by Will Crudge
I begin to head aft, and towards the docking bay. “Have the shuttles arrived yet?” I ask.
“Two have. Conrad scuttled the plan for the rest to join us.” Trixie answers.
“Why would she do that?”
“Because I showed her footage from the temple’s security feeds while you were dressing. I managed to snag them before we left to assist the Mercy.”
Now I’m even more confused, but I keep focused on my sprint for the bay. “What do the feeds have anything to do with our current situation?” I had to ask. It was irritating me. #PeriodRage
“I showed her clips of you in action.” Trixie said plainly. That could only mean one thing.
“So, she thinks I’m some vital combat multiplier?” I say rhetorically. It comes off more sarcastically than intended, but I don’t have time to play nice.
“Basically,” Trixie replies. “Turn left ahead. I’ll open the service corridor, and you can shave eleven seconds off of your trip!”
I don’t reply at first. I should thank her for the help. But now I’m concerned that they don’t fully understand that the Rage was doing most of the fighting. I was only trying not to turn into a nuclear weapon.
I make it to the Throat-Slasher and snatch my sword. By the time I make it back down the ladder, I see the Soldiers disembark from the shuttlecraft. Five fully armored Soldiers storm out of each shuttle. Ten in total. I can see some of them look in my direction, but then they look away again. I don’t know if they see me, or if they were just scanning the area for threats. Their matte silver helmets cover their faces, and their dark tinted visors don’t betray their eyes.
They seem to be speaking silently. Internal coms, I’m guessing. “What are they saying?” I ask, but to my surprise, Throat answers.
“Just routine drills and stuff.” He says.
“Hey! How in the hell did you access our tactical net?” Trixie chimes in.
“Easy, Trixie!” Throat says with a more diplomatic tone. “I’ve been alive for two millennia. I walk right through security tokens like a revolving door!”
“If you weren’t an ally, then I’d have to seize your vessel!” She says. I’m not sure if she was talking to me or him, but the exchange would be the same for either, I suppose.
“I don’t want to bother you with menial requests. Just trying to ease things along while we’re under fire, is all.” Throat says.
“Under fire? We’re not…” Trixie pauses. “Shit! We’re under fire!”
A Klaxon sounds a split-second later, and the lighting dims to a reddish hue. “Once again. I’ve been around for two millennia.” Throat says triumphantly. I guess even trapped inside this docking bay, he’s had his sensors running all full bore.
“Pirate boarding craft inbound.” Throat reports. “You might want to let your CO know, Trixie. It’s not on the Nova’s scan suite yet.”
“Way to build bridges, ass!” I chastise Throat. He may have helped our cause with his early warning, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s out of line.
“Just doing my job. You’re welcome.” He jeers.
“Play nice!”
“Fine. Oh, and by the way… The boarding vessels are actually known pirate hulls this time.” He reports. Trixie is silent during this exchange. I suppose she’s focusing on getting the command crew spun up.
“What does it matter if they’re pirates or Crimson? Either way, we have to kill them.” I say.
“Yeah, but since they’re pirates, you can shout ‘Avast thee’ while you do it!” he chuckles. I’m not amused. I need a brownie. Sweatpants wouldn’t hurt either.
NINETY-NINE PROBLEMS…
“Kat, Conrad wants you on the bridge,” Trixie says. “You’re the last line of defense against the boarders, as she put it.”
Great! If I thought that having a living-breathing nuclear weapon with a hair trigger was a good choice for a bodyguard, then I’d have to agree with her. But I’m not her. And this is not my ship. I decide it’s no time to argue.
“Tell her I’m on my way,” I say.
“I’ll have someone guard your LRF-90 for you. We can’t let an operational one land in the wrong hands.” Trixie says.
“Seriously? Hello! I’m right here!” Throat spouts off.
“Yes, you are. And you’re a fully operational super fighter that can take down a battlecruiser. There’s no way in hell that I’m going to leave you unguarded!” Trixie fired back.
I just stop where I am, and turn around. I had a sneaky suspicious of what was about to happen next. Two fully armored Soldiers, with heavy weapons, march up to take positions on either side of the main landing strut. There’s a metallic noise, followed by the sounds of servo motors coming to life.
Two highly polished panels that had just been blending in flawlessly with the pristine finish of the ship were now folding downward and out to either side. In an impossible display of physics, two hinges affixed to the tips of the panels begin to roll downward, and new mechanical apertures began to emerge.
Then the grand overture. Two curved weapons cradle fold down and outward to display an imposing arsenal of doom. Gatling Guns, electron beam nodes, and particle beam cannons were in full array. The Soldiers step back and freeze in place.
“You see? I don’t need any guards, my dear.” Throat says. “You need your boys elsewhere, don’t you?”
“Uh, well… In that case…” Trixie says. The Soldiers tilt their heads. I’m assuming they’re receiving new instructions. I almost forgot that Trixie held the rank of Chief Warrant Officer, and held the authority to issue orders.
I let a crooked smile form a crease across my face, and then I turn to head towards the bridge. I must admit, I feel like I’m in good hands. Even though Throat elected not to keep the empty missile pods attached to the cradles. They were tucked into the hull, so as to give the appearance that he was fully armed.
Truth is, he wasn’t. I know enough about the ordinance to know that he uses some highly proprietary munitions. It’s not like I can ask Conrad to load him down. He’s been sitting in the temple for decades, and probably doesn’t even have the right hardware to install anything on this ship. Either way, he’s the most lethal thing for a dozen AU’s in any direction.
I make it to the bridge in short order. My girl crush is manipulating her fingers in a masterful flurry of motions. The holographic display flared with pulses of light as she worked the controls. Of course, I don’t have a fucking clue what she’s doing.
“I’m here, Master Sergeant!” I announce my presence. She was too busy to see me creep up on her, I suppose.
“Very well, Kat.” She says without even taking her eyes off of the screen. I say nothing. I figure if she needed me to do or say anything, then she would have made it clear by now.
That ass, though!
I look at the main display at the front of the small space. Six Soldiers in light to medium armor were manning workstations just in front of it. The screen was about five meters wide, and at least three meters tall. It was compartmentalized into a dozen smaller status display screens.
In one particular box, I could see the visual image of the Chris Junior. There was a data tag on it, and the field read its real name.
[Unknown Gunship, Designation: Bane of Moloch]
Other displays showed tracking icons for smaller vessels. None had any cool names but were designated as sensor track numbers. A single track block with a range from 0001 through 0007.
0001 through 0003 were larger boarding craft, while the rest of the track block was their fighter escorts. I didn’t need to read the data tags for those. They were being displayed in separate visual displays and appeared to be Mark – 4’s.
The wedge-shaped fighter hulls were relatively universal among most modern militaries. Many different entities had manufacturing licenses for them. They all had the same general shape, but they varied in capability. Mark – 4’s were already passed their prime when I began my training seventy years ago.
It made sense that they would be flown by either Crimson Alliance or pirates alike. They were cheap to build, parts were plentiful, and they weren’t exactly useless in a fight. The cost to benefit ratio for fielding Mark – 4’s has always been a budget analyst’s dream come true.
Unlike the UAHC’s expensive, yet formidable, Mark – 6’s, and the newly fielded 7’s. I’ve even heard rumors of a prototype Mark - 8 being developed. The Mark – 8 is supposed to be a dual purpose atmospheric and space-based fighter, and it’s supposed to be able to achieve superiority in either environment. I may not have the proper plumbing, but I’m pretty sure I would be having a stiffy just thinking about that one!
I may have been sheltered from current events and familial communications, but we were always briefed on current advances in weapons technologies. After all, when you train for a century, you’re technical training would be grossly out of date upon graduation, otherwise.
“Kat.” Conrad says. I turn my eyes away from the main display, and I find her looking at me. She scans me up and down, then gives a slight nod of approval.
“I knew it would fit!” She said. “But I figured you’d want something more stylish than the old matte grey.”
“It’s fine.” I say. I have no idea why she brought up fashion sense stuff. I’ve been in training for so long, that I wouldn’t have a fashion sense if the Primal Rage manifested one in my face!
“No, seriously.” She said. “Trixie?”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Trixie replied. I just stood there and pretended I knew just what in the hell was going on. “How’s about black leather?”
“Huh?” I say. Then I notice Conrad is eye-fucking me again. Maybe she does bat for the other team. I look down to find my entire suit is glossy black. It’s not leather, by any stretch. But it may as well be. The sub armor has its own power pack that controls Nano-tech. Not the cool kind that can stitch up a nasty abdominal wound, but good enough to change the appearance of standard-issue sub armor.
“Wow, I haven’t look this slutty since…. Ever!” I say with a labored laugh. Being on my period, I’m not exactly thrilled about having an outfit that basically shows off all my bits.
Conrad shook her head. “That’s not for show, Kat.” Then she gestured again towards my chest. Apparently, the suit only looked glossy and black, because I was staring at the glossy black floor. The suit was in some form of active camouflage mode. Sweet.
“We had no armor to spare, so having the ability to hide your presence will have to do for now.” Trixie said.
“I didn’t think this tech existed.” I say. It’s the truth. It’s the kind of thing I saw in bad sci-fi flicks as a kid, but never dreamed it would be real.
“The tech is actually very ancient. It’s standard on all UAHC sub armor suits, but there’s very rarely an opportunity to use it. Most of the time, shielding the body from cosmic radiation or weapons fire is more important than sneaking around in our undies.” Conrad said with a wink. I’m so not gay, but I would totally gay it up for her. I think my period hormones are making my brain rewire itself. Bad hormones! No!
I’m thankful she can’t read my perverted mind, but she probably didn’t have to. I just hope she’s discrete. Not my shiniest of moments.
“Master Sergeant, the tech team is reporting the Mercy is good to go for FTL!” Trixie reports audibly.
“Very well.” Conrad replies. Her voice doesn’t give me the horny muffin sweats this time. Thank God! “Get our FTL spun up for a jump into Faust System, and then let’s get a secondary plot for Tangine Station!”
“On it, Master Sergeant!” Some anonymous petty officer shouts. I’m guessing he’s a helmsman. Yay! I’m learning space stuff!
“Master Sergeant, the bogies are vectoring in to intercept us!” Another anonymous NCO reports.
“We already know that, Gunny!” Conrad spat.
“Yes, but these new vectors indicate they’re positioning into a combined fires maneuver!” He says.
“Shields at max! Kick the FTL in the dick if you have to!” Conrad shouts.
It’s a good thing my hormones are in check. I would hate to give this suit back with a huge damp spot down below. All this dirty talk, am I right?
“One fighter has broken off, and is engaging the Mercy with beam fire!” Anonymous NCO #1 reported again.
“Firing solution, now!” Conrad ordered.
But it would be for nothing. Apparently, Throat-Slasher wasn’t just capable of hacking the tactical net of a few infantry pukes… He hacked the docking bay doors also.
That poor Mark – 4 never knew what hit him!
BLIND JUMP
I watch Throat-Slasher do his work from the visual display. It looks so much cooler from this angle. I don’t know how fast he’s going, because the Nova’s sensor suite can’t get an accurate reading. That can only mean that he’s going faster than what’s considered possible for a fighter craft. The algorithm can’t plug in enough variables to make its speed compute. Awesome!
He couldn’t have taken more than twenty seconds to clear the docking bay before he was within beam fire range of the Mark – 4. That’s an impressive one thousand clicks from a dead stop. I’m wondering if he could pull that off with passengers onboard. Could his A-grav be powered down? I guess I’ll have to ask him at some point.
The enemy fighter was melted to slag in a fraction of a second. It still showed up on the sensor suite, but without an ion trail from its thrusters… and without any biological readings.
“LRF-90 has taken out the bogie, Master Sergeant!” Anonymous NCO #2 reports.
“I’m tracking.” Conrad replies.
“New contacts! Fighters, inbound!” Anonymous NCO #1 chimes in.
I look at the display, and I become suspicious. The new fighters, designation 0008-0014, are holding just out of weapons range, and seem to be setting a trap.
“It’s a trap for my fighter.” I say.
“Are you sure?” Conrad asks.
“Notice the weapons range fan of the gunship?” I point to the display overlay. Conrad looks to and then nods slightly.
“Talk to me. What am I looking at?” She says.
“They’ve backed out of weapons range, as far as the Nova’s concerned. That may seem pretty standard if they don’t want to harm their own vessels as they get closer, but it’s a ploy.”
“I understand what you’re saying, but why is it a trap?” She asks again. I can hear the impatience beginning to seep into her voice.
“The fighter that broke off was just to lure out the LRF. They know we don’t have any UAHC fighters on board, and it would have been the only viable option to defend the Mercy at that distance. Now we just happen to have new contacts back well within weapons range of the gunship? Sounds like they think they can lure him into weapons range, and neutralize him.”
Conrad studied me for a moment and then nodded. “So, they have no interest in capturing the LRF?”
“Negative. They couldn’t if they wanted to. Not intact anyway. But if they can take it out, or get it out of play, then they’ll likely try to run down the Nova, and the incriminating cargo onboard.” I’ll be damned! I’m making sense!
“Can you call off your fighter?” Conrad asked.
“No need.” Trixie chimed in. “He’s on audio, now.”
“I am?” Throat’s voice crackled on the bridge’s speakers.
“Oh, I’m not a pilot. I’m the NAV.” Throat said. Conrad’s face was flushed with confusion. I guess she had no idea there wasn’t a human onboard.
“Well, whoever you are, you need to return to the Nova. You’re in danger, and we’re about to transition to FTL!” Conrad continued.
“That’s not going to work.” Throat said plainly.
Conrad looked at me as if she expected me to control my barking dog. I had nothing to offer. It’s not like he would listen to me if I did.
“Listen, here! We can’t afford an LRF to fall into enemy hands. And if we jump, then you’ll be stranded to fight them off yourself! Do you understand?”
“Perfectly.” Throat replied. For a few seconds, Conrad calmed down. But then she realized he hadn’t changed course. In fact, he was accelerating to ridiculously crazy velocities.
“What in the hell are you doing?” Conrad shouted. I didn’t know myself, but I was oddly comfortable with it. I know Throat wouldn’t do anything without having one hell of a plan. He knew what he was doing. I may not have a clue as to what it was, but I just go with it.
“In a few seconds, your third rate sensor suite is going to pick up on the SK’s that have been fired at the Nova. The data will already be incorrect when you first see them. There were seven in all, and I’ve taken out six of them. The last one slipped passed me when I had to save the Mercy from that asshole fighter. If I don’t take down this gunship, then nobody is going anywhere!”
The klaxon sounded, and flashes of red warnings were on nearly every display. He was right. Seven SK’s were inbound. Seconds later, six of them disappeared. One did not. He lost his window to take out the last one. Otherwise, the gunship would have crept up on the smaller ships, and opened up with beam fire anyway. I saw his plan in all of its simplistic brilliance. He was turning himself into the enemy’s priority target so we can slip away.
“Auto-defense status?” Conrad shouted.
