Across Enemy Space

by L. J. Simpson

  While the flight computer was making the calculations for the jump he clambered to the rear of the cockpit and opened up the small wash stand. He splashed some water over his face and then wiped it away, vigorously massaging his face and the back of his neck with the towel. He felt fresher for the experience but noted that he was now sporting several days worth of beard; it was uncomfortable, it was beginning to itch and he’d like nothing more than to shave it off, but that would have to wait until he reached safe haven. He gave his chin a final scratch before returning to his seat and donning his flight gear. A minute later, he bid checkpoint Upsilon a final farewell and slipped quietly into hyperspace.

  * * *

  Arriving at checkpoint Phi in five, four, three, two, one… The Raven gave her usual tremor as she entered normal space and Redmayne immediately turned his attention to the threat board as the short range scanners began their search of the immediate vicinity.

  Contact! Redmayne jerked forward as his board lit up.

  Contact: Vessel bearing 270,+030. Range 10,000Km. Classify as Venom class destroyer.

  Contact: Designate Contact 2: Vessel bearing 271,+033. Range 12,000Km. Classify as Venom class destroyer.

  Multiple Contacts!

  Contact 3: Vessel bearing040,-016. Range 65,000Km. Classify as Ballista class battle-cruiser.

  Contact 4: Vessel bearing042,-020. Range 66,000Km. Classify as Regulus class frigate.

  Contact 5: Vessel bearing…

  Redmayne inwardly cursed as he read down the list. There were over forty enemy combatants in the area. He must have blundered straight into some kind of fleet exercise. Of all the damned luck!

  Way out to starboard, there was a fighter carrier in company with its escort, squadrons of attack fighters sweeping the space ahead of their mother ship. Both above and below his position, squadrons of cruisers were wheeling lazily through space. Two hundred thousand kilometers distant, they were also too far away to have detected him.

  Closer in, and almost directly in front was the battle-cruiser supported by flotillas of destroyers and frigates. Arranged in loose lose formation they barred the way ahead, forming a screen that Redmayne couldn’t hope to breach.

  The most immediate danger lay on his port side. The two Venom class destroyers were close. Much, much too close. Already they were increasing speed and turning towards him, their scanners blasting out beams of highly focused energy. Within seconds, one of the beams danced over his position. It vanished for a few moments before returning with a vengeance, locking itself firmly onto the Raven’s hull. It was soon joined by another and then more. A group of frigates was steaming in right behind the two Venoms.

  Redmayne needed no further persuasion. If he stayed here he was dead – within seconds, a volley of missiles would come blazing straight down those enemy scanning beams and that would be that.

  Spooling up the Raven’s sub light engines, he quickly reversed his course and headed for the only area of space open to him. With the throttles pushed to the stops, he began to pull away from the two destroyers, heading for the open end of the box of Combine ships that was threatening to envelope him. Already the cruisers above and below were swooping in to head him off and fighters from the carrier were attempting to swing around in front of him.

  The neck of the trap was closing inexorably, but at the same time the Raven’s speed was slowly increasing. Already he was up to point one light speed and outside missile range of the two destroyers – but not outside the range of particle weapons. He flinched as a volley of proton darts flashed by. They passed well abeam but were soon joined by further volleys, some from astern, and some from the cruisers above and below. Soon, the blackness was crisscrossed with dozens of bolts of pure energy. At this range, the enemy was relying on luck for a kill but as the number of vessels opening fire increased, so did their chances of getting in that lucky shot.

  This was one thing that Redmayne was used to; it was no different to flying in or out of a drop zone. You’d just grit your teeth, hunker down in your seat and pray to God Almighty – whether you believed in him or not.

  He just flew like hell, going as fast as his engines would take him. There was no point in trying any fancy maneuvers; he’d just as likely fly into something as avoid it. Watching as his speed increased to point two light and beyond, he thanked God, providence and his lucky scarf in equal measure as the enemy fire gradually became more sporadic and then dwindled away completely.

  He was leaving the bulk of the enemy fleet behind but the fighters – which could almost match him for speed – were coming around and he still needed time to make the necessary calculations for the jump to light speed. Anywhere would do – even half a light year away; somewhere for him to lay low for a while and work out what to do next. If the worst came to the worst he could jump blind, with all the risks it entailed, but… all he needed was a couple of minutes.

  The fighters were coming in on his port side. With a course change to starboard – and a little more speed – he could pass safely in front of the Venoms and be away. The rest of their fleet wouldn’t matter. He ran the data thought the tactical computer and received an electronic thumbs up. A minute later and with his speed topping point three light, he began nudging the Raven to starboard, one degree at a time. The Venoms opened fire again as he passed across their bows but their shots flew harmlessly wide. With the fighters now dead astern he waited for the flight computer to complete the calculations. Within moments the ‘Ready to Jump’ icon began to flash and with a tap of his index finger he was gone.

  * * *

  Redmayne breathed a sigh of relief as the stars blinked out, replaced by the dull grey of hyperspace. Still pumped up from the encounter, adrenaline was coursing through his veins and his heart pounded in his chest. He took a number of deep breaths, waited for the excitement to bleed off and in the ensuing minutes he took time to reflect on the choices he’d made.

  The thing that pleased him most – apart from the obvious, in that he was still alive – was that he’d managed to stay calm when the situation was at its deadliest. He wondered why it should be that some people panicked when others didn’t. Keeping his head had kept him alive. However, his best decision had undoubtedly been to rest at checkpoint Upsilon; if he’d arrived at Phi in his previously exhausted state, he almost certainly wouldn’t have survived. All in all, it had been–

  Redmayne was thrown hard against his straps as the Raven suddenly lurched out of hyperspace. A raft of warning lights flashed before his eyes and his ears were assaulted by a high pitched alarm.

  Warp disrupter!

  The thought flashed through his brain even before he received confirmation from his instruments. As the Raven tumbled crazily through space, Redmayne worked frantically at the thruster controls, desperately trying to regain some semblance of control. After what seemed an age, he finally managed to counter the spin and brought the ship back to an even keel. He barely had time to check his scanners before a hail of incoming fire swept past his cockpit. Purely on instinct, he spooled up the sub-light engines and smashed the throttles wide open.

  Too late. A volley of proton darts flashed past his port wing, the last dart chopping straight through the edge of the winglet and severing one of the thruster nozzles. Ignited by a shower of sparks from a shattered electrical conduit, the jet of escaping thruster fuel formed a brilliant pennant that streamed out behind the wounded Raven.

  Before Redmayne had chance to react, a Spartax missile detonated just thirty meters astern. The blast shredded the Raven’s propulsion system, fragments ripping through the engines and into the machinery spaces beyond. The impact was so violent that it ripped Redmayne’s seat clean from its mountings. As the Raven reared, he was sent crashing into the rear bulkhead with enough force to crack his helmet.

  On the edges of consciousness, Redmayne unbuckled his straps and crawled forward along the deck plating. Struggling to rise, he finally managed to pull himself up to his knees, his head resting on the ma
in console.

  As darkness closed in around him, Redmayne’s last memory was the sight of a Combine cruiser approaching from dead ahead, its menacing shape looming large through his cockpit window.

  Chapter 25: The Game

  “Mr. Redmayne? Can you hear me, Mr. Redmayne?”

  The voice echoed far away in the distance, fading in and out as a light pulsed somewhere above. Blinking away the tears, Redmayne forced open his eyes, a thousand hazy shapes slowly coalescing to form a vague, watery image. He struggled to bring the image into focus but the light became too much to bear and he squeezed his eyelids shut once more.

  He was tired, so very, very tired, and lying in a bed – a wonderful, warm, comfortable bed with the softest of pillows caressing his head. The voice called to him again but he had neither the will nor the strength to respond. With a faint murmur he retreated back into the darkness.

  “Mr. Redmayne!” This time more urgent.

  There was a sharp, needle like pain to his arm and his eyes jerked open. A tightness immediately formed in his chest as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. With increasing anxiety, he looked from face to face. Who were these people? Where was he? Where was … the Raven!?

  Realization dawned.

  “Redmayne. Major. Alliance Marine Corps,” he gasped.

  “It’s all right, Mr. Redmayne. We just–”

  “Redmayne! Major! Alliance Marine Corps!” Heart pounding within his chest, he was overwhelmed by a sudden and uncontrollable surge of panic. His throat constricted and his back arched painfully as a muscle spasm wracked his body. Hands and arms held him down as he convulsed on the mattress. Blood thundered in his ears and a scream faltered and died at his lips. He thought he must suffocate.

  “We’re losing him! Give me 10ccs Novatrol. Now!”

  * * *

  “Mr. Redmayne,” said a voice gently. “It’s alright, Mr. Redmayne. You’re in good hands now. Just lie still and relax.”

  Redmayne slowly opened his eyes to see a man dressed in a physician’s gown looking down at him over the top of a pair of half moon reading glasses. Slight of build, the physician had a friendly face and thinning grey hair. He smiled reassuringly as he spoke.

  “You’ve had a very nasty experience, Mr. Redmayne, but you’re quite safe now. Do you remember any of what happened?”

  “No… I can’t…” faltered Redmayne. “I mean, I don’t recall…”

  “I understand. Please don’t worry yourself – we’ll have plenty of time to talk about it later. We’ve had to give you a fairly strong sedative so why don’t you rest for a while? I’ll get Nurse Jones to remove that drip from your arm so you can turn over properly. Have yourself a good sleep and I’ll come back and see you later on.” The doctor gave Redmayne a friendly nod and left the room.

  A few minutes later, a nurse entered and deftly removed the needle from his wrist. He looked up at her face as she rolled up the tubing and placed it on a tray alongside the needle and the now empty medication holder. She was young and pretty with biggest, brownest eyes he had ever seen. Nurse Jones caught his gaze and gave him a smile as she fixed a band-aid to the puncture mark.

  “That’s better. Now if there’s anything you need just give this button a press and I’ll be right along,” she said, placing the nurse-call at his side. Then giving his arm a pat, she left, closing the door quietly behind her.

  Redmayne inhaled deeply, breathing out with a sigh of contentment. He felt truly at peace. Turning his head on the pillow, he could see out onto some playing fields, the sounds of children at play drifting through the open window, peals of laughter mixed with screams of excitement and cries of delight. Gazing upwards, he spied a bird overhead, wheeling effortlessly in a cloudless sky. As he watched, a gust of warm air rippled the curtains and touched his cheek.

  Try as he might, he couldn’t quite recall how he’d got here. It wasn’t that his memories were just fuzzy – everything was a complete and utter blank. Strangely enough, it didn’t seem in the slightest bit important. Why would that be? That doctor had said something about a sedative hadn’t he? Maybe that was why...

  Gradually his eyelids began to flutter and close. As he drifted off to sleep, it occurred to him that the only thing he could remember was his name… Bill Redmayne, though he wasn’t at all sure who Bill Redmayne was, or what Bill Redmayne did.

  Oh well, never mind, he was sure it was something he could figure out later...

  * * *

  By the time he next opened his eyes, his memory had returned; or some of it, at least. The memories came back not one by one, or even in a rush. They were just… there. How very odd.

  Bill Redmayne. Thirty three years of age, he lived in a small house in the suburbs of Brunes along with Ellen, his wife of two years. No children yet, but that was something they were working on – almost every day, as a matter of fact. Employed in the accounts department of a pharmaceutical company, he enjoyed rock climbing, ran half marathons, played a mean hand of poker and was an avid game player. He supposed that there might be a whole lot of memories still waiting to work their way back into his consciousness – including how he managed to end up in this hospital bed – but for now, the ones he had were certainly enough to be going on with.

  How long had he been asleep? The sun was still high in the sky – just where it had been when he last recalled seeing it. That was strange too, but no matter.

  Not only had his memory returned, so, it appeared, had his strength. He sat up in bed and poured himself a glass of water from the jug on his bedside table. Gulping it down in one go, he was about to get a refill when the door opened and his physician ambled into the room.

  “Ah, you’re awake at last,” he said. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yeah, sure feels like it,” said Redmayne. “How long was I out for?”

  “A little over twenty four hours,” said the doctor with a smile as he checked his watch.

  “A whole day?” said Redmayne in surprise.

  “Yes, well that was mostly due to the medication. Sorry, but we needed you to rest. So tell me, how are you feeling?”

  “I’m feeling… yeah… I’m feeling fine.”

  “That’s good,” said the doctor. “And by the way, my name is Sanders and I’m a neurologist. I’ve been treating you for the past few days. I’m sure you’re anxious to know what led you to being here but for now, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “OK… fire away.”

  “We’ll start with your name.”

  “Redmayne. Bill Redmayne.”

  “Is that your full name,” asked Sanders with a slight twinkle in his eye.

  “Ah, I see. William Byron Redmayne.”

  “Byron… that’s a most interesting name.”

  “Family tradition,” said Redmayne. “I’m told my great grandfather loved the classical poets.”

  “I see. And you are how old?”

  “Just turned thirty three.”

  “Can you tell me where you live?”

  “Just outside Brunes – a neighborhood called The Larches.”

  “And your profession?”

  “Accountant. Is this a test?”

  “Something like that,” said Sanders. “I could go on but I think perhaps we’ll just skip to the last question. If you could wait a moment...” He opened the door and beckoned for a person to enter. “Mr. Redmayne, could you tell me who this person is?” he said as a woman entered the room.

  Redmayne looked at the face for a few seconds before be broke into a smile. “My wife. How could I forget?”

  Ellen Redmayne sat beside the bed and took her husband’s hand in her own. “But you did forget, though,” she said in a distraught voice. “You gave us such a scare, you know. When I came back home and found you like that… I didn’t know what to think… I didn’t know what to do. I was so scared…” For a moment her face twisted in anguish and a tear welled in the corner of her eye.

  Redmayne just stared. “Ho
n, I’m so sorry. I don’t recall…”

  Dr. Sanders pulled up a chair and sat facing them. “Mr. Redmayne, what is the last thing you do remember? Before waking up here, that is.”

  “I don’t know… I remember… going for a run?”

  “That’s right, you did!” said Ellen. “I went over to my mother’s for the afternoon and you went out jogging.”

  “And do you remember what you did after that?”

  “I guess I got home… then I took a shower… Yes, yes, I did,” he said, the memories becoming clearer.

  “And then?”

  “I… I played a video game for an hour or two.”

  “On what console?”

  “What console? Yeah… I got a new one, a Dreamstation 7.”

  “Mrs. Redmayne?” said Dr. Sanders.

  Ellen Redmayne reached into her bag and took out a headset, passing it over to the doctor.

  “As I’m sure you’re well aware, this is the Dreamstation 7 headset,” said the doctor. “The business end of the latest generation of Dreamstation gaming devices. The two pads which you affix to your temples allow the software to interface directly with the cerebral cortex. Effectively, it plugs straight into the brain, which of course is why it provides such a realistic gaming experience. It has, I understand, more than twice the bandwidth of the previous model, which is where the problem lies.”

  “I’m not sure I understand,” said Redmayne.

  “It seems that with prolonged use, this particular headset can – in certain circumstances – induce a type of schizophrenia in the user. In simple terms, the headset rewires that brain, resulting in the player becoming locked within the game even after the headset has been removed. It would seem to be a rare occurrence but several cases have already been reported. Yours is one of them. The model has been taken off the shelves pending the results of an investigation. Personally, I doubt if we’ll be seeing the Dreamstation 7 again anytime soon, if at all. I certainly hope not anyway.”