Starship Freedom

by Daniel Arenson

  "We have faced challenges before. We have fought in world wars. We have faced plagues and economic collapses. Yet the challenge today is different. Today we Britons, and all people of Earth, face a terror we never thought was possible.

  "The rahs caught us off guard. They thought we would fall easily. Yet we will stand. We still resist.

  "Buckingham Palace has burned, along with the White House, Parliament Hill, the Rashtrapati Bhavan, the Alliance Headquarters, and many other centers of leadership. Many of our leaders, including my family, are dead.

  "Yet I remain, though I cannot disclose to you my location. And many great leaders still fight. This is a dark hour. An hour of spiders. An hour of fear. But not an hour of despair. In this darkness, hope shines all the brighter.

  "We are facing this invasion together. With our courage, our resolution, and our strength, we will overcome. We will meet again."

  She finished her speech, returned to the royal suite, and began collecting the broken shards of an old life.

  * * * * *

  The shuttles flew back and forth between the Freedom and the station, hauling munitions. Some shuttles delivered medical supplies; the Freedom's infirmary was overflowing with the wounded. Technicians began welding the cracks in the hull, then installing new sensors. Dock workers operated cranes and mechas, guiding torpedoes the size of grain silos into the starship's hangars. They were moving at breakneck speed. They all understood the urgency. They all had family back on Earth.

  So did King.

  I'll be home soon, Bastian and Rowan, he thought. Hang on just a little bit longer. I'm coming home.

  "Mimori, you have the bridge," King said. "Everyone else—get some rest. You're gonna need it."

  They all left the bridge. Most of them headed to the galley for some food; many had not eaten anything in two days. Others headed to the showers. Some headed to the infirmary to treat minor injuries. But King walked to his quarters.

  He stepped inside and closed the door. For a moment he stood there, staring at his little sanctuary aboard the starship. The bridge was utilitarian, military, a ruthless machine. His quarters could be a cabin on Earth. Hardwood planks covered the deck, hiding the original diamond plate. Bookshelves spanned the bulkheads, holding leather-bound books, antique astrolabes, and sailing ships in bottles. A dozen history books and novels covered his desk; he always read multiple books at once, hopping from one to another.

  He took a deep breath. This room could normally soothe him, but not today. Something hurt inside him. Old wounds ran deep, and today their poison filled him.

  He sat in his leather chair and lifted the framed photograph he kept on his desk.

  The photograph of his dead wife.

  "I'm sorry, Diane," he whispered hoarsely. "I drove you away. It's my fault. Bastian was right. What happened to you … it's my fault."

  He closed his eyes.

  He had saved newspaper clippings of the story, read them over and over, seeking answers. He might never know the full story.

  "But some things I do know," King whispered, voice like sandpaper. "I spent too many years on this starship. I loved the Freedom and I drove you away. I drove you into his arms. The arms of another man. A man who loved you, who showered you with attention, who gave you what I could not. A man who took you on a trip to Europe … and murdered you."

  A tear fled King's eye.

  When Diane went missing, it was Bastian who traveled to Europe, who went from hotel to hotel, who finally found her in Prague. Shot ten times. Her lover had then put the gun in his own mouth and pulled the trigger.

  The press had a field day, of course. The story was juicy, just the way they liked it. A murder-suicide. A sexual affair. The wife of a World War III hero, cheating on him. Journalists waited years for a scandal like that.

  But nobody ever learned why the bastard did it. Why the son of a bitch took Diane away.

  "I'm sorry, Diane," King said to the photograph, tears falling. "I won't let anyone else in our family die. I will find Bastian. I will find Rowan. I will protect them. I won't lose anyone else."

  He looked at the second framed photograph on his desk. A photograph of Rowan riding on Bastian's shoulders. Both were laughing.

  Please, God, he prayed silently. Don't let this photo become a memorial too. Watch over them, God. At least until I can take over.

  He opened his desk drawer, and he pulled out his bottle of Martian ale. He poured a glass. Drained it. Poured another. He had a day before they sailed back into battle. He intended to get good and drunk.

  A knock came on his door. A voice spoke outside.

  "Jim? It's me, Larry."

  "Come in."

  Larry Jordan entered the room. He raised an eyebrow. "Did you start drinking without me, Jim? This is a new low, even for you." Then he noticed the tears on King's cheeks. "Jim! Are you all right?"

  King nodded. "Yes. I am now. Sit down, you old bastard. Don't let me finish this bottle alone."

  Jordan sat down. But King did not yet pour his friend a cup. He picked up his comlink again.

  "Sergeant Darjeeling?" he said. "Join the Lieutenant Commander and me for a drink?"

  Darjeeling's voice emerged from the speaker. "I would be most honored, sir."

  The sergeant major entered the cabin and saluted. Oliver Darjeeling was an enlisted man. He had not gone to the academy with Jordan and King, had not flown Eagles with them in the war. But he was an old friend. A good friend. A war friend.

  King poured them all drinks.

  Jordan raised his cup. "We did all right today. For a few old farts."

  Darjeeling laughed. "That we did, sir."

  But King remained somber. "We're not just old farts. We're old war dogs. The three of us fought in World War III together, and we won. I don't know if we're going to win this one. But I do know we're going to give the enemy hell."

  "I'll drink to that, sir," Darjeeling said.

  They all drank. The ale burned down King's throat. Outside the porthole, the shuttles kept flying back and forth, arming the Freedom for war.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Earth

  Evening

  Dec 27, 2199

  For two days, Bastian fought the enemy, not sleeping, not eating, just giving the bastards hell.

  It was his brigade now.

  The Freedom Brigade. The bravest marines in the world. He was their new colonel. Their new commander. The man who would lead them in this war.

  But when the battle of Fort Liberty ended, when victory was theirs, Bastian delivered no inspiring speeches. He left his troops. He ran through the base toward the bunk where Rowan was waiting.

  Alien blood filled the room. It covered the floor, the walls, even the ceiling. Charging Bear stood in the center of the carnage. Dead rahs lay around him, limbs sticking every which way.

  Rowan sat on the bed, covered in blood.

  Bastian froze for a moment, staring.

  "They broke in," Bear said in his deep, rumbling voice. "I took them down. I protected her."

  Rowan rose from the bed. The blood covering her was black. Rah blood.

  She was unharmed.

  Bastian scooped her into his arms, held her close, and screwed his eyes shut.

  "I've got you, Rowan. Thank God. Thank God you're all right."

  "I love you, Daddy," she whispered.

  Bastian just stood there, holding her, tears flowing down his cheeks.

  * * * * *

  After a long moment, Bastian turned toward Bear. He pulled the dour giant into an embrace too.

  "Thank you, friend. Thank you."

  Bear held him in mighty arms like the trunks of trees. "I'm proud to fight with you, old friend."

  Bastian looked up into the giant's eyes. "Bear, this will be a long war. Join us. As a soldier. Enlist in the Alliance. Put on the uniform. Help me win this war. I can't do it without you."

  Bear was silent for long moments, considering.

  "I'm a proud
member of the Meskwaki tribe," he said. "My loyalty must be to my tribe. Not to any foreign army. But today things are different. Today all men are brothers. All humans face a common enemy." He nodded. "I'll join you, Bastian, my brother."

  Bastian fought back tears. "Then the enemy truly doesn't stand a chance."

  The door opened.

  Alice burst into the room. Bandages wrapped around her arm, her uniform was tattered, and blood stained her blond braids.

  "Bas! Hurry!" Alice was panting, and fear filled her blue eyes.

  Rowan whimpered and clung to Bastian.

  "Alice, what is it?" Bastian said.

  "An alien starship!" Alice said. "It's descending into the atmosphere right above us."

  Icy claws clutched Bastian's heart.

  "Then we'll shoot it down. Alice, get every soldier with a grenade launcher into the courtyard."

  She nodded and ran out the room, shouting, "Grenade launchers! I need grenade launchers!"

  Bastian hurried outside, holding Rowan in his arms. If a clawship was flying above, no place on the base was safe. Bear ran with him.

  Hundreds of soldiers were already in the courtyard, aiming their Gideons at the sky. Those with grenade launcher attachments were screwing them onto the guns. Bastian joined them, loading a grenade of his own.

  The sky rumbled. The clouds churned. The falling snow melted, pattering down as rain.

  It emerged from the cloud cover, descending toward Fort Liberty. A clawship.

  The alien vessel was huge. It was the size of the entire infantry base. Blades grew from its craggy hull, all pointing downward. It looked like a god's claw ready to grip the base and crush it. Between the bundle of those blades churned a cauldron of fire.

  Bastian's head buzzed.

  He groaned and grabbed his head. Something was vibrating inside his skull, burning him, deafening him.

  The MindPlay operating system appeared, floating before his eyes. The hallucination was imperfect, jittery, bleeding out at the edges. The icons flickered.

  Somebody was hacking into his MindLink.

  Somebody was calling him.

  A video feed appeared, floating before Bastian in the courtyard.

  Bastian gasped and cursed.

  "What is it?" Alice said, hurrying toward him. She could not see what he saw.

  "A rah," Bastian said, clenching his jaw. "Calling my MindLink."

  He stared at the hallucination. The rah towered before him, as large as an elephant. A female. Around her, Bastian caught fuzzy glimpses of her location. The spider hung from a web inside a cavernous room. Humans hung from the web all around her. The males were dead. The females were still alive, their mouths gagged. Eggs pulsated inside their bloated bellies.

  The spider spoke, voice like shattering glass. "Is this Colonel Bastian King, commander of this military installation?"

  "Last time I checked," Bastian said. Cold sweat trickled down his back.

  The spider licked her lips. "You probably noticed my clawship hovering above you. My spawn attempted to feed upon you. They have decided that you are inedible."

  "You mean we handed your asses to you, and you lost your appetite?" Bastian said.

  The spider laughed. "What do you understand of eresh, human? You are an honorless species. We believe in sheertone ash keresh. The sharpening of the claw. Only through eternal war can we grow strong. Only by culling the weak can our web thrive. You served your purpose. You were the stone against which we sharpened our claws. That is Ishar. The Right Path. That is kata hel anak. The dance of war. But you are too foolish to understand. All you know is killing and dying. And today, human, you die."

  The transmission ended.

  The ship's claws bloomed like a steel flower, revealing more of the blazing eye in the center. The caldera pointed downward at the base. It began to heat up, to churn madly, to rumble.

  Bastian had seen these weapons in video feeds from across the world. The clawships could blast down pillars of fire that destroyed anything they touched. With these terrible weapons, they had destroyed the White House, the Forbidden City, Buckingham Palace, and many other centers of power.

  Now they were going to destroy Fort Liberty.

  They ate a few of us, sharpened their damn claws, and now they're bored, Bastian thought.

  He raised his rifle, aimed it at the swirling plasma sun above.

  "Shoot this damn ship down!" he cried and fired his gun.

  Across the base, his soldiers fired with him. They unleashed grenades and bullets alike. But the flaming eye devoured everything they shot at it. The inferno heated, heated, turning blue, then white.

  Bastian knew there was no point in running. There was nowhere to run.

  This was the end. Here in white fire.

  He held Rowan tightly.

  "Rowan, I love you."

  She pointed at the sky. "Daddy, look!"

  "Don't look at it, sweetie. Look away from the fire. I'm here with you. I—"

  "Daddy. Look there! Behind the spider ship!"

  Bastian looked, squinting, and gasped.

  Fire blazed high in the sky.

  A new starship was entering the atmosphere, ionizing the air.

  A massive starship. A dreadnought.

  According to his MindLink stats, it flew a hundred klicks above, skimming the blue sky. It blazed like a comet.

  Bastian directed his MindLink to zoom in. His contact lenses changed shape. The starship above grew.

  She was the starship Freedom, wreathed in light.

  The clawship yawed away from Fort Liberty, turning its claws toward the Freedom. It was about to launch its plasma at the starship.

  The Freedom's railgun lit up.

  Thrusting out from her prow, the two prongs blazed white, blinding. For the first time since World War III, the Fist of Freedom was about to fire a projectile.

  A streak of light blazed across the sky.

  The line carved right through the clawship.

  The rah dreadnought exploded.

  Thunder boomed.

  The earth shook.

  The sky burned.

  Chunks of debris slammed down around Bastian. Soldiers ran for cover. An enormous steel claw, torn free from the clawship, slammed into the ground. The shock wave knocked soldiers back.

  Bastian fell to his knees, holding Rowan, shielding her with his body. He squinted up at the sky, and he saw the Freedom soar. Her engines shone blue, and she rose, leaping from the atmosphere back into space.

  For a moment silence filled the air.

  Then dead spiders began to rain. Thousands of rahs—mutilated, slamming down onto Fort Liberty and the surrounding countryside. All were dead before they hit the ground.

  * * * * *

  A dropship rumbled down from above.

  Bastian stood in the courtyard, watching it descend.

  It was a RAD. A Rhino Armored Dropship. Spacers just called them rhinos. They were heavy machines, covered in thick armored plates, and their powerful engines roared. At thirty-three meters long, they were formidable vessels, straddling the line between shuttle and starship. With their wings, treadmill tracks, and powerful engines, they could operate in air, on land, or in space.

  Not many starships carried rhinos anymore. They were considered too crude, too bulky, too damn loud. They didn't even fit into most modern hangars. But the starship Freedom carried twenty-five of the beasts in her lower decks. During World War III, the rhinos had transported marines onto the surface of enemy worlds. Each had room for a fully armed heavy infantry platoon.

  A symbol was painted onto the rhino's hull. A blue star with three red stripes on each side, spreading out like wings. Symbol of the starship Freedom.

  Motors grumbling, exhaust ports puffing out smoke, the rhino thumped onto the courtyard. It shook the fort.

  A hatch opened, and a ramp extended to the ground.

  Commander James "Bulldog" King stepped onto the courtyard.

  For the first tim
e in many years, he wore battle fatigues—the simple beige combat uniform of the space corps. It was strange to see him without his formal blues, that fine uniform with its polished buttons and medals. A Gideon hung across his back, and an armored vest covered his torso, heavy with magazines. The commander stared across Fort Liberty, taking in the dead spiders. And the dead soldiers. His eyes were hard, his craggy face inscrutable. He could have been carved of granite.

  I never knew him as a soldier, Bastian thought. I only heard the stories. But there he is. The man from those old tales. The bulldog. The killer.

  The commander's eyes landed on Bastian and Rowan. And finally some humanity touched his face.

  He began marching toward Bastian and Rowan. Then he was running.

  Bastian ran to meet him, moving between the dead rahs. He held Rowan in his arms.

  A few feet away, the two men paused.

  They stared at each other.

  Bastian remembered their call a few days ago. The anger. The hatred. The old, cutting pain. Diane's ghost still stood between them.

  It was Rowan who broke the awkwardness.

  "Pop Pop!" she cried in delight, reaching out to him.

  King's hard, craggy face cracked with a smile. He pulled Rowan into his arms, hugged her close. She began kissing him, mussing his hair, and laughing.

  "I missed you, kiddo," King said. "You've grown so big."

  They haven't seen each other in a year, Bastian remembered. Not outside the MindWeb.

  He looked at his father.

  King looked back.

  "Hello, Bastian," he said.

  Bastian pursed his lips, then took a deep breath. "Dad, I'm sorry. For what I said before." He wiped his eyes. "I love you."

  King's lip twitched. It almost looked as if James King himself, the grizzled old war dog, was going to cry. Then he put down Rowan and pulled Bastian into a crushing hug.