Despite their dedication to the Empire, commandants could still fall to the Taint. Their compartments were secure, but not impregnable. The commandant generals could be reached, though it would take time and set off alarms. For that reason each commandant general had what was generally known as a BRB. A Big Red Button. A way of destroying the entire ship in a cataclysmic engine overload.
Clay had his doubts about the Commandant General system. He was pretty certain everyone on board did, especially the captain. No one discussed them, though, especially aboard a ship where the commandant could be listening to any conversation he chose.
“Purple Cloud, this is Papa-Two. What’s the problem?”
“You were engaged in combat with one of the Tainted.”
The commandant’s voice was scratchy and should have sounded weak, but it didn’t. There was a strength, a conviction, threaded through it.
“The demise of Papa-Five proves it,” the commandant continued. “The engines developed a fault far too quickly for there to be any other explanation. Your shields were badly depleted during the fight. I must ensure there is no chance you too are now carrying the Taint.”
Clay was shocked to realise his life was on the line. After surviving the desperate fight he might now be killed by his own side. If he hadn’t reported his suspicions then Leo might still have been alive, and Clay would have been heading in to dock. The irony wasn’t lost on him.
He thought back over the fight. Had his shields been knocked out at any time? He was certain they hadn’t. Had they been depleted far enough that spot failures could have developed? Failures that would have let weapons fire and potentially far worse through? He realised he had no idea.
With chilling clarity he remembered the collision alarm triggering. At the time he’d assumed that was down to the enemy Falcon getting so close. What if it was more than that, though? What if the Falcon had unleashed something at point-blank range?
Clay resisted the urge to go through his own records. If he did then it would flag up on the commandant’s screens immediately and would look suspicious. It would make it seem Clay had doubts of his own, and that might tip the commandant’s hand.
The wait seemed to be interminable. Clay found himself sweating. If they decided to implement Omega Protocol then would they tell him first, or would he just disappear in a cloud of superheated gasses? If they did tell him then his options were limited. His Lightning had no jump drive and a range limited by his need to eat and drink. He realised they wouldn’t. They hadn’t warned Leo. They wouldn’t warn him.
“Papa-Two, you are cleared to dock.”
Clay jumped slightly. The commandant was gone, replaced by the bored voice of control. For several seconds he sat stunned, amazed that he’d been given the all clear.
“Papa-Two, please respond.”
The controller’s voice was tinged with impatience this time.
“Sorry. Roger that. Proceeding to dock.”
Clay flew his fighter on automatic, the familiar task needing little of his attention as dark thoughts flickered through his mind. It didn’t feel right that he had survived when Leo had died. If only he’d kept quiet about the enemy pilot’s abilities.
Though he knew, deep down, that that hadn’t been an option. If only he’d turned sooner, reached Leo sooner. If only he’d gone with Leo’s group. A dark corner of Clay’s mind even wished the commandant had ordered his death too.
* * *
Clay sat in the corner of the mess, nursing an almost empty bottle of beer. It was late and he was tired, exhausted even, but he couldn’t face sleep yet. Sleep would mean the day was over. It would mean Leo belonged to the past rather than the present. Sleep would bring the service for Leo, and the other pilots who had been killed. He couldn’t face that yet.
The lights were low, dimmed for the night, which suited Clay’s mood. Officially he wasn’t supposed to drink while the ship was on combat alert, which was pretty much all the time now. One of the mess staff had handed Clay the beer without him having to ask. He’d nodded his thanks, then taken himself off to sit facing the corner, back to the rest of the room.
That had been two or three hours earlier. Since then the few people in the mess had drifted away, and the mess staff had closed up. Clay had taken smaller and smaller sips from the beer. Finishing the bottle would leave him without an excuse to avoid sleep.
Clay jumped as a bottle thumped down onto the table. Lost in his misery, Clay hadn’t realised someone had approached. The captain dropped into a chair, two glasses clinking as he placed them on the table.
“At ease,” he said. “Don’t get up. Leo deserves something better than a beer in his memory.”
Clay looked at the bottle. Whiskey. And full, too. Tempted though he was, that would be crossing a massive line.
“Sorry, Captain, that’s a bad idea. I’m on active duty.”
“No, you’re not. That fight against one of the Tainted has left you exhausted. You’re signed off sick for twenty-four hours to recover. Now, get this down you.”
The captain filled the two glasses with whiskey, then pushed one towards Clay. Clay shrugged and knocked it back in one. The fire it ignited in his chest felt good. The captain refilled Clay’s glass, then started to sip from his own. Clay followed suit, sipping it rather than throwing it down.
“You told Leo about the Omega protocol, didn’t you?”
Clay choked on his drink. He stared at the captain through watering eyes. What he’d done, telling Leo, was a serious offence. Probably enough to get him shot. Should he lie? Somehow he couldn’t bring himself to care about what happened. He shrugged.
“Yes. It didn’t seem right letting him just sit there with no idea what was coming.”
“And if he’d run? If he got scared, or he’d already been Tainted?”
“Then I’d have hunted him down and killed him,” Clay replied firmly. “His fighter was wrecked. He wasn’t going anywhere fast.”
“Good.” The captain clapped him on the shoulder, then downed his own drink. “You gave him the chance to die a fighter’s death. He deserved that. I have to go. Stay here. Finish the bottle. That’s an order. I expect you to look suitably poorly tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“No problem. Just remember to dispose of the empty bottle or I’ll have the whole ship trying to break into my private stores.”
He stood and walked from the table. Clay sat staring at the bottle, thinking how lucky he’d been. Then something struck him. He swung round on his seat, calling to the departing captain.
“Captain! What if the commandant general is listening? He’ll insist on punishment for my breaking the rules.”
Captain Webb turned, a slight smile on his face.
“There’s no what if,” he said. “The commandant general is definitely listening. I told him of my suspicions before coming to see you. Don’t worry. What I said still goes.”
Clay’s head spun. “But… I don’t understand.”
“The commandant is interested in only two things. Keeping this ship free of the Taint and protecting the Empire. And not in that order. Nothing you did goes against either of those.
“There was no threat of Leo getting free or harming us and you’d just survived combat with an exceptionally skilled pilot who was almost certainly Tainted. You’re worth far more to us alive than dead. Something you might want to remember the next time you go chasing off after the enemy without backup.”
The captain’s smile robbed the words of their sting. Mostly, at least. Not waiting for a reply, he turned and left. Clay stared after him for a few moments, then glanced around the room. He couldn’t see any sign he was being watched, but that meant little. He raised his glass in salute, then knocked the contents back in one.
Clay believed strongly in the Empire, he wouldn’t be where he was now if he didn’t. He even saw the need for the commandants in some ways. Actually dealing with them had always been a painful experience, th
ough. The feeling that just one slip, one wrong word, could lead to disaster. Clay had heard plenty of stories of exactly that happening, of commandants taking the strictest possible interpretation over the most minor issues.
He’d assumed the commandant general would be the same. So had everyone else. Knowing he could be watching at any time had put everyone on edge, and it wasn’t even something they could blow off steam about. Now the captain was telling him the commandant was exactly the opposite, that he would overlook minor issues in favour of getting the final result. Could that be true?
Trying to think about it was just too much effort. The day had been exhausting physically, mentally and emotionally. Clay grabbed the whiskey bottle and refilled his glass. The captain had left him with a clear order, to empty the bottle, and it was an order he was happy to obey.
Chapter 23
Sal was still steaming with anger. Stamping around the Wanderer’s living area for twenty minutes hadn’t helped. Waiting for the Imperial fleet to arrive wasn't helping. Dash had tried talking to Sal. Her replies had swung from grunts to acidic comments.
He’d soon given up. Now she sat in the living area, waiting for things to happen. Not knowing was the worst. She needed some displays, at least. Jess was on the flight deck. She could go sit there, but it seemed a bad idea given her anger. She would have to speak to Jess, though, ask him to create some screens in the living area.
Sal stood and managed to take two steps before the Wanderer rocked violently. It shook again, throwing Sal to the ground, then bucked as a titanic thud shook the ship. She felt heavy acceleration. Another thud came, shaking the whole ship this time. Then another. The Wanderer lurched again, sending her rolling until she slammed into a sofa.
She lay in a dazed heap, groaning and preparing for the next assault. Everything had taken only ten or fifteen seconds so far. What else was coming?
* * *
Unlike Sal, Jess was more than ready for what happened. His thoughts were already heavily accelerated. He shifted them into an even higher state as space around the Wanderer lit up with the scars which signified ships returning from jump space.
Jess grudgingly accepted that Dash had been right, the entry points were all around the Wanderer. The fleet had found a way to improve their targeting. Once again the battlecruiser was the first ship to break through. Whatever they were using to track the Wanderer must be on that ship. It made sense. The battlecruiser was the strongest ship in the fleet.
One question was answered, at least. The speed with which the fleet had reached the Wanderer, together with the direction they arrived from, confirmed the Wanderer was being tracked directly. The implications were chilling. Wherever they went, whatever they did, that fleet would be doggedly following behind.
The battlecruiser made it fully into real space. The ships nearest to it were nearly through. It was time to leave. Jess sent the Wanderer clawing its way towards jump space. Let the fleet follow. The Wanderer could travel faster than they could. If they wanted to track down the Wanderer then they’d better get ready for a long chase.
Nothing happened. With so many ships dropping out of jump space close together the fabric of jump space was being badly disrupted. The Wanderer couldn’t break through. They were stuck. Jess froze for a moment. Even with his thoughts massively accelerated it nearly proved fatal. He recovered quickly, throwing the Wanderer into a steep dive, but not fast enough. The Wanderer shook as the battlecruiser’s massive banks of laser weapons struck home.
The Wanderer was moving now, but too slowly. A second volley of laser fire shook the ship. The shields were already below seventy percent. Jess routed all power from the main weapons into the shields and thrusters. Trying to fight the battlecruiser would be suicide. Their only hope lay in running, in jump space or real space.
A volley of missiles swung in close to the Wanderer. He’d left the point defence lasers powered and put them to good use now. The missiles were still tightly grouped, not having had the time or distance to spread out. Jess managed to destroy a handful, which triggered a chain reaction through the rest.
For a moment he grinned, glad to have dealt with the missiles so easily. Then the shock wave hit. Even through the shields it felt as if something titanic had thudded against the ship.
Jess pushed the Wanderer even harder, wringing every bit of acceleration he could from her. He knew it wouldn’t be enough. The battlecruiser was still almost on top of them. It could pour out enough fire and missiles to destroy the Wanderer long before it was possible to reach jump space.
More missiles shot out from the battlecruiser, many more this time. Someone had spotted that the Wanderer’s shields had been depleted by the first near misses. Another wave followed close behind.
Jess got more of the missiles this time, but they were more spread out. The missiles streaked in close… and exploded before reaching the Wanderer’s shields. This time the whole ship shook, but the damage was mostly to the shields which dropped to thirty percent.
Jess desperately tried to get the Wanderer into jump space. Still no luck. He frantically started targeting the next wave of missiles. While he had some luck it was soon clear many would get through.
They did. Once again they exploded just short of the shields, but their effect was devastating. Every shield on the ship blew, leaving the Wanderer defenceless. The ship was badly shaken but took no other structural damage. With her shields down she was helpless, though, and jump space was out of reach.
Armoured assault shuttles launched from the battlecruiser. The Empire were taking a different approach this time, one that could easily work. Jess rerouted power back to the weapons. There were no shields to power. Well, almost none. The emergency shield generators were still in place, giving Jess a way out if only jump space would settle down.
The shuttles covered the distance quickly, hardly slowing as they neared the Wanderer. They were going for a hard and fast landing. Jess studied where they were aiming for, preparing the ship’s internal defences.
Jess made the Wanderer reach out for jump space once more. The fabric of space around them was still too disturbed but the engines gained more traction than they had before. They should be able to jump soon. But would it be soon enough?
Several of the shuttles had almost reached the Wanderer. Jess opened fire, bathing them in lasers and plasma. At such short-range even the slow-moving plasma struck almost immediately, far too quickly for the shuttles to dodge. Every targeted shuttle disappeared, replaced by an expanding cloud of superheated debris.
The response from the battlecruiser was immediate. Lasers lashed out, targeting every weapon that had fired. Several survived but most were badly damaged or completely destroyed.
Jess cursed. Without shields the Wanderer’s weapons were horribly exposed. Two more shuttles were about to make contact but there was nothing he could do. Rotating the Wanderer to bring other weapons to bear would take too long. He made the Wanderer reach for jump space again.
As the Wanderer scrabbled for traction, Jess felt twin thumps. The two shuttles had made contact. In fact, they’d smashed part way into the Wanderer’s hull. A hatch blew open in the front of each and armour clad figures charged through. Jess estimated each shuttle could hold thirty or forty troops.
Sixty to eighty troops, all armed and armoured. And more with every shuttle that managed to reach them. Desperately he worked with the Wanderer, trying to find any patch of stability for the jump engines. Another shuttle smashed into the Wanderer.
There! For a fleeting moment a small patch on the rippling fabric of space smoothed out. Jess had the Wanderer use it to drag itself into jump space. The jump engines groaned under the strain, a strain made worse by Jess forcing the jump field into a specific pattern.
It might have strained the engines but it had the desired effect. Jess had forced the field to hug the Wanderer, instead of extending tens of metres out as it normally would. The field had sliced through the three shuttles, leaving only the par
t embedded in the Wanderer. Most of the three shuttles were left behind in real space. Two unfortunate troopers were caught halfway across the division point. The field split them in two.
Jess quickly moved his focus away from their gruesome remains. He had no time to consider the fate of those he’d set loose in jump space. He had to deal with those who’d made it aboard, and he was struggling to keep the Wanderer in jump space.
With a wrench the Wanderer crashed back into real space again. The battlecruiser was now a long way distant. So were the shuttles. The Wanderer wasn’t alone, though. Several Imperial ships were nearby. It wouldn’t take them long to open fire.
Jess focused, searching for a way to reach jump space again. This time he found a chance almost immediately, and threw the Wanderer back into the safety of jump space. The jump engines groaned again, but this time they managed to keep the Wanderer from returning to real space. Once again the emergency shields were the only thing keeping the Wanderer from instant destruction. A few seconds flight and jump space had settled down. They were safe from the fleet. Now Jess just had to deal with the seventeen heavily armed troopers who had made it on board.
* * *
Nature took care of two troopers before Jess could lend a hand. The open hatches in what remained of the front of the shuttles now opened onto vacuum. Jump space was similar to real space in that way, at least. Two unlucky troopers had still been climbing out of the shuttle when the Wanderer entered jump space. As air from the Wanderer rushed out it dragged them back through their hatches and into oblivion.
That left fifteen. Most were sealed away in the main hold but the last shuttle had rammed home in the shuttle bay attached to the living area. Only four troopers had made it on board, but those four were only one airlock away from the living area and Sal.
Wanderer's Odyssey - Books 1 to 3: The Epic Space Opera Series Begins Page 64