common with the pirates than the civilians. He found them amusing at times. They knew how to party, and Boyd had found ways to enjoy himself in their company, even though he always knew he was there to end their way of life.

  But Thresh… Enke Thresh. She was like no one else he had ever met. She was, he struggled to admit to himself, wonderful. If he could destroy the Faction, he would…but if he could save one small part of it, he would save her.

  “Ready when you are, Boyd,” she said again, as firmly as she could.

  Boyd hit the drive and the Fist moved upward through the clouds of Extremis. The display above the main holo-stage showed the Fist’s ascent. She burst out of the top cloud layer and fell into a high orbit.

  An alarm sounded somewhere deep in the ship. Boyd checked his systems, flicking through all the holo-consoles in front of him.

  “I’ve got it,” Thresh said, “It’s a secondary conduit in the main trooper locker. Shutting it down now.”

  “This ship is falling apart,” Boyd said as he accessed the navigation controls. “I’m setting a course for the belt. Hopefully, we can pick up some traffic and get this ship towed to a Faction port.”

  “Yes, a Faction port,” Thresh said. She looked up at him. “You wouldn’t prefer a Union port, would you?”

  Boyd ignored her, but he saw out of the corner of his eye that she was looking right at him.

  “No.” He smiled. And he meant it. If the Fist was picked up by a Union ship, he would be okay. He could reveal his true identity in moments and would be among friends, but Thresh was Faction, and currently wearing a trooper’s uniform. She would either be shot on sight or more likely captured, interrogated, and then hanged.

  Boyd recalled moments when Thresh had made comments to him about the Union. She had almost discovered him in communication with Major Featherstone a couple of times, but he was sure it had only been close. If she had discovered him, he had no doubt she would have turned him over to the Faction. She was dangerous. Maybe that was why he liked her so much.

  An undercover operative was a job for someone who had a tolerance for danger. Maybe an attraction to it. His brother had never been a Blue Star. He had been a regular Marine—a straight-laced, stand up, Marine lieutenant. He had been a straight-A student, a debate club leader, wilderness expert. He’d even taught kids Curveball in the summer. He had been a servant of the Union, a true patriot doing his duty.

  When he had been killed, Boyd had felt the need for revenge. He had no time for kiddy sports or hiking trips, he wanted to get down and dirty, infiltrate and kill. He became accustomed to the danger. Maybe, he was afraid, he liked it.

  But Thresh. She made things complicated. She was too close to the leader of the Faction. The leader had known her since she was a child. She was too pretty to be Faction. Too clever to be a pirate. Too much of a friend to be a danger to him. But she was the greatest danger.

  “Setting course for the belt.” Boyd laid in the most direct route. A day’s run, in a fast ship. He didn’t know how long the Fist would be able to run before a system gave out. Maybe the reactor would blow before they even left the Extremis gravity well.

  “If we do run into the Union, we’ll never fight them off just the two of us,” Thresh said. “I can set the reactor to blow.”

  “What about the self-destruct?” Boyd asked. He looked at the small panel in the side of the armrest where all raiders had the self-destruct control.

  “It is still bio-locked to Poledri. You need to be captain to have control of that,” Thresh said.

  Boyd looked across the flight deck. “I am captain,” he said.

  “You think you are my captain?” Thresh said with a cheeky look. “You are only up there because I’m better at this station than you, and like I said, the core is the ship. If anything, Will, I am the captain of you.”

  He looked down at her. She was smiling, her dark eyes sparkling with a mischievous wit.

  “I guess so,” Boyd said.

  After a moment, she leaned heavily on the console. He saw her head drop and her legs quiver. He jumped down from the command chair and dashed over to her, catching her before she fell.

  “Gravity fluctuation?” Boyd asked.

  “Maybe,” Thresh said. “Feeling dizzy. I took more of a beating on Kalis than I thought.” She slipped down to the deck and sat against the console.

  Boyd sat next to her. “You okay?”

  “I’ll be okay in a moment. Get back to work. I’m fine here. Just let me rest for a moment.”

  Boyd brushed the hair from her face. She seemed pale, but looked up and smiled at him.

  “Don’t let the Union take me,” she said, looking up into his eyes.

  Boyd shook his head. “You’ll be alright,” he said. He stood up and stepped away, back toward the command chair.

  She looked up briefly and waved him away.

  “Go. Work. I’m fine.”

  Boyd climbed back up into the command chair. The Fist was hurtling across space at terrific speed. He checked the communication channels for any transmissions in the region. Someone to reach out to, or someone to avoid. But there was nothing, not even a relay drone t
ransmitting a regular guidance ping.

  “It’s very quiet out here.” He looked down at Thresh. She nodded weakly.

  “Good,” she said.

  The Fist’s heading held true, the drive field holding strong and steady. The holo-stage showed the distance to the belt. Far away to the starboard side, many astro-units away, was the gas giant Supra. It was far enough away that the Fist could slip by. The last place a Faction raider wanted to be was anywhere near Supra. Faction ships would often rise a billion kilometers above the ecliptic to avoid passing that Union stronghold.

  A ship appeared on the display, so Boyd zoomed in. A Faction ship was closing in. Boyd prepared a standard Faction greeting, but the signal failed to transmit.

  As the ship got closer, he could see the Faction vessel was one he recognized, the only one of its kind.

  It was the Silence.

  “Hey, Thresh. Good news,” Boyd said. “It’s your old friend, Kitzov.

  Thresh climbed up to her feet, looking a little stronger after her short rest.

  “Really. The Silence?”

  “Yes. No communication. We can’t send or receive, but they’ve seen us and are making straight for us. I’m adjusting our heading to rendezvous with them.”

  Boyd watched as the Silence closed in. The last time he had seen the ship was at the Battle of Kalis LZ when it had blasted off in the middle of a fight with a Union attack group. Boyd had called the Union to Kalis to arrest Kitzov, but the appearance of the Skarak had turned the moon into a chaotic scramble between Faction, Union, and Skarak forces. It was a surprise to Boyd that any ships had escaped.

  The Silence slowed and came alongside the Fist. A soft dock corridor extended out and connected with the Fist’s main airlock.

  Boyd powered down. A request from the Silence flight deck came the moment soft dock was achieved. All flight controls were transferred instantly to the Silence.

  “Is that normal procedure?” Boyd said.

  Thresh had slipped back to the deck and was drifting in and out of consciousness.