Free Space

by Scott Bartlett

  He pushed off from the tower’s top with his legs, landing on the bridge and raising his weapon toward the thing’s alien face, with its permanent expression of casual loathing.

  His scope had already been dialed down, and now he reduced the magnification to almost nothing. The crosshair settled over the thing’s eye, and his finger jerked on the trigger, in exactly the way his training had taught him not to fire a weapon.

  But he’d known the moment had been right, and his shot bit into the insectile black orb that served the Xanthic for eyes.

  That got its intention. The bridge was thinned out enough now that the alien had room to charge him. And it did.

  Avery was sure he felt his bowels loosening, but he ignored that. He charged as well.

  Everything seemed to slow a half-step, and the alien’s blade descended toward him in a wide arc. Avery hit the deck, throwing his arms up behind him and using the suit’s wrist thrusters to slide feet-first between the Xanthic’s long, sinewy legs.

  Being this much smaller than the thing had its advantages. There was enough room for Avery to point his sniper straight up, with over a meter’s clearance to spare. He fired, and got lucky. The Xanthic’s groin had sparse covering, and when Avery’s round burrowed there, it didn’t seem to like it at all.

  His slide didn’t carry him as far as he would have hoped. As the thing turned, it nearly smacked him with one of its long, skinny feet, and he desperately pushed against the ground with his left glove to right himself, staggering forward. He managed to turn himself around and raise his weapon.

  His brother spoke again. You have time. Breathe, Willy. The sort of thing he might have said while they were hunting buck in the South Carolina woods.

  He had about a second, and he used it to straighten out a shot for the same eye he’d hit before, which was half-covered now with white pus.

  The tattered half-sphere ruptured, and the thing’s chittering reached a fever pitch, abusing Avery’s ears before his helmet auto-adjusted the frequency. An instant later, the flat of the thing’s arm blade smacked into his side, sending him careening off the bridge and into the river.

  His power suit’s thrusters weren’t designed to help him achieve actual lift—just to slow a descent. But he managed to hold onto his wits enough to point his left calf at the river’s middle and engage that thruster, which pushed him away from the deep part as he arced toward the water.

  He landed in the shallows with a mighty splash, his feet striking the rock below harder then he expected, which sent a shock running up his legs that even the suit couldn’t completely cancel out.

  He’d lost his sniper—probably, it was on its way to the river bottom. So he clawed his service pistol from his hip and raised it toward the gigantic alien climbing down from the bridge, its remaining eye fixed on him.

  The pistol’s muzzle flashed in the darkness, its coughing punctuated by his hammering heartbeat. He wasn’t sure how many of his shots struck home—just that they didn’t stop the Xanthic’s advance. He waded backward through the shallows, far too slow. The alien reached him and knocked him down with tendrils bunched like a fist.

  Half-submerged, Avery scrabbled at the surface beneath him, his movements slowed by the water.

  Too late.

  The giant’s blade came down, slicing through suit and shoulder. A scream tore from Avery’s throat as pain exploded across his upper torso, his nerve endings ringing with it.

  The beast withdrew the blade, seemed to collect itself, then leveled it at his stomach. Avery pushed weakly against the river bank. But there was no evading it.

  A marine leapt from the bridge and onto the Xanthic’s back, combat knife flashing down, then up, then down again. Each thrust brought more black liquid trailing it, alien blood spewing like oil.

  The marine’s transponder identified her as Veronica Rose.

  “Ms. Rose, no!” He couldn’t lift his arm to switch channels, but in less than a second the AI analyzed his speech, realized he was trying to contact the CEO, and established the connection for him, relaying the recording of what he’d said.

  She didn’t answer, raising her knife to stab again. Before she could, the Xanthic’s tentacles snaked around to peel her off its back. It brought her around to dangle by the legs before it, three meters out.

  Avery fought to regain his feet, and this time he managed it.

  Again, he was too late.

  Rose was hacking at the tendrils holding her with her knife, but the alien put a swift end to that, driving a blade through her armor just below her solar plexus. When it withdrew the weapon, she went limp, and it dropped her unceremoniously into the deepest part of the water.

  Avery slammed another magazine into his pistol and resumed firing up into the Xanthic’s face. Then, as the alien approached him, seeming to stumble a little as it did, he fed a grenade into his hand from the arm hopper.

  He activated it, cooking it until the last minute. Another thing his training had taught him never to do.

  He flicked the grenade with his off-arm, since his good one hung uselessly at his side. But his aim was good, and it exploded in the giant’s face.

  Not waiting to see the effect, he continued firing. But the alien’s head was a ruin, and its legs were slowly buckling. It crashed into the shallows with a mighty splash.

  Avery threw himself toward the river’s middle, submerging himself and scanning the spot where Rose had gone under. For several terrifying seconds, he couldn’t find her. Then his HUD locked onto her transponder once more, overlaying a green box over her still frame.

  He used his thrusters to drift toward her, the only viable way for maneuvering underwater in the heavy suit. But scarlet clouded the water above her, streaming from the rent in her armor, and he knew in his heart that it was too late.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Aboard the New Jersey

  Ucalegon System, Lacuna Region

  Earth Year 2290

  The powerful beams played across the New Jersey’s hull, ripping furrows that went multiple sections deep. Thatcher felt like they were hitting him directly. Soon enough, they might be.

  His ship’s repair drones were soon joined by those from Lightfoot and North Star. Painted with a coating designed to reflect multiple wavelengths of light, each drone could withstand at least brief contact with an enemy’s primary, allowing it to scamper across the hull out of harm’s way. It wouldn’t keep them operating forever, but it allowed them to continue repairing the Jersey’s abused flank, even as more damage piled up.

  “Helm, evasive maneuvers.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  There was no time for any actual astrogation, and so Kitt would have to accelerate along one of the AI’s predetermined patterns. But it was better than nothing.

  Candle twisted toward him. “Sir, the other Frontier ships are closing in around us. It seems they plan to cover our escape.”

  Just like they did in Kava. “No.” His voice came out as a croak, carrying more emotion than he wanted. “Tell them to fall back as well.” For any ship to draw closer to the Xanthic armada would likely spell its doom.

  That includes the Jersey, unless I do something right now.

  “XO, order Redpole and Lively to execute omnidirectional jamming immediately.”

  Thatcher barely heard Candle’s acknowledgment, lost in his own tactical display. His chair thrummed with the energy pouring into the vessel all around it, and he marveled that his ship was still intact.

  Thank you, old girl. Now keep it up.

  If the omnidirectional jamming proved as ineffective as the directional had, he and his crew were surely doomed. All he could do was sit in silent prayer, his eyes glued to his holoscreen.

  The display washed out, and he knew the jamming had begun. “Switch up our navigational pattern, Helm. Work with Nav to keep our movement nice and random.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The Jersey lurched sideways, propelled by every port-side antimatter thruste
r engaging at once with full power. With that, the seven ravaging lasers fell away.

  He permitted himself a ragged breath. Then one of the beams found her again.

  Shocked murmurs and horrified glances were exchanged all around them.

  He felt his crew’s panic, and he forced it down. “Keep it together,” he barked, as much for himself as for the others.

  How could they possibly still be targeting us? In spite of the jamming, the Xanthic had clearly anticipated his crew’s psychology enough to guess the direction they’d head in.

  His eyes locked onto the Helm officer. “Bring our nose twenty degrees to the left and ten above the system’s ecliptic plane. Full thrust.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The maneuver finally freed them of the laser. But seconds later, an explosion rocked the ship, tossing Thatcher against his restraints.

  “Damage report!” he yelled even before the tumult had subsided.

  Candle swallowed visibly before answering. “Our new starboard missile tube is gone, sir. The heat must have caused the Hellborn inside it to go off.”

  Thatcher stared back at his XO with wide eyes. Each missile was supposed to have a failsafe to prevent that. Clearly, that one had been defective.

  Each missile tube was surrounded by heavy shielding, to prevent taking the ship along with it in the unlikely event of something like this. That was all that had saved them. As for the missiles themselves, they were stored deep inside the ship, which partially accounted for the loading time that he so often wished were faster. Not now. If they’d been closer, the resulting explosion would have been catastrophic.

  “Sir…”

  Thatcher raised his eyebrows, exhibiting a calm he didn’t feel. Dreading what Candle would say next.

  “I’ve just received word that Commander Ainsley was in the same section as the tube when it went. Apparently he’d detected something about the faulty missile and was accessing a control panel nearby, to try to fix the problem. He’s gone, sir.”

  The news numbed Thatcher, and he found himself nodding dumbly. Ainsley was a good man. Sloppy, in some ways, but frequent inspections had brought him a long way. And he’d clearly been willing to risk everything for the ship he was responsible for keeping together.

  As Candle said, now the Jersey had lost her chief engineer. In the middle of her most important battle yet.

  Other than the lasers’ absence, there was no way to tell how the omnidirectional jamming was affecting the enemy ships.

  “XO.”

  Candle turned toward him once more.

  “Load a drone with orders to the Swan to begin approaching the battle at once, then fire it toward her at top speed. Tell Captain Sho to relay sensor information to all of our ships, via laser link.”

  Candle nodded. “Aye, sir.”

  “Fire another drone toward the other Frontier ships, and tell them to move toward the Swan, maneuvering around the Xanthic formation—at least, around their last known position. Nav, take us along the same course.”

  The drones would help them overcome the comm disruption faster. Hopefully a lot faster than the enemy.

  Flying blind, the journey through the unknowable void felt excruciating. But according to his console’s extrapolation of their position relative to the enemy’s, they were making good time.

  And when the sensor fog finally started to lift, two surprises awaited them.

  Candle shared the first with him. “Sir, dozens of craft are moving up through Recept’s atmosphere to dock with the Xanthic warships. There are none moving in the opposite direction.”

  Blinking, Thatcher studied his holoscreen, which confirmed Candle’s words with a cloud of tiny dots drifting up out of the planet’s gravity well. What did it mean?

  They’re leaving. Suddenly, he was sure of it. But why? And to do what? Attack another part of the Dawn Cluster?

  The second surprise came from studying the Xanthic fleet. Despite that one of their ships had been able to anticipate the Jersey’s movement well enough to hit her with a blind shot, the rest of the fleet appeared completely disoriented by the Frontier force’s relocation. The Xanthic fleet posture was still focused on the human ships’ former location.

  Odd. It made no sense. The directional jamming had done little, but omnidirectional had shut them down almost completely? Had that laser attack been a lucky shot?

  Well, he wasn’t about to waste the opportunity. And he didn’t intend to let the Xanthic escape. Not without paying for it.

  “Candle, distribute orders for our six assault ships to focus primary laserfire on the nearest enemy vessel.” He lifted a finger to his holoscreen. “I’m designating the target now for forwarding.”

  Six beams ripped through the void, converging near the target ship’s stern. Once again, without shields of any kind, the enemy ship couldn’t withstand the attack for long.

  It exploded, short-lived flames licking the void before they were extinguished. According to Thatcher’s data readout, the kill had been quick enough that the Jersey retained most of her capacitor charge.

  “Again. Next target.” He flicked the designation over to Candle’s station.

  Instead of striking back, the Xanthic’s harried flank imploded, scurrying back toward their main force while imparting nothing more than covering fire.

  The Frontier ships were merciless, pursuing across the battlespace, racking up two more kills. Then three beyond that, in quick succession. With capacitors taxed, Thatcher gave the order to switch to Hellborns.

  The last smaller Xanthic craft vanished inside its mothership, and with that, the entire force began to speed away from the Frontier ships. The sudden cowardice could only be explained by one thing, as far as Thatcher could figure:

  The Xanthic had bigger fish to fry. They were on a mission, and they considered the losses Frontier was inflicting to be unacceptable. So they were fleeing.

  That suited Thatcher just fine. He would chase them until he’d expended his entire arsenal, knowing that if he overextended he could simply order another round of omnidirectional jamming.

  Then, the impossible happened. Something appeared on his tactical display that the computer didn’t seem to know how to render as an icon. First, it appeared as a square with a question mark on it. Then an oval, which the display represented as much bigger than even the Xanthic warships. It dwarfed them.

  “Candle,” Thatcher said slowly. “Get me a visual.”

  Even before he saw it, he knew what it was. Especially when the Xanthic ships began to disappear into it.

  It was a wormhole. And somehow, the aliens had managed to generate it out of the nothingness of space.

  As the enemy’s remaining ships—thirty-seven of their original fifty-one—vanished, one by one, Thatcher eyed the wormhole hungrily, thinking of Lin.

  Almost, he gave the order to follow. But he knew that would be foolishness on a suicidal level. He had no idea where the wormhole led.

  Frontier lasers were playing across the last Xanthic ship’s hull as it passed through the anomaly. But it escaped intact, and seconds later the wormhole did indeed close.

  Thatcher sat there in silence. He wasn’t sure how long. None of his CIC crew spoke.

  Until, after what may have been an eternity, Candle did speak. “We’ve received a transmission from the planet’s surface, sir. Major Avery is aboveground with what remains of his force. He says they’ve taken heavy casualties, and….” The XO’s voice grew pained as he finished his report. “Ms. Rose is among them.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Aboard the New Jersey

  Quad System, Lacuna Region

  Earth Year 2290

  The dreams were nonsense, but they came fast and took on a life of their own. Perhaps they were life, now—her life. An eternal purgatory abandoned by reason long ago, if it had ever been here.

  Simon Moll sat in command of the Victorious, chin resting on a fist as his crew took the destroyer into battle. The shape of his
eyes narrowed, extending inward until they almost touched. His skin darkened to charcoal and began to shine. Tentacles broke through his skin, then grew in bunches. Blades, too. Moll became a Xanthic.

  She didn’t wake, slipping instead into the next dream, where Major Avery grew to gigantic proportions, power suit growing with him, till he stood tall enough to face off with an alien colossus on an underground bridge. They fought as tears streamed down Avery’s face.

  A vast fleet swept the Dawn Cluster, made up of ships as large as UNC super-ships and as small as the most decrepit converted pirate freighter. They were chaos incarnate, and they took orders from just one man. Hans Mittelman.

  Thatcher sat at her side, face in his hands, unmoving.

  An endless parade of nonsensical dreams, each less believable than the last.

  She woke in a paper gown covered by a thin blanket, not quite trusting this wasn’t just another dream. When she tried to sit up, a pain ripped through her torso and she fell back, gasping. Something near her head emitted a shrill beeping.

  Underneath her gown, she found thick staples holding her abdomen together. She groaned.

  A knock came from across the room. Doctor Cruz at the open door with a hand raised, smiling in at her.

  “Come in,” she rasped.

  “Don’t try to sit up, Ms. Rose. You have plenty of bed rest ahead of you, I’m afraid. The captain wanted to be notified the minute you woke. I’m to get him…”

  She rasped again, but her voice came out too quiet. The doctor stepped closer, leaning in.

  “What happened with the Xanthic?” she managed.

  “They…well, perhaps the captain should explain. He got us through it, ma’am. I don’t know how he did it, but we’re still here.” He frowned, lips twitching. “Most of us.”

  It took only twenty minutes for Thatcher to step briskly through the door, then across the room, where he sat in the solitary chair at her bedside. “Ms. Rose. You’re awake.”

  “Clearly.” Her voice still came out thin, but at least she was getting some volume into it now. “I heard you kept the Jersey together through sheer force of will.”