Hell's Razer

by S. F. Edwards

  He felt a moment’s revulsion before a pinch in his arm calmed his stomach. He groaned. It had been years since he’d needed the anti-nausea meds, but then he’d never had to stare out at hyperspace for this long.

  A new flash of light burst from the jump point, drew his eyes to it again. A brown and black dot, hanging against the pale green. Tony could barely identify it. With a single blink, the Raatler-2 corvette hung practically upon him. He jumped in his seat, the sound of his breath hot and heavy, his pulse screaming in his ears. He’d heard of these strange perspective tricks in hyperspace. It was why only certain people could helm ships through it. To see it himself was something entirely new.

  Tony blinked rapidly, then focussed on the Corvette. The docking maneuver it executed was flawless. Syncing its hyperspace shields with the Barker’s, it pierced the protective energy barrier and angled towards the massive deck. Thrusters lit across its hull aligning it with the docking port between the number three and four runways. With a final burst, it settled into position.

  Tony continued to stare at the corvette for several minutes. He could only imagine what could be going on there. Perhaps a hand-off of data? Or the Commander of the craft briefing Admiral Kimmet through a secure comm line? An enemy boarding party sneaking aboard? He chuckled at that last idea: no one would ever dare attempt such a thing against the mighty GFS Barker, especially while in hyperspace.

  His communications crackled in his helmet as the corvette broke dock. He watched it, ignoring the comment about the Captain preparing to address the crew. It slipped sideways across the deck, spinning about to come to the same vector as the Barker. It disappeared from view behind the forward bulkhead of the hangar bay, drifting into escort position. The corvette now gone, Tony turned to look at his console. The Captain sat there in his command chair, and Tony tensed. This was it.

  “All hands,” he began with a wry smile. “The way is clear, let us rescue our lost comrades and strike at the very heart of our enemy. Barker, move out.”

  Bridge, UCSBS-Wolfsbane, Low Orbit, Vorg 3-A, Vorg Nebula

  Even though the holographic projection of the local star in the SIS wall to his right radiated no heat, and despite dominating that whole wall, Captain Sardenon still felt sweat soak his uniform. It was less the heat than the anticipation. He turned to his left, looked at the pockmarked and sun-scorched protoplanet the majority of his battlegroup lay in wait behind, their shields to maximum to resist the radiation of the tiny world and massive fusion furnace, concealing themselves in its mass shadow.

  Passive satellites, laid out upon their arrival just a few hects earlier, fed them telemetry. He checked his status board: radiation readings on the right side of the ship remained low. Their shields would only be able to sustain that for so long though. He was just about to consider a change of position when his tactical holosphere blinked.

  His focus fixed on the projection, his neck shooting with pain from the sudden movement. Even this long after his injury, he still had to move slowly. At first a single blip appeared, then another and another, and before long one massive contact emerged. “Give me a count,” he ordered, the ships forming up for slipstream.

  Sia perked up from the tactical station. Never taking her eyes from her screen, she responded. “We have confirmed readings from all satellites. Make the group to be sixteen corvettes, mixed Raatler one and two class, no Armond. Four Birmingham Light Cruisers, three Corsicaa Frigates, four Brekhov Destroyers, though the energy readings are somewhat inconsistent, and one Barker class supercarrier. Correction: it’s the Barker itself.”

  Captain Sardenon flicked his nose in thought. “Intel believed the battlegroup to be much larger than this based on their raids earlier in the campaign. There should be…”

  “An Atlant and two Brandenburg escorts?” Sia half reported. “They just emerged from hyperspace and are taking up position around the jump point.”

  “Disregard my last,” he said to himself and watched the two groups take up position. Heavily armed, the Atlant, with its escorts and fighters, would make a good rear guard. That ship alone could prevent anyone else from entering, or leaving, the system. If they remained away from the main engagement however he could deal with them through more surreptitious tactics. “Sia, set up a long-range, slow acceleration heavy torpedo strike on that Atlant to launch once the battle commences. I don’t want us revealing our position too soon.”

  Pulling his macomm from his armrest, the Captain checked the order of battle again. He shifted targets around to match the composition of the force before him. His holosphere shifted again, the scene on it shrinking to bring the Powell, the jump point, as well as their own concealment, into view. On it, the main force, with the Barker dead center, raced towards the Powell as it remained hidden in a dense cloud of gas and dust that would probably form a gas giant in a millennia or so. “All ships, Wolfsbane Actual, prepare for battle,” he called, keying his transmit button. “Wait for the signal from the Powell, and then press the attack.”

  Bridge, GFS Barker

  Admiral Olwen Kimmet’s eyes remained glued to her situation displays as the battlegroup raced towards the stricken Powell on their dark energy drives. LT Commander Beto had chosen an excellent hiding spot. The Barker, even with its sensors at maximum, could barely detect the ship, and only then because they knew where to look.

  “Admiral,” Captain Watts announced himself from the station beside him. “Ma’am, why are we rescuing the Powell directly and not the Gorski?”

  Admiral Kimmet sighed. She’d grown tired of people asking stupid questions, and this was one she’d had to answer far too many times of late. “Because, Captain,” she began emphasizing the man’s lower rank despite him being older than the Admiral by at least a decade, with his gray hair and receding hairline. “The Gorski is carrying a full complement of ground troops, vehicles and equipment for the securing of any world we deem ready to be easily invaded. They do not have the space to spare, nor do they have our level of medical facilities. Or would you rather we let the crew of the Powell die of any injuries they’ve already sustained?”

  Captain Watts backed away like a beaten dog. The man was a good administrator and protector of the Predictor, but he’d made his career by stepping on those around him. He’d destroyed the careers of those of anyone under him that might dare to rise to his rank, or worse, surpass him.

  Admiral Kimmet turned back towards the single screen focussed on the Powell’s location. Sensors had begun to construct a true-color image of the ship. The image grew in clarity and detail with each passing second as they approached. It was a grim sight indeed, and it left her surprised that anyone was still alive. She might have to actually hand it to the Thals. Despite the beating it had taken, the Powell remained, barely, spaceworthy. The dark gray hull was blackened and charred, deep gouges all around revealing the superstructure beneath the armored shell. A massive hole allowed her to look straight through the ship, probably caused by a hit from a powerful beam cannon.

  For most ships that would have been the end, but the crew had sealed those breaches to carry on. The upper beam cannon dome was a complete wreck, blast craters from multiple torpedo strikes and from where one of the three beam emitters had exploded leaving the whole of it open to space. She looked to where the bridge had been. A perfect semi-sphere carved out of the hull appeared instead. The flight bay opposite it was no better off, the roof gone, torn away; as was the floor, revealing the aft mounting structure of the ship’s primary heat dispersion vane.

  Then, moored beneath was the courier ship they’d captured. It looked just as beaten, the front end of it blasted away. The Powell’s crew had evidently gotten off a lucky shot that had obliterated its cockpit. She smiled at that and the prize they’d found within.

  Filled with a newfound respect for the plucky crew, she turned towards the communications officer. “Contact the Powell. Inform them of our approach and to prepare for docking.” She watched the ship begin to rotate before
them, sporadic bursts from its backup cold gas reaction control system its last remaining maneuvering system. “Life-signs?”

  The sensor officer stared at his screen for a moment, his face screwed up in concentration as he read the reports coming in. “The techs are reporting maybe three hundred life-signs. They can’t get a clear reading. The nebula is interfering with the signal, and they’re clustered too close together in too tight a space.”

  Admiral Kimmet pulled a model of the ship up on her own screen. The sensor data revealed multiple small and large concentrations of thermal energy consistent with that of a life-form. Most remained deep in the heart of the ship, near main engineering, with others near the secondary bridge. The rest were arrayed near the last remaining docking port, with some small, isolated pockets elsewhere. “Sensors, report, you were aboard a Corsicaa before, correct?”

  “Yes ma’am,” the young officer replied. “They’ve gathered at the thermal and life-support holdouts. If they’ve sealed off the rest of the ship, we may have to set up vacuum tunnels to get them out. Those ones near the docking port, they’re on top of the oxygen reserves and not far from the coolant outflow from the engines. If they pulled some insulation, they could remain good and warm. The rest down by engineering have plenty of heat, not sure about air and drinkable water though.”

  “I assumed as much,” the Admiral replied, having never served on such a low-order ship. “Captain Watts, ready a security detail and medical teams. Those ones near the docking ports will likely be in need of immediate medical assistance. And launch the alert fighters to oversee the docking.”

  Monstero Nach 002, Mooring Point 1, GFS Powell

  The shifting of the Powell around him snapped Trevis back to attention. He contorted in his seat, forcing himself to full alertness. A curious, fur-covered, slug-like animal on his lap gurgled. He looked to it, a metra and a half long, blind, and deaf: the Gorub in his lap put out the same thermal energy as a full-grown Terran male. Harmless, the genetically-engineered creatures originally had been bred to do garden maintenance, feeding on weeds and pests while leaving the desired plants untouched. The thermal signature they produced was just a happy by-product. Their ilk could be found all across the Confederation, keeping crops healthy and fertilized. But that thermal signature had made them key to this operation.

  Trevis looked out of his cockpit. Dozens of the creatures crawled across the deck and the rest of his squadron’s fighters. Like so many of their kind before, they now served as the perfect decoys. Instead of trying to mask the size of an army, or making an enemy think a high-valued sentient of interest was aboard certain transport, just insert a clutch of Gorubs. This cycle they’d served as the perfect lure. Save for his own team, those GF Officers under telepathic control and what remained of Major Erickson’s marines, only the Gorub were left aboard.

  Trevis almost felt sorry for the creatures surrounding his ship. The only consolation was that once the attack commenced, those that weren’t immolated by the blasts of their engines when they launched, would be flash frozen in space before atomization by the explosion to follow. They’d feel no pain and their sacrifice would serve an even bigger purpose, but he’d come to like seeing the furry creatures.

  “Trevis, be putting down your pet,” Telsh called from the rear seat. “Our guest of honor be arriving.”

  Trevis picked up the creature in his lap and went to toss it in with the rest of its kind and stopped. He’d never seen a Gorub even attempt to climb into a cockpit before. Onto a wing maybe, as they were low enough to the deck. However, to make its way up the wing, across the fuselage, and into the cockpit, never. He looked at the creature, unsure if the end he stared at was mouth or anus, and made up his mind. He unsealed the ammo pouch he carried around his ration bars in and stuffed the creature inside. It wriggled for a moment then settled, curled up against his side. Smiling, Trevis sealed his helmet and commenced his preflight check.

  “You be getting soft, Trevis,” Telsh commented as the canopy sank into position.

  “Be a hearty pet for the bairns,” he grinned.

  Hellraiser 003, High Escort Position

  Tony felt exposed, as he always did when on docking watch. His sensors were clogged with interference from the proto-gas giant the Powell had decided to hide within, plus he felt blind too. Hanging in space above the Barker, he watched as the awesome ship moved in to dock, the Powell able to puff out only a few pitiful jets of cold gas to assist. Tony would rather the Barker have launched shuttles and dropships to ferry the Powell’s crew over. He realized though, that with the Powell’s flight deck wrecked, and only one viable docking port, such an action would have left them exposed even longer.

  Then there was the matter of the navigational computer they’d captured. It would have to be hand-carried back to the Barker. Commander Bradley had tried to explain it, but it was all numbers and words Tony hadn’t cared to understand. Something about if even a single bit was off in the transmission, the jump codes might never be decoded, or could be shifted just enough to lead them to the wrong system. The Conts had a habit of putting standard, not open warning, jump buoys onto systems with things like black holes near the jump point. Entering one of those blindly could prove disastrous.

  Tony looked about. He felt able to trust only his eyes as the two ships made for soft dock. A cold chill ran up his spine as the Barker came to a halt again and extended the hangar complex docking tube. That part at least made sense. The main hangar of the Barker dominated the rear third of the ship. It had a massive open deck onto which the survivors could be hurried and examined before dispositioning.

  A dozen workers in EVA suits jetted out from the nearby landing pad to make the final alignment of the docking tubes. Tony tapped his console as he watched; the tunnels were misaligned by at least a meter and the EVA workers were wrestling with them. Not one was human. The flippered tail of a dolphin with its robotic arms led a team of Krad and Zantli from the looks of it. At least a sort of Terran led them.

  After a few minutes, the docking tubes came together. A moment later the walls puffed up, pressurized. He half-smiled at that and watched as shapes ran down the tunnel from the Barker only to stop short. Tony leaned closer, as much as the cockpit allowed him to. He watched as the tunnel began to darken from the Powell’s end. Soon all the lights within had been cut off and Tony sat upright to key his comm. “Channard Control, something appears to be wrong with the docking tunnel.”

  “We see it too Hellraiser Three, stand b….”

  The signal from the flight controller cut off as the tunnel flashed with a brilliance Tony hadn’t expected before going dark again. To Tony’s ultimate surprise, the mooring lines began to retract into the Powell dragging it closer to the Barker. “Channard Control, what’s going on?”

  The tunnels shattered, plasma rocketing out into space to scorch the hull. Tony turned to the hangar complex. Even from here he could see the emergency lights through the open portcullis and fire-retardant foam spraying free. The Barker’s thrusters lit up the darkness, to push itself away, but it was to no avail. The still-connected mooring lines forced the Barker to drag the Powell along with it.

  “Hellraiser Three, this is Five, the whole underside of the Powell just blew open. Holy shit, Quints!!!”

  Tony checked his sensors. Sure enough, half a dozen Splicer-5000s had launched free of the Powell’s underside along with a number of lifeboats. All of them raced into the nebula fog. “Um, Five, this is Three, pursue and destroy.”

  Tony hammered his throttle and whipped his fighter around, watching as several turrets moved in vain attempts to engage the Powell. None of them could lower their cannons. Dynamic firing cut-outs, designed to keep the turrets from accidentally shooting a docked ship, kept them from even pointing at the Powell. Tony considered turning his own cannons on the Powell, to blast away the docking tunnel and mooring points. But, he was already too far away, chasing the six midnight blue Splicer-5000s into the dense nebula clouds.


  Then, all six turned around. Plaser rounds lanced out and Tony dove to avoid them. He hauled back on his stick, his four engines working together to flip his fighter about. He punched the throttle full open, fingering the fusion burst lock off and pushed the throttle that much more. Fusion fire ignited the oxygen in the dust behind him as the Splicers raced towards the Barker, straight towards the bridge. “Barker, Hellraiser Three, you have incoming. Six Splicer-5000s. They’re making a run for the bridge.”

  “Confirmed Hellraiser Three, Captain has ordered emergency shields up.”

  Tony watched the purple glow of the shields rise around the Barker, and to his amazement, the Powell. The protective screens of the two ships had joined, with only a minimal interference band. He’d never seen anything like it, then it all came crashing down.

  A massive power spike from the Powell lit up Tony’s sensors, the Splicer-5000s breaking off their assault. Tony could only watch what happened next in horror. The Powell’s portside maneuvering thrusters ignited, shoving the hull of the wreck into the Barker before the scuttling charges in the starboard side detonated. The antimatter collider ring encircling the saucer-shaped main hull snapped, spilling its deadly contents into the side of the Barker. Brilliant explosions, bright enough to force Tony to cover his eyes, ripped across the surface before the Powell’s power core ruptured. All Tony could do was watch as the Powell disappeared, transformed into a miniature star that engulfed the side of the mighty Barker.

  Bridge, UCSBS-Wolfsbane

  With the trap sprung the battle could commence in earnest, though it pained Captain Sardenon that the Wolfsbane would have to hold back. Such was the nature of space warfare, and he still had a front row seat, of sorts, to Powell’s destructive crippling of the Barker. The gun-camera and sensor feed from all six of the Explosions’ Splicer-5000s had been sent straight to the Wolfsbane. There, the computer, in real time, reconstructed the footage into a true-color hologram for all to see on the view wall.