Helium 3: Fight for the Future

by Brandon Q. Morris

  Regrettably, almost all of your flying machines have been destroyed, he replied. And the ships of ours that are still operational are battling the rest of Kasfok’s fleet and unfortunately cannot intervene. First we have to take out the Dance and the Home, and then we can take care of the other two ships.

  Yaw angle thirty degrees to the left, pitch angle ten degrees up, ordered Tolkut, looking at the tactical display. Maximum deceleration! Maybe we can get the two ships to overshoot us.

  As a result of the maneuver, the Bud reduced the surface open to attack to a minimum, meaning only a small section could be targeted. Also, the abrupt braking maneuver was intended to get the attackers, who were accelerating at top speed, to race past the Bud's nose.

  The enemies’ planned flank attack failed, as the Dance and Home were indeed too slow to respond to Tolkut’s maneuvers. The two spaceships crossed in front of the Bud’s nose and had to turn around to resume their attacks on Tolkut’s ship. They became prime targets for a few micropulses, with the Home turning its less protected underside toward the Bud. Tolkut instantly took advantage of this.

  Full broadside on the Home with everything we’ve got!

  A torpedo salvo shot out of the Bud’s launch tubes while the deadly metal sprays from the railguns rained down on the enemy ship. Laser and maser beams flashed out from their projectors and drilled into the fuselage of the Home is a Happy Web.

  The concentrated effect of the different weapons systems was devastating. It was only because Tolkut had instructed his Supreme Weapons Officers to avoid the energy supply sectors that housed the sensitive fusion reactors that the ship, while still severely damaged, managed to make it out alive. Still, it must have been sheer chaos on board with dozens, if not hundreds, of Mendraki having lost their lives.

  Half of the jet engines on the underside of the Home burned up in a gigantic fireball. The shots from the railguns had punched several rows of holes right next to each other, and now there were fountains of gas hissing out of them to then condense in the vacuum of space and surround the helpless, lurching ship in a fine mist of crystals that had an almost poetic beauty as they glittered in the sunlight. The metal that had been melted by the maser rays was glowing red as it coursed over the fuselage, and there were sparkling fireworks where the laser beams had hit. The Home is a Happy Web was an unhappy wreck and would never leave this system, no matter how this battle ended. A stream of rescue pods shot out of the afflicted ship in all directions, making it impossible for Kasfok to get closer to the Bud or to even fire at it, since he didn’t want to risk accidentally shooting the Mendraki who were fleeing the Home.

  The Dance turned and hurried toward the Iks’ generation ship to support the two attack units there. It looked as if Kasfok had now decided it was tactically wise to ignore Tolkut and the Bud if he wanted to ultimately succeed on the critical front. Tolkut guessed that Kasfok’s carefully devised battle plan had completely fallen apart.

  After it! he ordered.

  One of Kasfok’s ships has broken through to the asteroid, the remote scout reported. It has already disabled some of the gun emplacements on the surface. The second ship is fighting the last of the Iks’ flying machines.

  Tolkut had a bad feeling. If Kasfok were to start attacking the asteroid from a second location, in addition to the one already under fire by one of the Netmaster’s ships, he worried that there wouldn’t be much that the Bud could do—it couldn’t fight in two places at once.

  I’m receiving strange signals from the planet’s moon. The remote scout sent the image to one of the displays. There was a larger, greenish shadow, and a smaller one. However, they were too blurred to see details.

  I’m readjusting the resolution, drummed the remote scout, and just a few moments later a thin line, extending from the smaller shadow to the generation ship, showed up on the display.

  Tolkut’s thread vibrated violently as Kimikizu let out a cry.

  “It’s a nano rope!” she shouted. “What we see there is one of our flying machines and an anchoring spear, which is intended for emergencies in case there’s not enough time to fix the rope properly in the ground.”

  What does that mean? Tolkut asked.

  “There’s only one explanation,” Norok said. “The Supreme Leaders have decided to flee! Despite your help, they no longer believe they can fend off the attack and want to save what can still be saved.”

  But what about you?

  For a brief moment, Kimikizu and Norok didn’t answer and just looked at each other.

  “Those who are not on board the asteroid will be left behind,” Norok finally answered. “As soon as the spear strikes the surface of the moon and attaches the rope there, the moon will be used as an anchor for a slingshot maneuver. We used the process in reverse in order to slow down. Now, the asteroid ship will be accelerated and then hurled out of the system. Kasfok’s ships won’t be able to catch up with it!”

  Neither will we, Tolkut observed. You’d be stranded here with us!

  “It is right that we should be sacrificed,” Kimikizu said, her voice soft, as Tolkut could determine from the weak vibrations of his thread.

  “There!” Norok had shouted so loudly that Tolkut’s thread nearly broke. “The spear has struck! The engines will be firing up any moment now to gain momentum!”

  Then several things happened all at the same time.

  Kasfok had reached the shooting distance necessary to fire upon the asteroid, and the first torpedoes left the launching bays of the Proud Dance in the Sunlight.

  A tiny object rose rapidly from the surface of the asteroid. Tolkut could see on the displays that it was a lone Iks in a flight suit, who appeared to be holding something in his hand and who proceeded to throw himself at one of Kasfok’s ships that was hovering very closely over the surface.

  A ghostly glow came from beyond the asteroid’s horizon as the engines of the giant generation ship started operating and prepared for acceleration.

  The thin rope started to tighten, and in just a few moments it would throw the generation ship out of the system forever while also throwing the moon out of its orbit around the third planet.

  Kimikizu froze and clung to her companion.

  Norok began to curse loudly with words that the vibration transducer was unable to translate.

  And, directly above the asteroid, between Kasfok’s Dance and Tolkut’s Bud, a shining object appeared out of nowhere, a perfect sphere of shimmering blue, with the diameter of many cylinder ships. Streaky lines appeared to move across its surface like when oil lay over rippling water. The sphere had no recognizable engine nor any other structures. Its outer layer was smooth and flawless. To Tolkut, the sphere looked both dangerous and beautiful.

  It just hung there in space, motionless.

  Suddenly, it emitted a wall of blazing light, like a bubble, that expanded outward from the strange object to reach into space at incredible speed, penetrating everything that was in its path.

  And, all energy on the Bud was gone.

  The bridge went dark and quiet.

  56th of Frien, 298

  The war had started, Latokotimo knew, but it seemed unreal somehow. The walls of the narrow passage trembled again and again. He didn’t hear a sound, and of course he saw nothing. The tremors told him that the enemy must be using powerful missiles, probably seeking to disable the cannon emplacements. The impacts had to be huge if he could feel them all the way in here. Magnetic cannons wouldn’t have produced such an effect. And the hits were coming closer, because the vibrations coming through the walls were getting stronger.

  The number of strikes was also increasing. Timo knew it meant the Iks’ cannons weren’t capable of devastating the enemy ships. The asteroid’s thick shell would be able to sustain these bombardments, but the attackers would eventually narrow the attack zone to target the approach path, and then his species would be doomed. He could wait here, eventually to die a lonely death in this dark corridor, or he could take action.r />
  The Iks checked his suit. He still had enough energy to reach one of the enemy ships. If he pushed the suit’s engine past its limits, he could aim for the attackers like a living torpedo. He just had to be careful not to set the acceleration too high, because he needed to remain conscious to make course corrections and finally detonate the three explosives.

  Should he sign off with the central station? No, he’d only risk the enemy becoming aware of the radio traffic. Nobody would be expecting his attack, and he had a good chance of tearing a big hole in the enemy ship—one of several. He wasn’t delusional, and knew it was unlikely that he alone could change the course of the battle. But perhaps he was giving his fellow Iks that crucial bit of time they needed to complete the slingshot maneuver.

  Timo opened the hatch carefully. The surface of the asteroid was so vast that getting hit directly would be an absolute fluke. He saw the planet below him. It now looked to Timo as if it were deliberately staying out of everything that was happening up here. But it was probably better that way. The sky above was black and peaceful. Timo was struck by how small the attackers looked against the infinite blackness. He tried to count them, which turned out to be complicated because it was hard to see them in the dark, and they moved faster than wing crawlers on an Iks with alasitis. He got to 10 or 11, but it was possible that there were 15 or 20. There were plainly more than 7.

  Then he saw a flash that came from one ship and impacted another. Was that possible? Was it an error, or had it been intentional? Were the enemies fighting each other now? This gave him new hope. Perhaps the central station had reached a partial agreement with some of the attackers. Now he’d have to be especially careful.

  He waited for the next strike, which didn’t take long. A dark shadow raced across the surface. He didn’t see where it had come from, but it was obvious where the hit had been made. Deducing the direction of fire, he found one of the cylindrical ships. The Iks clearly had not reached an armistice with this enemy.

  Now every moment counted. He held his wings tightly against his body and started the engine. He pushed it far beyond its stress limits. When he could hardly breathe anymore, he switched off the power unit. His life was almost over, with no regrets. He primed the explosives with the fingers of his two hands. The cylindrical spaceship appeared before him, and he headed for the engine section with the control jets. A dark barrel on the ship's surface aimed at him, but he was probably too fast or seemingly harmless because it turned away and looked for a new target.

  There was no comparison between this massive ship and the flying machines. The vessel was a testament to the skills of its builders, whom he’d never seen. But those on board would themselves never have the opportunity to see any Iks, which gave him satisfaction—because he was just about to hit the ship and detonate his explosives.

  The sight was heartbreaking. A spray of dust and rock rose where Tola had hit with the spear, and the debris settled slowly due to the moon's low gravity. Tubamizu covered her face with her wings. She heard heavy breathing over the radio, knowing it must be Waka.

  There was nothing else they could do for their Navigator. The generation ship would hopefully now take advantage of the opportunity and leave this suddenly inhospitable system. And they would send a few more of their enemies to eternal rest in the beds of clouds.

  No. They’d be sending them to the hell of the wingless.

  “We’re going on an alien hunt,” she shouted into the microphone. “Are you in, Waka?”

  “I’m in,” replied the Protector.

  Tubamizu pulled the rudder upward, and the flying machine turned on its transverse axis so that the engines pointed in the direction of flight.

  “I’m braking. Now!”

  With this, she’d wanted to fire up the engine. But before she got the chance, a bright blue light filled the cockpit. Was she hallucinating?

  “Do you see that, too, Waka?”

  There was no response. The screens in front of her had gone dead. This had to be an attack! She knew that there were weapons that disrupted all electronic systems. She couldn’t imagine what the blue light had to do with it, but perhaps a powerful electromagnetic impulse had attacked her magnetic sense and produced this illusion of blue light. Her brain was still working, however, and her limbs could also move. The only problem was that their flying machine was hurtling toward the moon! They had to get out of there. Immediately.

  “Waka?”

  No answer. It was likely that the radio system was malfunctioning. She tore off the mask and screamed Waka’s name as loud as she could. Was that a rattling sound she heard? When Waka was wearing the mask, she could scarcely hear her. Tubamizu quickly estimated her chances. There wasn’t enough time to get out of the seat and warn Waka. She needed to trigger the ejection seat now. Fortunately, it employed a mechanical system that worked with a small blasting charge. She fervently hoped Waka had come up with the same idea! She was ready to die, but crashing into the moon without killing another enemy was out of the question.

  Tubamizu replaced her breathing mask and checked its position before she reached under the right armrest. She found the release for the ejection seat, a long and heavy bar. It wasn’t possible to accidentally actuate it, since it required significant force. She pulled up hard on the bar and her seat jerked violently. She flew up at the cockpit pane, which then shattered into tiny pieces, and just that quickly, she was floating in space as the flying machine raced toward the surface of the moon.

  She watched it as long as she could. There was no trace of Waka. Had she taken too long? Then a glittering star detached itself from the flying machine. It had to be Waka! Tubamizu was relieved and closed her eyes. There was nothing left for her to do.

  Then it occurred to her that it was time to say goodbye. The generation ship would hurl itself out of the system on the rope that Tola had anchored. She opened her eyes again and saw nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  She knew that a battle in space didn’t look all that impressive. The distances were great, and the weapons’ activities weren’t noticeable until they hit their targets. But it surprised her that nothing was moving in the blackness. There was no battle. The enemy must have stopped firing. Had the aliens won?

  She was able to identify the generation ship. There was no activity there either, yet it didn’t look badly damaged. But where was the rope? Had Tola’s sacrifice had been in vain? She slowly reeled through space in her ejection seat as the asteroid disappeared from view.

  To her amazement, something completely different suddenly appeared—a sphere that was glowing from within, the same blue she’d seen in the cockpit. The sphere was clearly not of natural origin, and wasn’t quite as big as the generation ship. In zero gravity, water could agglomerate into such forms, but this curious sphere didn’t seem to be made of such a mundane material. What was that? It appeared that one of the aliens’ ships was close to the sphere. The blue light illuminated it, and in that light it was clear that the sphere didn’t have anything to do with the attackers. The technology was so sophisticated that their species could only have taken it for magic.

  She heard a rasping sound, as if someone was clearing her throat.

  “Waka, is that you?” she asked.

  But there was no answer. She only heard the rasping sound again, as if someone had found Waka’s microphone without knowing what purpose it served and was now playing around with it.

  “Waka, or whoever that is, please establish contact. What’s going on?”

  Silence. Then more rasping.

  “Hello?”

  “You are in a forbidden zone. All combat operations are to cease immediately,” a voice commanded her over the headset. Tubamizu understood every word clearly, but at the same time, she knew she’d never heard such a language. Yet the communication made perfect sense in her mind.

  When the lights went out, the Supreme Leaders had just started the slingshot maneuver. It had been challenging to predict the course for this last-minu
te, hastily implemented maneuver that they had given control to the Uncertainty Oracle. The rope grew taut, but then the Uncertainty Oracle stopped working.

  Such an event was unprecedented. Nothing on the generation ship was as well-secured as the sophisticated technology of the Oracle. The wind generators kicked in and the ship’s lights turned back on. Somewhere deep in the asteroid’s belly, reserves of compressed air were now feeding mechanical rotors that generated enough electricity for the most important stations. But the weapons systems did not respond, and the on-board radio wasn’t working. And, the Oracle remained silent.

  What had happened? The Supreme Leaders were at a loss. Everyone had seen the blue light. It had seemed to come out of one wall and disappear into the other. And then all the essential systems had failed. So these things must have been related. But since all their connections to the outside world were electronic, the Iks in the generation ship were cut off from all information.

  “We have to send a messenger to the central station,” the Supreme Mother said. She proceeded to walk up and down the conference room, where they had all congregated in order to discuss how to proceed.

  “This is taking far too long,” said the Supreme Protector.

  “Where’s the Knowledge Guardian?”

  “I just saw him at the central station,” said the Supreme Navigator.

  The door opened, and the Knowledge Guardian entered. “I have something that will certainly interest you,” he said. “But you’ll have to follow me to the knowledge station.”

  The Supreme Mother went ahead. The Iks they encountered on their way watched the strange procession in amazement but didn’t dare to ask any questions.

  “Here,” said the Knowledge Guardian, pointing to a device. “Our spectrograph.”