Ep.#4 - Freedom's Dawn (The Frontiers Saga), page 21
“What the hell is going on?” Jessica asked as she got back on her feet.
“The nation of Melentor has also launched,” Tug told them grimly. “The Hakai missiles must be targeting the Melentorans. They are responding in similar fashion.”
“Are you saying a nuclear war has just started?” Nathan could feel his body becoming cold, as if the hand of death itself had just touched him.
“They are low yield, tactical warheads,” Tug assured them. “We are safe in here.”
“Oh, I feel so much better. Thanks,” Nathan said.
A map of the local area appeared on the screen to the left. Two small triangles appeared from what seemed to be the Aitkenna spaceport.
“They have dispatched strike aircraft,” Tug said, “to destroy that missile base.”
“They’re trying to keep it from escalating,” Jessica observed.
“Precisely,” Tug said. “However, it may be too late.”
They watched as the missile tracks on the main display grew longer and stretched out across the map toward one another.
“How long?” Nathan asked.
“Perhaps thirty minutes,” Tug answered, “maybe less.”
* * *
The two Corinairan interceptors streaked along no more than a few hundred meters above the ground as they closed on the Wellerton missile base. Even though it was over five hundred kilometers away, it had only taken them a few minutes to get within firing range.
Two missiles leapt from the wings of both interceptors, accelerating away at incredible speed as the aircraft that had launched them banked away to port. The missiles flew for less than a minute before they began to arc upward. They continued to climb for another twenty seconds before they finally reached the apex of their trajectories and began their terminal dive onto their target.
One missile would have been enough to destroy the entire base on its own, but the Hakai were not taking any chances. All four of the missiles struck the base at evenly spaced locations. There was a blinding flash of blue-white light, followed by a thunderous boom that could be felt for at least a hundred kilometers, and could probably be heard even farther out. There was no ball of fire, not even much smoke, but the rugged, rocky terrain on which the missile base had once stood was now a smooth, slightly rounded mound of rubble. The remaining unused missiles residing deep underground would remain buried for some time to come, as would the radioactive materials contained within their warheads.
* * *
“They are trying to make it look as if the Loyalists are leading the revolt,” Jalea said, realizing it herself for the first time.
“Who,” Nathan wondered aloud, “the Takarans?”
“Yes. Don’t you see? It is the only thing that makes sense.”
“She may be right,” Tug agreed. “The Loyalists simply aren’t organized enough to make such things happen. This is all too well coordinated to be a collection of random acts by those with similar empirical loyalties. Even with this world’s robust communications network, it would be a monumental task, one that would require military precision.”
“The Anti-Insurgency Units,” Jessica realized.
“Yes. They must have multiple units operating all over the planet, and all according to a carefully laid out plan,” Tug explained.
“You’d think they would already know this,” Jessica added.
“Yes,” Tug agreed. “In fact, they probably do, or at least suspect it. At the very least they would be aware of a Takaran presence on their world, one far greater than the standard Takaran military and political offices that are present on all worlds within the empire.”
“Sir, you do realize your people are being deceived?” Tug said.
“Yes, we’re quite aware of that fact. Thank you.”
“Then what do you intend to do about it?” Nathan asked.
“We’re doing what we can, Captain,” the aide assured them. “But with all the rioting going on in the streets, our limited military resources are rapidly becoming overburdened and ineffective. Right now, our own people are our worst enemy.”
“You have to talk to them, let them know the truth,” Tug suggested.
“We don’t even know who to speak with,” the aide argued. “They have no organization, no leadership, no delegates—”
“Of course not. They’re simply people responding to unprovoked attacks.”
“That is my point,” the aide said in frustration. “Without a delegate or a representative with which to communicate—”
“Then simply speak to all of them at once,” Tug insisted. “Both sides, all sides, everyone. Broadcast it across all media, video, news services, the entire planetary network. You can even tie in all the comm-sets every Corinairan carries around in their pockets.”
“They will not listen to us,” the aide translated from the Prime Minister. “They no longer trust us to protect them, to do what is in their best interests.”
“Then let Na-Tan speak to them,” Jalea suggested.
Nathan and Tug both turned to look at Jalea in shock. “What?” Nathan wondered aloud.
There was a moment of silence in the room. The aide translated Jalea’s suggestion to the Prime Minister, who appeared intrigued by the idea.
“Your world is mostly made up of Followers of the Order,” she continued. “Everyone knows this; they just don’t speak of it openly. Your people keep this fact very well hidden. Why do you think there are secret places where Followers of the Order congregate in nearly every district?”
“What do you propose?” the aide asked, obviously prompted to do so by his superior.
“You saw the way they behaved at the spaceport. They see Na-Tan as their hero—”
“Which he clearly is not,” the aide countered. “He said as much himself.”
“That may be true,” Jalea admitted. “Then again, it may not. Who knows if the legend is true? Who cares? Na-Tan doesn’t know, but then again, he didn’t even know that people from Earth had made it out this far into space. Was his coming here an accident, or was it destiny? Again, we do not know. But he has brought you two very powerful weapons on this day: his ability to jump between the stars, and the power, the inspiration that the Legend of Origins provides for the people of Corinair. These are far more powerful than any weapon the Ta’Akar possess. But they only work to your advantage.”
“She’s right,” Jessica admitted. “A bit melodramatic, but right.”
“Let him speak,” Jalea continued to plead. “Let them hear his words, let him call them to arms in defense of their world.”
The aide finished translating their words for the Prime Minister, who stared at them, particularly at Nathan himself.
Nathan could feel his scrutiny. He could feel that he was being sized up. It was like he could read the old politician’s mind. He was trying very hard to make a leap of faith, one that he knew his world needed, but it could all go terribly wrong, and that was what was holding him back. Nathan returned his gaze as confidently as he could. “I can do this.”
* * *
Altogether, there had been twenty four members of the Yamaro’s crew in the cells, of which more than half were Corinairans. Rather than risk them all roaming the corridors unarmed, Enrique had chosen to leave six behind at the brig with Marcus and Loki. Once they had secured the nearest armory, they would send two of their eighteen back to the brig loaded down with as many weapons as they could carry. At that time, they could return to the hangar bay with sufficient forces to secure both the bay and their shuttle.
In groups of six—each led by either Enrique, Sergeant Weatherly, or Ensign Willard—they made their way forward through the corridors of the Yamaro. It had taken them only minutes to reach the nearest armory, and as promised, the Yamaro crewman Enrique now called number six had opened the armory doors with ease by simply placing his hand on the wall scanner.
The doors to the armory slid open slowly and evenly, disappearing into the bulkheads. Enrique stepped into the dark room, which tripped the sensors and activated the lighting. He looked around as the lights came on, marveling at racks of weapons: pistols, snub-nosed rifles, long-range rifles, and even some very mean-looking weapons with large bore barrels that Enrique was afraid to ask about.
“Damn,” Enrique exclaimed as he walked into the room, gazing at the racks of weapons.
“Now we’re talkin’,” Weatherly added.
Directly on their heels, Ensign Willard and the rest of the volunteers quickly started grabbing weapons.
“Everyone, listen up,” Willard announced. “Each of you take a rifle, a pistol, and a few stun grenades. And a few of you take a boomer as well.”
Enrique and Weatherly watched as the volunteers from the Yamaro’s crew raided the shelves to arm up. It was a little unnerving to watch eighteen men who had, up until a few minutes ago, been members of a captured enemy crew start taking on weapons, and for a horrifying moment, Enrique wondered if he might have made a terrible mistake.
He watched as the volunteers took their weapons, checking them to be sure they were operational with obviously practiced hands. These men knew how to use these weapons, that much he was sure of. “What are boomers?” Enrique asked, leaning in toward Willard.
Ensign Willard picked up one of the short, large bore weapons and held it up for Enrique and Weatherly to see. It was a little more than half a meter long and the barrel was as big around as a man’s wrist. The back of it had a rather unattractive squared box, with handles at the front and back. “This is a boomer. It’ll blow through just about anything. As the saying goes, ‘There’s no hiding from a boomer.’”
“Why is it called a boomer?” Enrique asked.
“Because everything it hits goes boom,” he explained.
“I’ll take one of those,” Sergeant Weatherly announced, taking the mean looking weapon from Ensign Willard’s hands with a smile on his face.
“Be warned,” Willard cautioned him, “You only get four shots, and then it is useless.”
“Better take more than one, then,” the sergeant said.
“And be careful what you shoot at with them,” Willard added. “For example, don’t shoot at an exterior wall, or you may find yourself floating in space.”
Enrique looked at the sergeant. “Ask before you shoot, okay?”
“Yes sir,” Weatherly promised.
The two men tasked with taking weapons back to the brig to arm the others stepped up to depart, loaded down with at least a dozen rifles and pistols, as well as a few boomers.
Enrique noticed the boomers. “Don’t give any boomers to Marcus or Loki. Understood?”
“Yes sir,” the volunteers promised before they departed.
The now fully armed volunteers had lined up along the armory shelves to indicate their readiness. Enrique looked them over. Each of them carried an energy rifle, an energy pistol, and several stun grenades. In addition to Sergeant Weatherly, four more of them carried a boomer as well. They were an impressive bunch. If the enemy boarding party were only one team of four, they were sure to come out on top.
“I think we’ve got them out gunned, Ensign,” Enrique announced.
“You should be aware, sir, that the entrances to the bridge are designed to be quite defensible should they come under attack by a boarding party. They will have superior positions, both in terms of cover and fields of fire.”
“Great, good to know. But they are still only four guys.”
“We hope,” Willard reminded him.
“A good friend of mine once told me that sometimes it's better not to think about something too much and to just do it,” Enrique told Ensign Willard. “I’m pretty sure she was talking about a time like this.” Enrique held out his hand, indicating that Ensign Willard should lead the way.
“Let’s move out,” Willard announced on his way out of the armory.
* * *
Getting back up into the main service tunnel had been difficult enough. The side tunnel they had escaped into was smaller, and had dropped off at a forty-five degree angle from the main tunnel, dropping nearly three meters. Vladimir had been able to push Deliza back up the incline from underneath easily enough, despite her protestations against being pushed into a space in complete darkness, even though she had already been in there twice today. However, it had been far more difficult for Vladimir, who had to try and jump up several times to grab the ledge and pull himself up the incline. It too was covered with soot, like every other surface inside the tunnels, and he had been unable to keep hold. Had it not been for Deliza’s help, he never would have made it back up into the main tunnel.
Once back in the main tunnel, it was a short distance to the nearest emergency box where they found the first flash light. They continued on for some distance, changing tunnels at least three times. They picked up a few more flashlights along the way, just in case the first ones they had located died out, as they had no idea how long they would be trapped inside the service spaces of the Aurora.
Vladimir stopped again to check on their location. He pretty much knew where they were, but they had limited time and he did not want to make a mistake and waste valuable time back tracking. Besides, it gave Deliza an occasional break from crawling.
“My knees hurt so much,” she complained.
“We are almost to the routing node,” Vladimir assured her. “From there I can connect the data pad and send commands to any system on the ship as if I were on the bridge, or at the main engineering console.”
“What are you going to do then?”
“I do not know yet, but I will think of something.” He studied the tunnel map on the data pad one more time. “Okay, another fifty meters, and then we come to the last junction on the right. Then another fifty meters and we are there.”
“Another hundred meters? Can’t I just wait here?”
“No, I cannot leave you behind,” he told her as he put the data pad back into his pocket. “Besides, I may need your help.” Vladimir put the small tubular flashlight back in his mouth so his hands would be free to crawl and started making his way down the tunnel again on his hands and knees. Deliza, on the other hand, refused to put the flashlight in her mouth, choosing instead to hold it in her right hand, despite the fact that it made it even more difficult to crawl.
“Whatever you have in mind had better work,” she told him. “Or guys with guns will be the last thing you have to worry about.”
“Oiy, ya biyoos,” he teased.
* * *
“Now then, on to more important issues,” de Winter began, “like how it is that you are able to travel so quickly between systems.” The captain began to move about the bridge, looking over each console as he passed. He started with the main flight console at the front of the Aurora’s bridge. He bent over slightly and looked at all the controls and display surfaces. “This must be your helm,” he said, looking at Josh’s console on the right, “which would make that one navigation, I suppose.” He looked closer at the displays and noticed that many of them were written in Angla, while others were written in a similar looking alphabet. “Odd, some of this is in Angla.”
“I’ve been translating it a little at a time,” Josh admitted, “to make it easier for me to use.”
“I wouldn’t do too much of that if I were you,” de Winter said, “or we might not need you much longer.” He continued looking over the helm and navigation stations. “This all looks pretty standard.” De Winter stood straight again. “Perhaps it’s a separate system, something apart from the standard propulsion and maneuvering systems one might expect to use on a ship such as this.” He looked around, trying to determine which station might be the one he was looking for. For the first time, he noticed the amount of damage that the bridge had suffered in recent days. “You know, you really ought to fix this place up a bit.”
De Winter moved to the sensor station to the left of the navigation console next, moving past Kaylah without a word to her. “No, not this one either,” he said after a brief inspection. He looked at the aft station next, to the left of Kaylah’s, stepping over the dead comm-officer’s body. “This is obviously just communications.”
He turned back toward the center of the bridge. “That’s tactical, and those two over there are obviously not working, so that leaves just that one,” he surmised, pointing to Abby’s console near the starboard exit. “Is that your station?” he asked Abby, who was standing next to the helm. She said nothing, but he could tell by the look in her eyes that he was on the right track. He moved closer to her, making his way across the bridge. “It is, isn’t it?” He smiled, quite happy with himself for figuring it out. “Oh my dear, you must tell me all about it. What it’s called, how it works… I want to know everything.”
“I’m sorry; I’m just an operator. I don’t know how it works,” Abby lied.
“Come now,” de Winter said. “I’m sure you know far more than you realize. You see, we humans pick up so much information without even thinking about it. For example, the young woman over there, she’s obviously a member of this crew, as was that poor chap over there. I know what you’re thinking; that was an easy one, what with the uniforms and all. Now this smart-mouthed young man here, he’s not a member of the crew. I can tell by his accent. He’s either from Haven or has spent considerable time there. You, on the other hand, you’re also not a member of this crew, but then again, you aren’t from this part of space either. You’re from Earth, just like the rest of them. Even though you only spoke a few words, I can tell that your accent is not of this region of space. And you’re far too delicate to be a member of the crew. You don’t have the look of someone who has endured vigorous training. You have the look of a clinician, a scientist perhaps.”
“You flatter me, sir. But I’m afraid I am merely a technical specialist, a glorified systems operator.”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to show me how to operate the system that allows this ship to jump about from place to place as it does. That was quite a neat little trick, after all. The way you repeatedly jumped inside my shields in order to fire on us. Quite clever it was. I’ll give your captain credit for coming up with that one.” De Winter stepped closer to her, staring down at her. He was a good deal taller than Abby, who was rather petite to begin with, and dressed in his flat black assault gear, he was quite intimidating.
