by Jeff Wheeler
“Two minutes until impact,” said Valerie.
“Three for ours,” said Peter.
Staccato creation would be no good against a main cannon. A grav cannon would be capable of powering through all but the strongest of gravity wells. The staccato defense was like slapping willy-nilly at the missiles. It allowed the space distortion to be done quickly by making smaller wells with little strength behind them, so it was capable of reacting fast enough to catch a stealth wave, but also risked not being powerful enough to divert any one missile.
“Commander!” This time it was Manuel.
“One minute,” said Valerie.
Hitomi echoed her countdown, broadcasting to the rest of the ship and calling all crews to secure themselves.
“Change it!” I said, turning to Peter. “Change the distortion to full!” I could see him hesitate and shouted, “They’re firing the main cannon!”
He was on it before the last word came out of my mouth.
“Impact in twenty seconds,” said Valerie.
“Distortion set,” said Peter. “We’d better hope they don’t have a stealth wave.”
“Ten seconds!”
“Don’t forget to secure yourself too, Commander,” said Hitomi.
I’d forgotten, and I quickly snapped on my harness.
If there was only one wave of missiles, they would be shunted aside by the well and we would feel nothing. But if there was a stealth wave . . .
“Missiles deflected—”
Peter did not have a chance to finish before we felt the impact of the stealth wave rocket up from below us. The lights flickered as we teetered in our seats. Then a second impact rippled through us, turning stomachs and making more than one of us hold our heads from nausea. The distortion field had dampened the full force of the main cannon.
“Heads up,” said Valerie. “I’m registering heat from their main cannon. They’re going to give us another shot.”
“And this time they’ll time it better with the missiles,” said Peter.
Die by a rain of missiles or die by the main cannon. We couldn’t divert everything.
“Damage reports are coming in,” said Hitomi. “Internal teams have sealed the bulkheads to the damaged areas. It looks like we’ve only lost—”
“The corvette has changed course to engage. The other cruiser has almost caught up to the transport,” said Valerie.
The lights flickered again.
“Lost what?” I asked Hitomi.
Before she could reply, the comm to the engine room lit up and Caleb’s sweaty face peered up from the screen by my station.
“Alexa,” he said, “we’ve got a problem. That hit took out some of the wiring to the ship. We’re trying to reroute as much as we can to take the load off the damaged areas, but we’re looking at several local power failures.”
“Which systems were affected?”
“Gravity control. That’s the biggest one. The grav drive itself is fine, but we’re going to have to throttle it to make sure it doesn’t short out. We’re doing everything we can to make a workaround possible, but you’re going to have to be extremely careful—”
“We’re dead,” said Peter. “If we have to throttle the grav drive, we’re not going to be able to run the distortion generator at full.”
No. We can’t be. Not yet.
“Missiles incoming,” said Valerie. “Three minutes. Main cannon hasn’t fired yet, but it’s safe to say it’s being timed to arrive at the same moment.”
Peter shook his head. “I don’t know what I can do. I can put up a well for the main cannon at the last second to avoid straining the electrical grid, but it won’t be very strong. It’s still better than nothing . . .”
“Cut artificial gravity to the ship,” I said. “Countdown in one minute.”
Caleb had left the comm open, and he barked an affirmative.
Hitomi broadcast the warning to the rest of the ship.
“You’ll have your power, Peter.”
“Commander,” said Valerie, “the corvette has opened fire as well!”
We couldn’t do this. There was just too much. I could hear the different countdowns, to loss of gravity, to impact, all of it a gray haze. What was I doing there? And then I felt my stomach lift and my hair rise. Gravity was gone. We had only seconds left, then the missiles hit.
My harness cut deep into my shoulders as the ship rocked. I don’t know how, but Peter must have pulled a miracle with the gravity well, because we were still alive.
“More casualties reported,” Hitomi was telling me.
“One of them mine,” Caleb cut in.
“Dead?” I asked.
“Not yet, but she’s got a bad concussion.”
“Three dead, two critically wounded,” said Hitomi, as if she hadn’t heard Caleb’s interruption.
“We can’t take another barrage,” said Peter. “I could feel the distortion generator give just as I changed from full to staccato for the stealth wave. The ship’s shedding plating. Too many bulkheads busted, and the forward guns have been heavily damaged.”
“Then the casualties?” I asked.
“Mostly my team,” he said.
Faces flashed before me. Without asking names I couldn’t be exactly sure whom Peter had placed at the forward guns, but it didn’t matter. I knew everyone who had come aboard. They had volunteered because I had a plan, because they wanted to rescue their families as much as I did and they believed I could do it.
I looked at the scanner display, at the ships heading toward us and the cruiser suddenly on top of the transport. The freighter would never get away unassisted. What would the Captain do?
“They’re readying a third salvo,” said Valerie.
Peter raised his head. “This is it.”
“Manuel,” I said. My voice couldn’t have been more than a whisper, but I felt it thunder on the bridge. “Take us out of here, fast as you can. Peter, whatever shreds of the distortion generator you can get working, use it to cover our rear.”
“We’re leaving?” croaked Hitomi.
“We have to,” I said. But no matter how hard I tried to put my family out of my mind, I could not help but picture my mom and brother cowering in that freighter, hoping to be rescued. I’d let them down, and I was sorry, so very sorry.
But I had other lives depending on me, and they still had a chance to escape.
“We’re too badly damaged,” I told Hitomi, “and I’m not going to risk the lives of any more crew.”
“I’ll try to wag our tail as we go,” said Manuel. He would not turn around to face me. “If we’re lucky, the energy cone from our thrusters will smear on their display, make it a little harder for them to target us.”
The frigate shuddered as the ship turned around.
“Will we have enough power to get range on pursuers?” I asked.
“Maybe,” said Caleb. “I’m more concerned about our hull integrity. It looks good enough for flight, but just barely.”
I could see Varuna before us again, now that we had turned around. If we could duck around the other side, we might be able to earn a breather long enough to escape into deep space.
“Speeding up,” said Manuel. “We’re gaining distance. The cruiser has changed its heading. It does not appear to be pursuing.”
“But the corvette is!” said Valerie.
“That thing’s moving fast. If it wants to fight, it’s gonna catch us.”
“Peter,” I said, “can we hold against the corvette?”
He shrugged. “You know what our systems are like.”
Our display showed the corvette chasing us out of the solar system, closing in. In a fair fight it would be a close match, but it wasn’t fair anymore. Its crew knew we were limping, they might even be contemplating boarding. Did they know who we were?
This was my fault. If I hadn’t come up with this crazy idea, our families would have continued living on Earth, not free, but at least alive. We wouldn’t have casu
alties on top of a failed rescue.
“They’re gonna fire on us at any moment,” said Peter.
“I know,” I said. We weren’t going to get around Varuna in time. “How are our rear cannons?”
“Fully functional, but with the distortion generator compromised, I don’t know if we’ll be able to get any gravity wells up again once we let the field down. You can forget staccato.”
“If we don’t take out this corvette, it’s going to be over for us anyway.”
I looked at Varuna on the wraparound and then down at the monitors at Peter’s station. There was one reassuring green glow. One hope.
Peter noted the same thing I saw and said, “I’ll time them. Distortion field coming down. Give me thirty seconds and we’ll be ready to fire.”
“Manuel,” I said, “stop wagging. Let Peter line up his locks. We’re going to need to make these shots count.”
“They’ve opened fire,” said Valerie. “Missiles will land in three minutes.”
“Are we ready, Peter?” I asked.
The missiles lit up Valerie’s screen. The corvette crew hadn’t even bothered with a stealth wave from the looks of it. They might have seen our distortion field come down and assumed it would never return. They could have been right. We were wide open.
“Ready!” he said.
“Then fire.”
The ship shuddered with the force of the cannons. Our frigate did not bother with a stealth wave either, because from orbit around Varuna, Peter had triggered our missile pod, the second attack that the corvette would not anticipate.
“Two minutes to impact,” said Valerie.
“Distortion field is coming up,” said Peter, but it wasn’t rising fast enough.
On the holo, I could see two sets of missiles tracking for the corvette, timed to land at the same moment from different directions. It would not be able to block both.
“I think we got them,” I said. “If we make it out of this, thank you, everyone, and I’m sorry.”
Valerie’s screen flashed red when the missiles hit us and took out what remained of our electrical systems.
* * *
The damage was not fatal, though for hours the ship was completely without power. We looked like a piece of space junk, which was just as well. If either of the cruisers had decided to take a spin back, it would have been over for us.
Caleb was eventually able to jury-rig something once we no longer had the threat of death hanging over our heads, and he thought it would be enough to get us back to Pyre Rock. On our way, we were met by the Bloodborne, and our sorry frigate pulled into its shadow, accepting the escort home.
The Captain requested my presence aboard the dreadnought and I took a shuttle over. The halls were largely empty, the crew focused on the execution that Earth broadcast into the depths of space just for us. I could not watch. I was the one who failed, the one who had risked everything and lost our families. I’d almost gotten the crew of the frigate killed. I was no Kellen.
When I entered the Captain’s office, I found him sitting behind his desk as he had so many times before. He was watching the execution proceedings, but minimized the display with a gesture. I would have remained standing for the dressing down I expected, but instead he motioned for me to take a seat at the round table.
“You knew we’d fail, didn’t you,” I said. “That’s why the Bloodborne came out to meet us. We aren’t late by any means.”
My Captain stood and walked over to me. His face was stern and I cringed beneath his gaze.
“I would not have wasted the schematics on a fool’s errand,” he said. “You know how much those were worth. You sold them yourself.” He looked at me. “I did have some doubts about your success, but there is a difference between doubting and believing in failure. The important thing was your initiative.”
To my surprise he pulled back the other chair from the table and sat across from me. “Ever since we lost Kellen I’ve been considering who would be best to replace him. It would have to be someone who knows my mind. Someone whom I can trust as an extension of myself. This was your test.”
“But I lost! And some of my crew even died.”
My Captain frowned, a shadow cast over his eyes. “How do you think I felt when we lost Kellen? Yes, you failed, but I think that is one of the most important lessons for a captain to learn. Think about what you’ve done in pursuit of this mission. You spoke with the crew. You bartered with the rogue Alcaltans. You commanded a frigate in actual combat and survived. You even took out an enemy ship. Sometimes you have to make choices, and they aren’t the ones that you want, but that is part of what it is to be in command.”
He paused.
“Did anyone ever tell you what happened when I first took the Bloodborne to rescue the colonists? The Earth government, afraid of what the Alcaltans would do to us, threatened to kill my family if I went ahead with the rescue.”
“But . . . you did.”
He nodded.
“I had to choose between four lives and four hundred, and either way I would lose. I think you know some of what that’s like now.”
“Captain, I—”
“The frigate is yours if you wish to command it. I know morale is low, but don’t hold it against yourself. It was a worthy goal, and remember that every member of the crew who went with you volunteered knowing the danger. You did a fine job under the circumstances, and you now have a tested crew.”
The frigate? Mine?
“I don’t know what to say.”
He regarded me, and I thought I detected a flicker of warmth that hadn’t been there before. “How about picking a name for it?”
I thought about the battered ship, what hopes it had carried and what we had tried to do with it, and then of the burden it bore as we realized that there was nothing at all left for us on Earth. There had never been a chance of going home, but now even the dream of that was gone.
“The Exile,” I said. “I want to call it the Exile.”
“Very well.” My Captain stood and pushed in his chair. “I understand your crew calls you Commander now. It’s a good title. We’ll talk again later once we get back to Pyre Rock and make the transition official. For now, dismissed.”
I left his office, my heart a little less heavy, but understanding the direction he had given me. However much it hurt, I knew I had made the right decision. It was the decision the Captain would have made. My Captain and I—we are more alike than I thought.
About Laurie Tom
Laurie has been entranced by science fiction and fantasy since childhood and has been writing ever since. When not visiting other worlds she can usually be found gaming, reading books, or watching anime. Her short fiction has appeared in venues such as Strange Horizons, Intergalactic Medicine Show, and Galaxy's Edge.
WHAT HE OFFERED THE RIVER
By Aimee Ogden | 3,100 words
JASON FOUND THE pieces of the broken boat down by the water just before the rain started.
Anger surged up first—Laurel should know better. Then doubt, undercut with guilt—hadn’t he taught her to be more careful than that? Such a little thing, but still too much and too dangerous to leave beside this river. He let cool rain wash the self-recrimination from his clenched shoulders. He got to his knees to collect the pieces, and tucked them into the hem of his shirt to carry. Discussion could come later, would have to come later. First he had to prevent the damage that could have been done, if he wasn’t too late already. He combed through the grass carefully to make sure he hadn’t missed a stray bit of plastic. Rain soaked his shirt and blurred his vision, and he used his fingers to search for what his eyes might miss. When he was satisfied, he got up and turned his back to the river.
A small face peeped at him from the kitchen window. She must’ve gone up to the house when the rain started. He ducked his chin against the rain and started up the hill. His feet carved long muddy wounds in the sodden grass, and he counted each one he left: . . . four, five, six . .
.
She was still watching, leaning against the kitchen doorframe, when he came in through the back door. His daughter had always been a quiet child, growing up solitary and a little wild, as likely to be caught trying to build a houseboat out of cast-off boards as perusing Jason’s old nursing school textbooks. He sat down at the table, and she studied him as if he were one of those anatomical drawings, something to be picked over and thoughtfully analyzed to some obscure purpose.
He kept her waiting while he bent to take off his wet shoes. Six years of practice hadn’t made him any abler at speaking to his daughter in a way that she’d understand. Or maybe she was just evolving faster, finding new ways to tune him out or misunderstand or let her big blue eyes gleam with unshed tears. He sighed and let the boat pieces spill out of his shirt and onto the table. The wet string tied to the cracked prow fell in a near-perfect circle around it, a ring of protection that had arrived too late. The little plastic fisherman who could sit in the prow was missing entirely—lost at sea, Jason supposed. “What happened?”
She bent her neck, carefully studying the scabs on her knees. “I don’t know.”
He pressed his thumb against one of the broken edges on the boat. It wasn’t sharp enough to draw blood, but it did leach the rising tide of temper. “Laurel.”
She looked up to meet his gaze through a tangle of black hair. That was her mother’s look, and her mother’s hair too. She huffed, and the snarl of bangs fluttered out of her face. “I wanted to see if I could fill the boat with water and swing it around in a circle so fast that the water would stay in.” A flash of pride. “And I did it! But then I let go and it hit the tree and it broke.” And her gaze dropped to the floor again as she toed the pattern in the linoleum. Her feet were dirty; they were always dirty. She loved being outside as much as she hated shoes. “And I remembered what you said about the river granting wishes and I thought maybe the river could fix my boat—”
