by Rob Dearsley
Damn, they were too late. He glanced at the HUD, flicking through the slipways. Thank the Stars, there was one just under a minute away. They might make it.
“Jax, how long do we have.”
Her reply was a hoarse whisper that he almost missed. “The star will reach critical mass in two minutes, tops.”
He sighed, pulling the ship sluggishly round. Plenty of time.
“Captain, I’m picking up a distress call. It’s Admiral Niels and Captain Rossini, in one of the Montgomery’s escape pods.”
Damn you, Arland, we don’t have the time. “Show me.”
A reticule appeared around the small pod. It was at least a minute away, in the other direction. There was no way they could make it to the pod and back to the slipway.
“Sir,” Arland said, quietly. “Niels backed you, trusted you.”
Stars damn her, she was right. He couldn’t just leave them. There had to be another way. He paged through the slipways, his fingers fumbling the keys in his haste. There had to be something, anything. He was clutching at straws, he knew, but it was all they had left. They’d used all their luck, all their guile, every plan, trick, and blind stab in the dark.
There was nothing left but this last, tiny sliver of hope, and he was damned if he was going to let it go.
There it was. Another slipway, an old one, not fully connected to the highway system, but it was only forty seconds from the escape pod.
“Cap’n, we’re going to be cutting this fine,” Luc said.
“I know. We don’t have time to dock.” Dannage didn’t take his eyes from the screens. “We scoop and run.”
“It’s a crazy plan,” Luc said.
“It's what the Folly was designed to do.” Just not at high speed. “Besides, crazy’s all we’ve got left now. Tell the Marines to clear the bay.”
He didn’t have any attention to spare to know if anyone was following his instructions. He whipped the Folly through the debris field at breakneck speeds.
Dannage ducked under a tumbling weapons battery bigger than his whole ship. There it was, less than a hundred metres out.
“Hold’s open,” Luc said.
Dannage didn’t reply. Instead, he pulled the Folly’s nose up, his attention going to the underside camera feeds, lining up the approach to the pod. He pushed the thrusters as hard as he could to slow their intercept speed. The ship trembled and groaned beneath him.
“Hold together, old girl,” Dannage begged, slowing the ship still further as proximity alarms blared. He adjusted the ship slightly, feeling the impacts of small debris against the hull through the controls. The pod had disappeared from the cameras’ field of view. All that was left now was hope.
There was a huge thud and the ship lurched, pulling the flight stick from his sweat-slicked hands.
“They’re in. Closing her up,” Luc announced.
“Thirty seconds,” Jax whimpered, huddling deeper into her blanket.
Dannage put the slipway in the centre of the screen and pushed the engines way up past the redline. The debris field had mercifully petered out, leaving him nothing to do but watch the two sets of numbers count down.
Thirty seconds to the slipway, twenty-eight until the blast. Temperature warnings lit up across his console. He ignored them, promising his ship that he’d get her fixed up later.
Twenty-five seconds to the slipway, they were still behind. Fire alarms replaced three of the temperature warnings. Grayson and his Marines ran for the fire-fighting equipment.
Ten seconds to go. The engines screamed in protest, warning lights going off across the board. Alarm after alarm shrilled through the bridge. The slipway bloomed open, pale blue in front of them, they were going to make it.
Around them, the last of the SDF ships volleyed with the Terrans, keeping them occupied before racing for slipways further out. He could just make out the remains of the X-ship in the corner of the viewport, tumbling in a rapidly decaying orbit around the nearly dead star.
The star flared, then died.
The nearest ships turned to run but were caught in the near-lightspeed shockwave and ripped apart.
Something important in the Folly’s engines snapped, the stick going limp in Dannage’s hand. She’d given them everything.
The light from the slipway engulfed the Folly, pulling her into the calm blue of the highway.
Dannage looked through the viewport, the highway stretched away into the distance. “Does anyone know where this comes out?”
Twenty-five
- SDF Hikaru, Zircon System -
Everything was fuzzy. Arland supposed it was something to do with all the drugs they were pumping into her.
It turned out the old slipway didn’t go far before depositing them into one of the few systems untouched by the war. Once Niels was on the intersystem com, it wasn’t long before what was left of the fleet showed up.
She’d been bundled off to medical with Luc and the rest of the wounded. Meanwhile, the captain and Hale had been taken away for debriefing. Knowing the military, they were probably still being interviewed. For now, Arland was happy to float in this drug-induced haze.
Every now and then memories floated past. Simon’s face. Her mother’s.
Blood and pain. The Turned attacking them.
“Arland. Arland. Shauna.”
Arland thrashed away from the touch, or tried to. The hand stayed on her shoulder, pinning her. Images of the Turned flashed in front of her eyes, claws ripping at her flesh. The drug haze washed away in a flood of adrenaline as she blinked her eyes clear.
Concern etched itself into the captain’s face. She felt heat flush into her own, her embarrassment rising.
“Are you okay? You were moaning.”
She took a moment to arrange her fragmented thoughts. “Sorry. How long have you been there?”
“Not long.” He was lying, Arland was sure. His eyes were hooded and sunken, his whole face drawn and tight. “Can’t sleep anyway.” His gaze became distant.
“Nightmares?” She placed her other hand over his. Her arms were still swathed in nannite bandages.
The captain nodded. “Every time I close my eyes, I see it. All the death and destruction. Sam…”
There were no words, nothing that would make it any better. So, Arland just held his hand, ignoring the tears rolling down his cheeks.
◊◊
Hale leaned back in the chair, closing her eyes. Before her sat a pair of SDF scientists. Behind her, a pair of soldiers stood vigil. That they no longer bore heavy weapons and armour was, at least, something.
“Ma’am?”
She sat up, meeting the scientist’s eyes. “I’m ready.”
“We’re done with the questions for now.”
Hale breathed a sigh of relief, becoming instantly suspicious. She’d spent the last week being poked, prodded and questioned fourteen hours a day.
Voices drifted in from the hallway outside. “Sir, I must insist.”
“You can insist all you want. I’m going in there.”
The voices drew closer. “Sir, I can’t let you go through. This is a restricted area.”
“Look, you muppet,” she recognised the voice as Dannage’s. “Either arrest me or get out the damn way.”
The demand was followed by Luc’s quieter, more conciliatory voice and a moment later Dannage shoved the door open.
He gave her a bright smile and slapped his flex down on the table. “We’re taking Hale for a couple of days. Niels has signed off on it.”
Hale returned the smile as Luc and Arland stepped in. Matthews and the others might be gone, but she had new friends. A new family.
◊◊
“Where’s my memorial? I did all the hard work,” Dannage complained, surveying the opulent gardens.
The Systems’ Government had brought plants in from all across colonised space and terraformed the crap out of the poor moon. It was a wonderful place to visit. He wondered how long it would be before they star
ted charging admission.
It had been three weeks since the Battle of Pyrite, the final battle of the Terran War. There were rumours that some of the Terran ships had made it away. If they had, they were keeping their heads down.
Behind Dannage and Arland, the newly repaired and repainted Folly rested on her landing gear, gleaming in the late afternoon sun. The SDF repair crews had even fitted an automatic docking ramp, which dropped down from the hull to give easier access than the ladders they’d had to use in the past.
Niels had even brokered a deal with the Recamier’s captain, and after the SDF paid off the balance on the Folly and covered the cost of a new hangar deck, Recoup had agreed to scrub Dannage’s slate.
Luc and Hale were off in some other part of the gardens.
Arland smiled, elbowing him playfully. “You have to be dead to have a memorial, sir.”
And there were so many dead. So much loss. They’d all lost someone.
“I’m sorry. He was a good man. Simon, I mean.” Dannage turned to Arland, she was holding one of those silly peaked caps the SDF officers wore on special occasions. Noticing his attention, she turned the cap over.
“They offered me my commission back,” she said, still looking at the hat, not meeting his eyes. “Even got a promotion. Commander Arland.”
Dannage didn’t say anything, not sure what to say. If she wanted to go then there was nothing he could do to stop her. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to. If you cared for someone you wanted them to be happy, didn’t you?
“Sir.” Arland was looking at him now. Damn her, she wanted him to say something, but what? Words failed him.
“What do you want?” he asked finally, pathetically.
“Both my parents died in the war. They’d want me to re-join. Heck, the SDF want me to re-join. It’s like they need an Arland in the force.”
“Everyone should have their own Arland.” The joke was the closest Dannage had ever come to saying what he really wanted to. ‘I want you. I need you. I can’t do this without you. I never could.’
Arland let out a snort of polite laughter. “Sir.”
Dannage held up his hand. “By the Stars, will you stop sir-ing me?”
“Not while you’re my captain.” She let go of the hat, slipping her hand into his. “Sir.”
Stars, she could be irritating at times.