Star Fire, page 5
part #1 of Stars End Series
The plasma blasts finally reach the alien ship. We’re all watching, holding our breath, the tension almost palpable across the void. We’re all dying to know how the ship will react to the attack. Does it have shields? Does it need them? Will the plasma do anything useful?
It’s hard to finally exhale as I watch one of the turrets swing toward the toroids. It fires what looks like a single small ball of lightning at the plasma, and as the two intersect the EM field holding the gas in place vanishes and it all begins to dissipate and cool, the remains of the assault washing across the hull without effect.
“Damn,” Joie says. I sense her deflation through the mesh, and I’m sure she senses mine too. My expectations weren’t high, but it was nice to have them to cling to.
“Maybe smaller rounds will be more effective,” I say, passing the statement through the comm to the rest of the Skirmishers. It’s the only hope I can offer. Twenty-two ships, and we only have sixteen torpedoes total. We needed nearly sixty to bring down the carrier.
Our fleet trails behind the Commune starfighters. There are still close to a hundred of them in the fight, and they’re positioning themselves between the ship and Spindle, trying to run interference while the techs get the shields working.
“Let’s see if we can get behind it,” I say. “Find a weakness near its engines.” It’s basic anti-ship tactics, but the words taste hollow. Does this thing have a weakness?
I make some changes to the formation, reorganizing the Skirmishers into two groups of two squadrons containing five Skirmishers each. I’m the odd man out on the Warrick side, number eleven, and I take the lead on the approach even though logically I should be in the back. I assign Exeter’s SO as their eleventh, and she impresses me by mimicking my positioning in the front.
We’re approaching the enemy ship in a classic pincer. My heart’s still racing, my stomach tight. I want the enemy to focus on us, to forget about Spindle until the Commune gets the shields back up. I’d rather Shae and the girls take their chances with the enemy I know than die at the hands of one I don’t know. Alive is alive, after all.
But will it really matter in the end? Can Spindle’s shields and guns do anything against this threat? I have to focus on keeping my emotions in check, to prevent them from messing with the mesh and destabilizing my ship. I also can’t avoid them altogether, and they churn in my stomach, replacing my earlier hunger with firm determination.
We’re about a thousand kilometers from the enemy ship when I register a second power spike. This one’s bigger than the first, though it isn’t followed by the beam weapon. Instead, the turrets around the ship become active again, and suddenly there’s a whole swarm of ball lightning flashing our way and out toward the Commune fighters. Any doubt left in my mind that the ship might be with the Alliance fades away. We’re on an approach vector, but we’ve held our fire so far. As far as I’m concerned, this attack is unprovoked.
“Evasive maneuvers,” I say, keeping my voice calm.
The Skirmishers break out of formation enough to manage the incoming attack, using the available space to bank and turn, rise and fall and otherwise avoid the shots. I get a good look at one of them as it shoots past less than two meters from the hull. It’s like a miniature storm, with webs of energy flashing out from a central core. The shape is more oblong and uneven, each shot slightly variable in composition. I’ve never seen a weapon like it before.
We maneuver easily around the first wave. The Commune fighters aren’t as skilled, or maybe they take the hits on purpose, using the drones to measure the effects. I keep tabs on them as the enemy shots connect with the fighters, the energy stretching out across their hulls. The blasts cut right through the shields, puncturing the alloy beneath at a dozen or more points. So many pin pricks are almost guaranteed to expose something important, and the fighters suffer varying but ultimately identical fates. Some explode. Some break apart, Some just fall silent and dark, but they all fall out of the fight.
It’s a sobering observation. We can’t afford to get hit.
And the intensity of the fire is increasing. More of the ship’s batteries are coming online, the space ahead quickly growing thick with lightning balls. It’s going to take a lot of fancy flying to get through.
Joie and me are up to the challenge. So are the rest of the Skirmishers. We all know what the options are. We all know what the odds are. It sucks every way you slice it, but this is why we’re here. We’re Alliance Navy, damn it.
Pilots use a word to describe a state of equilibrium with the mesh, where human thoughts both conscious and subconscious fall away. It’s a state where you stop noticing your breathing, your pulse, your aches and pains, your hunger—pretty much everything. That’s when the ship you’re in becomes a true extension of self. It’s an experience that’s impossible to describe, one that pulls the meshed pilots so close together it becomes more intimate than making love, but on such a non-physical level it can’t be duplicated outside the system. I’ve heard of pilots becoming addicted to it and losing their sanity trying to force it. But it can’t be forced. It takes two to tango. A singular purpose. A singular focus.
And the right motivation.
RAPTUR. Rapid Active Perception To Universal Reaction. We call it Rapture. The E is Extra, as the joke goes.
Before I know it, I’m in Rapture with Joie, the incoming fire, the fear, the focus and determination all pulling us toward one another and deeper into the mesh. It’s our first time together. Maybe her first time, period. I’ve been through it before, but the last experience was years ago.
Being in Rapture reminds me of why pilots get addicted to it. The heightened senses are better than any drug. The reaction times go from fifty milliseconds closer to ten, everything sharper, clearer and faster than before, though to me it’s more like the universe is moving in slow motion and we’re riding a wave on the edge of death in an impossible high.
We weave through the storm, our Skirmisher an ugly hunk of metal dancing through a light show. The lightning flashes all around us, the rounds passing within a meter of the hull as we twirl, duck and dive. Rising and banking. Pushing our bodies to extremes. In Rapture, your body can fall unconscious and your mind stays in the mesh. Gs still matter, but they matter a lot less, and you can’t think about them to care.
We push through the enemy fire. I’m aware of the other Skirmishers falling off the network, hit by the attack and destroyed. I can’t feel for them right now. It’s not even possible. I’m a machine—me and Joie are a machine together—cold and calculating and nearly perfect.
I’m aware too when Spindle registers a power spike, and her shields come back online. I almost fall out of Rapture, the sense of relief nearly enough to push me back into my body. But Joie matches my emotions with hers, and we stay in tight sync.
Hundreds of lightning balls surround us until they don’t. We break free of the assault, cutting in close enough to the alien ship’s hull that we’re under the turrets’ angle of attack. The eye of the storm. Only three other Skirmishers have made it through with us. We skirt the side of the enemy, still heading for the rear. We hit the retros, doing our best to slow before we shoot past the ship and back into the firing line.
I get a closer look at the hull and its turrets. The patina I noticed before has more variation in color than I could see from a distance. Greens, browns, reds, oranges. It still looks like some kind of oxidation or aging of the alloy beneath, which is thick and dark. The turrets are an interesting design. Four barrels are mounted two on either side, each of them slightly different. Only one of them is currently firing, sending the lightning rounds up and out into space. They look like they can only tilt to a thirty-degree angle above their base, which is why we’re able to duck beneath them. Maybe nobody has ever made it this far.
I notice one of the Commune fighters has gotten through the soup, which is damn impressive by any measure. The human pilot is alone, his drones all destroyed. He’s angling toward us on a vector that suggests he wants to join our formation.
I’m not going to stop him.
Our reduced speed means it takes eight seconds to go from the bow of the ship to the stern. Too fast to get too close a look at anything, but I’m not here to spectate. I can see the light from the thrusters, and I’m hoping I’ll find somewhere to shoot that looks promising.
We rocket past the starboard side, maintaining course as we reach the ass end. There are no turrets back here, only a ten-kilometer long wash of ions from five massive thrusters. Like the ship itself, there’s nothing exotic about them except the size, but the size means we can’t get close without the heat and energy turning us to dust.
I break away from the craft, banking hard to come around, still searching for a target.
Spindle is active again, the reactors reset and the batteries firing once more, sending plasma out at the enemy ship. For the first time in my life, I’m rooting for the Commune, hoping they can do something to stop this whale from reaching the station.
The turrets on the ship go quiet, one last volley vanishing into the black. The power levels don’t decrease, remaining high and steady while Spindle’s plasma approaches. I notice a small crease in the hull that looks promising, and I mark it for the remaining Skirmishers. We’ll turn around, line up, and blast the hell out of that spot. It’s a ridiculous longshot, but it might be the only chance we have.
The mesh alerts me to an unidentified object accelerating from beneath the ship. A moment later the ship fires its energy weapon again. The wide beam passes across the vacuum and connects with Spindle’s shield, remaining there for one second, two seconds, three…
The new object sweeps out from the bottom of the vessel on a direct course for us. Time is already moving slow, but so many things are happening at once it’s tough to keep track of it all.
Spindle’s shields flicker and fade, blinking out of existence. Joie flinches in response, and we lose sync and get torn out of Rapture at precisely the wrong time.
I’m suddenly aware of the dizzy, oxygen-deprived state of my body, and it causes me a moment of confusion, which is one moment too many.
The dark object hits the Skirmisher. It doesn’t detonate like an explosive. It just rams us, shearing into the aft near the reactor and throwing us into a sudden, hard spin. I’m already weakened from the Gs we pulled in Rapture, and this is more than even an old dog like me can take.
I have a vague sense of Joie triggering the emergency escape protocol.
Everything goes dark.
Chapter 11
The first thing I notice is the heat.
I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. The sensation either means I’m alive or it means Hell is real and I’m in it. Or worse, it’s a combination of both.
My eyes open. It’s hard to see through the smoke that’s pouring out of the comm equipment behind me, quickly letting me know that calling for help is going to be tricky at best. The good news is the haze is managing to leak out through the front of what’s left of the Skirmisher, finding a path into the outside atmosphere through pieces of shattered transparency and a rend in the metal blast cover.
I was right when I thought I felt Joie activate the emergency protocol that turned the cockpit of our ship into a hardened escape craft. I wasn’t awake for the full proceedings, but I know how it all works.
Like the Commune pods, the Skirmisher’s AI decided to bring us to Warrick’s surface rather than keep us floating around in space. I think I’m grateful for the decision. Only time will tell for sure.
I wiggle my fingers and toes, making sure I still have feeling in my body. Then I practice a second of mindfulness, searching my body for pain points, wetness or anything else that would suggest damage. My groin is damp. I must have pissed myself at some point. Everything else seems okay.
It’s a minor miracle.
“Joie! Tia,” I say out loud.
The ship is dead, the mesh with it. I reach back behind my head and wince. The needle connector is broken off and lodged into the hole, meaning that even if I somehow manage to find a ship to get off the surface, I can’t fly it.
Really, it’s the least of my problems right now. I can’t even begin to fathom the worst of them or put them in any kind of order. Except…
Spindle.
“Joie, you here?” I ask, grabbing at the harness keeping me pinned to my chair. I turn my head in her direction. She’s still there, head turned to the side, away from me. “Joie?”
She looks dead. My heart races. I don’t see any blood on her uniform, and her body doesn’t look broken. Internal bleeding? Possible, but unlikely. Could be she’s conked out, same as me.
My harness attachment is bent from the impact, and it takes me a few seconds to force it open. I push myself onto my feet, noticing we’re tilted upward. We must have hit the ground hard. I cross to Joie and put my hand on her neck. Her pulse is weak. I don’t care. It’s present and that’s what matters.
I work on her harness, getting her out of her seat. I’m desperate to know what happened to Spindle, but I can’t leave her here with the smoke. We’re lucky the viewport cracked, or we’d no doubt both be gone.
She groans slightly as I lift her over my shoulder. She’s not much bigger than Fiona, and I can carry her pretty easy. I might not be in the prime of my youth, but I’ve kept a warrior figure my whole life, and age isn’t going to take that away.
I take her to the door at the back of the cockpit and grab the emergency release, turning it ninety degrees and pulling up. The motion activates the small detonations inside that break away the seals, and the door pushes out about ten centimeters before the earth beneath it wedges it there.
My heart thumps a little louder. Not because I’m worried about getting out of here. I will, one way or another. Because I want to look up. I want to find Spindle in the sky and make sure it’s still there.
I kick the door a couple of times and it moves a few more centimeters. Nowhere near enough to let us out. Of course, this can’t just be easy.
I turn around, fixing my eyes on the viewport and the bent metal where the smoke is leaking out. It occurs to me that the enemy might have launched ships to either chase the escape pods or start blasting the settlements here on Warrick, and the smoke is signaling our position. I keep calm, but I recognize I need to haul a little more ass to get us out of here.
“Hold tight, Joie. I’ll get us clear.”
I put her back down in my seat, lowering her gently. She’s been like a fourth child to me since she came to Spindle, and now that we’ve Raptured I feel a higher level of connection. I’m going to get her out of this.
I scan the cockpit for something I can use for leverage. The best piece of equipment for the job is in the locker near the hatch. I open it up, revealing a pair of rifles and sidearms, plus mags for each. Even though we’re assigned to a space station and flying around in space, the Navy insists that we’re always prepared for a physical escape, as unlikely as that is. I’ve heard greenies on Spindle laugh about the ordnance, but I never have.
This isn’t exactly my first time using it.
I grab the SMG-XA and turn to the viewport. Then I pause and take the other one, slapping in a magazine carrying forty high velocity armor-piercing, alloy-jacketed lead-core bullets. The weapon’s a classic submachine gun, on the smaller side but capable. The rounds are classic too. Some things were perfected a long time ago, and the new hotness costs more than the Navy is willing to spend on unlikely circumstances like these.
I bring both to the front of the cockpit, leaning one against the seat next to Joie’s leg. I recheck her pulse, happy it’s a little stronger than before.
I take the unloaded SMG to the corner near the bent metal. I hesitate for a moment, trying to lean down to see through the hole. All I get is an eyeful of smoke.
I hold the weapon backward and begin banging it against the weakened corner of metal. It’s loud work, but what does it matter? The smoke is already betraying us. I hit it fifty times before pausing to survey the results. The metal moved maybe another centimeter.
I close my eyes, fighting to keep my spirits up. I already fear the worst with regards to Spindle and my kids. Maybe it’s better I won’t ever have visual confirmation of the outcome. Maybe it's better to stay here and die with the hope that they’re somehow still alive.
The pain of it all is tight in my chest, and I use my mesh training to hold it back. Emotions counter rationality, and survival means keeping a cool head, even in impossible circumstances.
As far as I’m concerned, this is about as impossible as they come.
Chapter 12
I’m sweaty by the time Joie wakes up, about an hour after I first started banging on the blast cover. The smoke from the electronics fizzled out and I’m starting to make some progress, increasing the gap from a few centimeters to almost ten. The repeated stress slowly peels back the skin like I’m picking at an ugly scab.
I don’t know she’s awake. I’m still hitting the metal with the now-worn stock of my SMG when she alerts me to the fact.
“Can you please stop the noise?” she asks between strikes. “My head is pounding.”
I hold my next hit and turn back to face her. Her eyelids are narrow slits, the blue piercing through them to look at me.
“You want an aspirin?” I ask, keeping my expression flat.
She stares back at me. The cockpit is silent for the first time in a while. Then her lips part into a smile. “Shut up.”
I smile back at her. “Shut up?”
“Shut up, sir,” she replies.
“Better.”
She’s silent for a few more heartbeats. I go to another locker behind her chair and dig into the emergency rations, handing her one of our water packs.
