Talia’s eyes went from Raak’naar to Adrian, her pulse hammering her ears. “You mean…”
Adrian nodded. “I thought he was my nemesis, but in fact he’s the one who made my discoveries possible. Behind the scenes, he arranged for me to get access to the secret archives, and discover the truth about humanity. He wanted me to invent a retrovirus that would reactivate my human genes. The Retroforming has been his project form the start.”
“Why?” Talia breathed. “Why would he betray his own kind?”
“To seize power,” Adrian replied. “He needed to unite the Taar’kuun under the banner of a religious war. He needed an enemy, and humanity was the perfect candidate for the role. All he had to do was resurrect it. He needed a geno-architect who could do that for him. I’ve been his instrument from the start, without even realizing it.”
Raak’naar offered him a cold, satisfied smile, or at least the equivalent of a smile for his species. “You are correct, Daar’uun’akn. I always admired your deductive reasoning skills. You are wrong only about my motives. I was not seeking personal power. I was part of a faction convinced that Taar’kuun society had lost its way. To put it bluntly, our civilization is dying, even though most Taar’kuun haven’t realized it yet.”
Adrian nodded again. “I agree with you on this one. The TGS has been stagnating for millennia with almost no scientific or artistic progress. Religious dogmatism has risen to where it dominates all aspects of our lives. Space exploration is no longer a priority, and relegated to the inferior castes. The Taar’kuun live in the shadow of their glorious past, resting on their laurels.”
“We needed to reignite passion in the souls of the Taar’kuun, like how it once burned in our ancestors.” Raak’naar balled his right hand into a fist, the tips of his cephalic appendages glowing bright. “To wake the citizens of the Galactic State from their lethargy we needed a storm. Nothing short of a major crisis could have achieved that.”
“You wanted to ignite a storm, Raak’naar?” Adrian snapped. “You’ll have your storm.”
He drew his blaster and shot the holo-emitter. Raak’naar’s hologram vanished in a plume of sparks and smoke.
“Let’s go,” he told the marines. “We have a mission to complete.”
“But you heard admiral’s orders,” the sergeant boomed.
“I’ll talk to the admiral. For now, you’re taking orders from me.”
* * *
The Biozi base ship was hanging in the sky above the mountain. Jason was on the Phenix, staring at it through the open hangar doors.
“Attacking an Ouroboros-class base ship would be suicide.” O’Neil’s voice was coming through the senior officers’ channel. “Even if we still had the Liberty, it would be a risky proposition. This thing can blow our entire fleet out of the sky, if we get too close.”
“Dr. Darus just told me he had a plan,” Winsley said. “He was unwilling to abort the mission, and now it’s too late to evacuate. The strike team is trapped inside the facility. We have to take the Ouroboros out of action; we cannot let the Biozi get their claws on Darus.”
O’Neil cursed in low voice, but everyone heard. “Darus is out of his damn mind. We’re hopelessly outgunned; we must withdraw while we still have the chance.”
“Captain O’Neil, you have a KF-10 with modified ordnance in hangar alpha.” That was Captain Hunt speaking. “This ordnance is experimental and highly valuable. It’s our only chance to take down the Ouroboros.”
“I’ve got experimental ordnance on my ship, and no one told me?” O’Neil snapped.
“Need-to-know basis only, captain,” Hunt replied, his tone as cold as usual. “That was part of our contingency plan. Dr. Darus will explain. He’s joining the call.”
The KF-10 Katana-class starfighter was a recent addition to the ASF arsenal, and only a few units had been produced prior to the Biozi invasion. It was supposed to bridge the gap between interceptors and fighter-bombers and provide a compromise between maneuverability and firepower. Importantly, it could carry Epsilon-class missiles, short-range ordnance specifically designed to be fired by bombers, and capable of inflicting serious damage even to capital ships.
“We don’t have to destroy this base ship, just disable it,” Adrian said. “I developed a virus effective against biosynthetic neurons, and we loaded it into two modified Epsilon-class missiles. The base ship has only anti-capital weapons, no flak. Our fighters should be able to get through its defenses and deliver the ordnance.”
Jason had to agree with O’Neil—Darus must have gone insane.
“Doctor, we cannot ensure air superiority,” Jason pointed out, doing his best to keep calm. “The base ship deployed hundreds of Arachnids. Our fighters won’t get anywhere near it.”
“This is a volunteer-only op,” Winsley said. “Do you understand, Commander Blaze?”
Volunteer only. In other words, a suicide run.
“I understand, admiral,” Jason replied, his voice hollow. “I’ll tell my pilots, and I’ll fly the Katana. If it all ends here, at least we’ll put on a hell of a show.”
“I know we had our differences, commander, but I always had faith in you,” Adrian said. “You’re not doing it for me, but for Ophelia.”
* * *
Riley, Mortensen, Kwan Kor, and his security officers reached the main corridor leading to the bridge of the Capitol. They wore a protective vest and a helmet with a bulletproof visor.
Riley displayed the map of the Capitol on a portable holo-projector. “Okay, the president and his secretaries are held here, in this room near the bridge.” She zoomed on the bridge and highlighted the room in yellow. “There’s only one exit, and it’s guarded by two Earthists at all times. Ten others are in the room across the corridor, and eight guard the bridge itself, plus Adisa Multan.”
“How many terrorists in total, between here and the bridge?” Kwan Kor asked. He was now wearing an eye patch, which made his face look even more intimidating.
Riley found his choice of words intriguing. Was it fair to call Multan’s Earthists terrorists? They did use violence and intimidation to obtain what they wanted, instead of relying on the democratic process, so in a sense the term was applicable.
“About two hundred,” Riley replied. “The other three hundred are scattered throughout the ship, guarding vital areas, or searching for us.”
One of the officers whistled. “That’s a lot of hostiles to neutralize. There are only thirty of us.”
“Hey, anyone who chickens out and runs from the fight gets a bullet in the back,” Kwan Kor croaked.
The security officers remained speechless; they all knew Kwan Kor was capable of summarily executing his subordinates for desertion. It wasn’t unprecedented.
“How did you get this intel?” he asked Riley. “Seems suspiciously precise.”
“I’ve sent a modified delivery bot on recon,” she replied. “It can get through the narrowest air vents. Ensuring the safety of the hostages is priority. I inserted a stun grenade into the bot. On my command, it will release it, right here.”
She marked the location with a dot, in the corridor leading to the room where the hostages were detained.
“What about the hostages?” Mortensen asked. “They’ll be affected too.”
Riley nodded. “Yes, they’ll fall unconscious for a while, but that shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll instruct the bot to lock the door of the room, making sure the Earthists can’t get to the hostages. I’ll use a military encryption protocol. The Earthists don’t have the tools to break that encryption. They’ll have to cut through the door, and we won’t give them time to do that.”
“How many terrorists will this grenade knock out?” Kwan Kor asked.
“I can’t tell for sure,” Riley replied. “That depends on multiple factors. But it should incapacitate at least twenty of them.”
“So only ten percent of the hostile force,” Mortensen muttered. “What about the remaining ones?”
Kwan Kor
glared at the marine. “What do you think, sergeant? This is a hostage situation. The gloves are off. We shoot to kill.”
“Negative,” Riley snapped. “Set your blasters on stun. Some of these people are misguided, not criminals.”
“Oh yeah?” Kwan Kor growled. “They shot a hostage, not to mention how they treated me and my people. If those scumbags aren’t criminals in your book, then who are?”
“Police officers who torture innocent people,” she bit back, glaring at the Bloody Colonel.
“We don’t have enough blasters for all of us,” one of Kwan Kor’s lieutenants pointed out. “Those bastards will be shooting submachine guns and shotguns with armor-piercing ammo. We’ll have to use their own weapons against them.”
Riley sighed and looked away. She hated that idea, but she couldn’t avoid bloodshed. Her primary mission was to rescue the president and the hostages, and her CO gave her permission to use deadly force. “I’ll take two blasters, and so will Mortensen. We’re bionically enhanced marines; we’ll spearhead the assault and shoot as many hostiles as we can. The rest of you will provide covering fire.”
“You’re the boss,” Kwan Kor muttered.
“Take position,” Riley ordered. “On my mark, we start the assault.”
34
Suicide run
Jason’s Katana shot out of a launch tube. He set course on the Ouroboros, followed by thirty-six of his best pilots, all volunteers. Radge, Porto, and Red Jack were among them.
Winsley called Jason on his channel. “I’ve misjudged you, Blaze. When push comes to shove, you do your duty, and you do it admirably. I’m glad Captain O’Neil forced my hand into reinstating you. You were right when you disobeyed my order at the Battle of Vega. You saved lots of innocent lives that day.”
“Thank you, admiral. You’re telling me this ‘cuz you know I’m not coming back.”
“I’m telling you this because I don’t want you to doubt yourself. Your father would be proud, Jason Ansgaard Blaze.”
“I appreciate the pep talk, admiral. It’s been an honor serving under your command.” He was sincere when he said that.
“Good stars. Winsley out.”
Jason knew that speed was of the essence. Biozi reinforcements were approaching, and his wing had to strike and cripple the Ouroboros before the escort ships could form a defensive perimeter. However, he knew that flying straight toward the target would be suicide. About a thousand Arachnid interceptors swarmed around it, and the Ouroboros could easily launch a thousand more.
All ASF starfighters that weren’t part of Jason’s wing engaged in hit-and-run tactics. Their goal was to confuse the Biozi and draw the Arachnids away from the Ouroboros. It proved to be difficult.
“Changing course to 07-25-48,” he said to his wing.
“That course’ll take us straight into the clumps of spores,” Red Jack said in a strained voice.
“Yep, that’s the idea,” Jason replied casually. “Castor, arm high-yield directional charges and standby to shoot them at the clumps on my mark.”
“Roger,” Porto boomed. For this mission, he was leading the squadron of Tomahawks. “Charges on standby.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Blaze,” Red Jack said on Jason’s channel. “You’re the one who told us not to fly into those things.”
“We’re not flying into them,” Jason clarified. “We’re gonna pulverize them and create the equivalent of a smoke screen. Biozi scanners will be scrambled.”
Eight squadrons of Arachnid interceptors separated from the swarm protecting the Ouroboros and set an intercept course with Jason’s wing.
When the Tomahawks of Squadron Castor were in position above the clumps, Jason gave the order to unleash a volley of high-yield Epsilon-class missiles. The blasts disintegrated the clumps and hurled a cloud of spores toward the approaching Arachnids.
“Bellum, clear the way, attack formation delta-eight,” Jason ordered. “Castor, engage the target and focus fire on one section. We need to punch a hole in its armor. Atlas, you’re escorting me. Keep the spiders away from my Katana at all costs. If we lose this bird, we lose the fight, and the entire fleet. No pressure, guys.”
The Rapiers of Squadron Bellum ripped through the cloud of spores and engaged the Arachnids swarming around the base ship in confusion. The Tomahawks of Squadron Castor followed closely behind. As Adrian had predicted, the base ship had no light weapons. Its massive blaster cannons were useless against starfighters. However, escort destroyers were on their way. The next two minutes would be crucial.
The Tomahawks zeroed in on the nearest section of the base ship and launched Epsilon-class missiles. Nicknamed “dumbies,” epsilons were relatively small, low-tech ordnance, produced in large quantities specifically for fighter-bombers. Despite their short range and primitive guidance system, they proved effective against heavily armored targets due to their destructive power. They produced three blasts in quick succession: the first weakened the armor, the second punched through, and the third triggered a massive antimatter explosion inside the hull.
One squadron of Arachnids moved to shoot down the epsilons and another intercepted the Tomahawks.
“Evade!” Porto boomed.
“They locked on me,” shouted one of the pilots. “Get them off my back!”
One of the Tomahawks disappeared in a flash, hit by a missile. Another one was spiraling planetward, its wings torn off by a blast.
We can’t just watch while they get slaughtered!
“Atlas, combat speed,” Jason ordered. “We’re going in. Red Jack and Radge, cover my six.”
Jason’s Katana thrust out of the cloud of spores and joined the brawl. Four Arachnids were pursuing Porto’s Tomahawk. Jason had no anti-fighter missiles, so he had to rely on his four 12-mm blasters. He’d clocked over a hundred hours in a Katana in sims, but never actually piloted one in real combat.
Let’s see what this baby can do.
He zeroed in on one of the Arachnids, accelerated, and waited for the right instant to open fire. Too early, and the interceptor would dodge; too late, and Porto would be dead.
Jason squeezed the trigger as soon as his Katana entered optimal range. The blasters whirred and hissed, hurtling streams of bolts at the target.
He reduced the Arachnid to a cloud of debris in a second and switched to its wing mate. The latter lasted only a second longer. Its blazing carcass smashed into the base ship and disintegrated.
Radge and Red Jack killed the other two Arachnids, and Porto could now line up a shot at the weakened section of the Ouroboros.
“I owe you one, guys,” Porto said with a nervous chuckle. “For a moment I thought I was a goner. Epsilons locked—admire the fireworks!”
He shot three volleys of two missiles each, and they all hit the target. Antimatter charges detonated deep within the base ship and hurled huge chunks of carapace into space. A glowing cloud of biomatter was expanding from the open wound. Through the gash in the carapace, Jason could make out exposed artificial muscles.
“Special ordnance armed,” he said. “Target acquired. Keep the spiders off my back while I get closer.”
Squadrons of Arachnids were converging toward his Katana. The Biozi must have understood he was the wing leader, and that made him a priority target. The missile lock icon throbbed on his HUD. The red number next to it was rapidly increasing.
He kicked the accelerator and shot defense bots, hoping to gain a few more precious seconds. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon! Just a little bit closer!”
“Dodge, Blaze!” Red Jack yelled.
Sixteen… Twenty-four… Thirty-two…
The number of pursuing missiles was still climbing. Jason was so close that the Ouroboros filled most of his field of view. Only now could he fully realize how massive the base ship was. In his starfighter, he felt like a mosquito attacking some colossal prehistoric creature.
He launched one of the two “special” missiles and jerked the stick to the side, s
till accelerating. The missile disappeared through the gash in the carapace.
His Katana almost grazed the base ship. Jason corrected its trajectory at the last instant to avoid the crash, and slalomed through a forest of the Ouroboros’s appendages and blaster turrets.
Alpha missiles exploded all around him. Shrapnel pounded the fuselage of his starfighter. A crack appeared in the transparent nanoalloy of his cockpit and started to spread.
“It’s working!” someone shouted on the op channel. “Some of the ship’s systems are shutting down.”
Jason glanced at the stats of his wing displayed in a corner of his HUD. A shiver ran down his spine as he realized he’d lost half of his pilots. “What now? We’re getting slaughtered here!”
“You must deliver the second missile,” Winsley replied. “Transmitting flight plan to your wing.”
Jason’s eyes widened as he saw that plan.
“That’s no flight plan; that’s madness,” Porto boomed, as in response to Jason’s thoughts. “We have to get inside this thing?”
“Yep, it seems so,” Jason replied, trying to keep his voice calm. “The virus shut down all forcefields, so we’ll get inside through one of the hangars. Then we follow the main access tunnel to one of the brains of this thing. Follow me.”
He flew into the oval opening of a hangar and turned sharply into the tunnel that ran through the entire base ship.
Jason had never been inside such a ship, and he found the complexity of its structure overwhelming. Strings of autopods raced through transparent maglev lines, artificial muscles formed intricate networks, appendages that looked like giant insect legs moved in unpredictable ways. The slightest piloting error could be fatal.
“The brain…inside a struc…looks like a pillar,” Adrian said. His voice was breaking off due to interference. “Punch through…walls usi…psilon ordnance, arm…ing only. No expl…”
“Repeat, I didn’t get that,” Jason shouted.
“Use armor-pierc…not…ives,” the distorted voice said.
“Copy. Arming epsilons, armor-piercing mode.”
Battlegroup Vega Page 24