The Disasters

by M. K. England

  “We’re tracing the source of the repeats,” Case says, once again focused on the task at hand. “It has to be originating somewhere, but scans don’t show it anywhere on this side of the planet. Can you take us into lower orbit and around to the other hemisphere?”

  I take the controls, guiding us down into the maze of satellites racing along in their choreographed dance. The HUD lights up with warnings, then dims, then lights up, then dims—missile lock! No, just kidding. Ground guns! Actually . . .

  “I think the signal is messing with their targeting, too. They’re trying to lock on to us, but it keeps flickering—”

  Then the HUD goes solid red with a missile lock warning, and I hesitate for the barest second before wrenching us out of low orbit and weaving around a satellite that nearly takes us out. Without restraints, Asra loses her footing at the sudden maneuver and tumbles across Case’s lap, slamming her forehead into the center console with a dull crack. I risk a quick glance away from the front viewport—is that blood? I glance again: Case has Asra pinned to her lap with an arm around her waist while we level out, Asra’s blood bright and shocking on Case’s fingers. Another missile lock, damn it, and another juke nearly sends Asra flying again. I growl.

  “Not to be a jerk, but will you please sit the hell down, Asra? What’s happening out there, Case?”

  Asra waves Case’s hands away and staggers to her feet, clinging to Case’s chair until she can throw herself back into her own seat and refasten her restraints. One by one, the blips on my HUD turn red as Case identifies and tags them. A midsize frigate sits on the edge of the system, and new blips spill from its position in pairs, some of which are already in weapons range. Probably Tiger Squadron again, coming after us as promised. Fuck those guys, seriously.

  I toggle the intercom and leave the channel open. “Zee, Rion, can you see our company?”

  “Only giving you one guess, Nax,” Rion calls back.

  “Please shoot some of them down before we leave,” I beg, dancing around a glowing, jagged lump of space junk on my way around the planet. “We’ll get the guns back online in just a sec.”

  I risk a glance at our current shield strength in the far corner of my display. Still only at 45 percent. Not great, but sometimes the best defense is lots of shooting.

  “Case, reroute the power back to the guns, then get back on tracing that signal.”

  “I’ve already got the signal, kind of,” Asra says. “We’re not quite close enough to pinpoint yet, but it’s definitely coming from somewhere in the capital city.”

  She grumbles; in my peripheral vision I see her leaning as far as she can in her restraints, holding her tab as close as possible to Case’s console. “The signal is starting to interfere with my connection to the ship. I’ve gotta hardwire in. I’m gonna be useless here pretty soon otherwise.”

  Case keeps one hand on her display, manipulating the ship’s power distribution even as she pries open a hatch underneath the console and tugs out a cable. With a snap of her wrist, she flicks it back to Asra, who clicks it into her tab’s port with a relieved sigh.

  The ship shudders as the power surges back into the guns and Zee and Rion exchange fire with the ships on our tail. The meter in the corner of my display begins to drain again: 43 percent, 41 percent.

  This is bullshit.

  I cut the throttle, shove the control stick forward, then dial the throttle back up to full, dropping us straight into Tau’ri’s atmosphere. Shouts echo through the ship as we experience a brief moment of weightlessness before our inertial dampener can compensate for the sudden maneuver. And there it is, that feeling I’ve been chasing my whole life, the one that’s got me in trouble so many times—pushed back in my seat, my stomach flipping with every twitch of the controls. This is what I was born to do. I can do this.

  With an ecstatic whoop, I press the ship harder, faster, our nose glowing orange as we cut through the atmosphere. We have the advantage, for the moment; more weight and larger engines mean we can handle the entry better than a stunt fighter can, and before long the front viewport clears and the glorious waters of Tau’ri rise up to greet us.

  The oceans, green with thick algae growth, give off a faint photo-luminescent glow in the dim evening light that fades as we fly into the day side of the planet. Overland, the terrain morphs into long plains of soft mossy groundcover interrupted by the occasional low treelike plant. The planet is largely untouched, being both an unsanctioned and fairly young colony, but as we draw closer to the founding city, scattered farms and homesteads begin to dot the fields and hillsides.

  The fighters, four of them now, have no respect for the beauty of the planet. Their bullets shatter trees and splash into rivers, even slam into remote homesteads. I suppose they’re planning to kill off the entire planet anyway, so they probably don’t mind civilian casualties a few minutes early.

  I do mind.

  I take us in low, weaving between craggy mountains and taller trees where possible to obscure their line of fire, but the ship shudders with a few solid hits despite my best flying. I feel each shot from our guns as a short burst of vibration through my feet, in clusters and steady streams. Rion and Zee chatter back and forth to coordinate.

  “Stay still, wanker! Let’s focus on the one on to port.”

  “I’m fairly sure the goal is to not stay still.”

  “Okay, Miss Smartarse, you get him, then!”

  An explosion rocks the boat.

  “All right. Fair enough.”

  I take us back up above the mountains and point us toward the main city, squinting against the light of Tau’ri’s sun. It’s brighter than Earth’s, and it pierces through the light cloud cover in golden rays that stand out against the vivid cyan of the sky. The cheery light and jewel-toned beauty spills over a smudge in the distance that slowly resolves into a knot of human-built structures. And of course, the people of Tau’ri seem to have a thing for building up rather than out; the city is a cluster of soaring spires and high rises, gleaming and bright. I would think it was beautiful any other time. Right now, all I see is how much of a bitch it’s gonna be to fly through.

  “Two more fighters coming in behind, Nax,” Zee calls, just as Rion nails another one.

  Case swears under her breath. “And it looks like the rest of the squadron has looped around to meet us. They’re coming up on the city now from the opposite side.”

  I groan. “Asra, you have that signal yet?”

  “The signal has us,” she says, slamming her tab down on her lap and swiping irritably at the trickling blood beside her eye. “I’m blocking each pulse of signal as it comes in, but it’s too much. Case, you’ll have to finish the signal trace, and you have to be ready to disable our transmitter completely, or we’ll die along with the settlers here.”

  “Sure, I can absolutely do ten thousand things at once, no problem!” she spits, her fingers flying over the console. “Nax, can you give me a quick spin over the city? I’ve almost got the signal’s origin.”

  You mean, can I dodge ten skilled fighter pilots while weaving through a spikey death forest of buildings in a ship that’s really too big for this job? Probably not, no, but I guess I’m gonna try. I swallow down my terror and summon up every ounce of cocky striker attitude I have, then dial the throttle back and drop us down among the spires of the city. Proximity warnings drill into my skull, a constant blaring alarm that I finally cut off altogether so I can hear myself think. We have to finish this. I’m going to run out of luck eventually.

  “Zee, keep firing enough to keep them cautious, but try not to hit them, okay? We don’t want any civilian casualties when they crash. Rion, you’re our best gunner—I need you to be ready to take out this receiver thing once we figure out where it is. We’re doing a flyby now. Keep your eyes open.”

  No more talking—this is the trickiest flying I’ve ever done, even counting simulators. I settle back in my seat, keep my hand light on the control stick, and force my muscles to unclenc
h, stay loose and reactive, keep my movements as small as possible. An overcorrection right now will kill us all, and Tau’ri with it.

  “There!” Case shouts, stabbing a finger at her display. “The signal is originating from the spaceport on the edge of the city. Getting you a marker . . . now!”

  My HUD lights up with a glowing green dot. I pull up sharply, taking us out of the spires to fly the most direct route, right as a fighter screams through the space we just occupied. Bullets slam into one of the metal-and-glass towers, and the fighter doesn’t pull up fast enough; it smashes into the same tower, glittering shards and fiery wreckage raining down into the city streets. A sharp pang of regret stabs in my chest, for both the pilot and the innocent bystanders, but I have to focus. No time to dwell. The whole planet is at stake. Asra’s family. All our families, ultimately.

  Asra sucks in a breath behind me. “Case, I can’t keep up with this anymore. The network is almost completely overwhelmed.”

  Without a word, Case slips out of her restraints and crawls under the console. A few clicks later, she chucks a metal panel across the cockpit. The noise over the comms surges—then cuts off completely. Case crawls out slowly, bracing herself to avoid a head injury like Asra’s, and manages to get back into her seat. Her hands tremble over her console, but she gets right back to work without a word.

  We come up on the spaceport fast, its winking beacons guiding us in toward vast flat rooftops and brightly painted runways. And there—something on one of the raised landing pads, something out of place, with a bright splash of paint on the side. Blue and green.

  Surrounded by several sprawled, still figures.

  “Rion, do you—?”

  “I see it, Nax, swing around for another pass!”

  We’re going too fast to make the turn. I blow past and cut our speed to tighten the angle—just in time to see all the fighters break off and make for atmosphere, their engines flaring bright. Fleeing.

  Oh no.

  “It’s gonna happen. The weapon’s about to go off, Rion—”

  “Shut up and fly, Captain!” he snaps.

  A wave of calm washes over me. My hands fly over the controls, adjusting throttle, leveling out the tilt of the wings, bringing our nose in line. Gotta give Rion the clearest, easiest shot I can, but it’s still a mess—I can’t go any slower than this or we’ll fall out of the sky, and the spires are everywhere, reaching up to snatch us out of the sky, scrape our underside, claw out our guts, and Rion’s shots are going just barely too wide because I can’t give him the angle he needs, eating up the platform around the device, but not close enough, and any second, any second it’s gonna—

  A bullet slams into the device dead-on, right through the center of the circle logo, punching out the other side, then more, and more, shredding its innards. Case immediately throws herself back under the console and reactivates the Kick’s transmitter. The open comm channel gives a blast of static, then a sudden clamor of voices.

  “—reporting heavy casualties in Center City—”

  “Can anyone get in contact with New Chatham?”

  “The fighters are on an outbound vector—”

  “Has anyone IDed that ship?”

  “At least a hundred dead out in Sharpsburg—”

  “Please return to private channels and—”

  Oh god, no.

  Asra sucks in a shuddering breath as I yank back on the stick and send us soaring into the sky, up and away from the city of spires. Heavy casualties. Death tolls. Whole towns out of contact.

  “I’m sorry,” Rion says over the intercom. “If I’d made the shot sooner—”

  I cut him off. “That was an impossible target and you nailed it. You saved a lot of lives.”

  The rest goes unspoken. But not all of them. Not enough of them.

  With her tab finally working again, Asra opens a comm channel for wide broadcast. “If anyone out there is wondering what just happened, see the documents I’m sending you and destroy everything you find with the Earth First logo on it. Ground all flights and don’t let anyone leave.” She hesitates. “Except us. We have to make sure this can’t happen anywhere else. Good luck.”

  A double beep indicates a channel swap, then Asra’s voice changes, faster, breathier. “Ammu? Farah? Are you there?”

  Silence.

  “Mazneen, is that you?”

  A choked-off sob answers. “Yes, yes, it’s me, you’re alive, Alhamdulillah! I don’t have time to talk right now, but you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine, Mamuni, but Farah was visiting a friend and I can’t reach her, and three of our neighbors just dropped dead. That sound was excruciating, then it was just gone. What happened?”

  Asra squeezes her eyes shut, and tears spill heavy over her cheeks, soaking in where her hijab meets her face. “You’ll know soon. It should be over. But it’s going to happen on the other planets and we have to stop it. I’ll pray for Farah, but I can’t stay right now. I’m so sorry, Ammu. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I love you.”

  She cuts the comm off before her mother can reply and wipes her eyes on her sleeve.

  “I’m sorry, I had to check.”

  “Understandable,” I say. “I hope your sister is okay. But now what?”

  Asra’s face goes hard and determined.

  “Now we take out this signal at its source.” She unbuckles again, leans over to Case’s console, and swipes back to the signal data. “You’re not going to believe this.”

  Case leans in, eyebrows knitted, then sits back suddenly. “No. There’s no way. It’s impossible, the technology doesn’t exist!”

  “It does now, apparently,” Asra says. “And what better way to coordinate simultaneous attacks throughout the entire galaxy than with a trigger signal from one fixed point?”

  “What point?” I ask, though I have a feeling I know the answer already.

  Case gives me a grim smile. “Ellis Station.”

  I blow out a long breath. “Back to the beginning, then. How long do we have until the zero hour from the memo?”

  “Twelve hours,” Case replies. “But I don’t think that’s going to matter. Those fighters are docking with their transport, and if they jump back to the station and report what happened, they’ll know their secrecy has been blown. And they know their weapon works now. No reason to delay.”

  Damn, she’s right; what’s left of Tiger Squadron is disappearing two fighters at a time into the transport that brought them to this system. If we don’t keep them from leaving, they’ll beat us back to the Academy, tell them to send the trigger signal to all the other colonies, and it’ll all be over. Can’t let that happen. I open the all-ship comm again.

  “Case, reroute all power to engines!” I snap, my finger resting on the switch for the afterburner.

  “All of it?”

  “Shields, life support, guns, everything! We’ll need to cut it back in as soon as we’re in firing range. Rion, Zee, the engines are your target. We have to beat them back to the station.”

  The flurry of blinking warning lights doesn’t even faze me this time. The second the power is diverted, I kick in the afterburner and we rocket toward the transport, angling toward their aft, where the twin engines glow with a faint blue light. Two fighters are left, awaiting their clearance to land, but we blow straight past them, the Kick shuddering violently as Case reroutes all the power back where it belongs.

  The rhythmic shots start up immediately, both guns focused tightly on the same spot of the closest engine. Their shields flare, the bullets slowly eating away at their strength, but not fast enough—the first of the two remaining fighters makes for the landing bay, while the second swings around, coming right for us.

  “Rion, incoming! Zee, keep at that engine!” I call. It takes all my strength to leave the ship exactly where it is, a sitting duck, but it won’t matter anyway if we can’t take out this ship. They’ll warn the station, they’ll know we’re coming, shoot us down as soon as we get in-system—


  “No dancing this time, Mr. Hall?” the familiar voice of Captain Thomas asks over the comm. “Ah well. It’s been fun.”

  “Ooh!” Case blurts, sounding . . . excited? “I found a new toy Brenn had installed. Wait for this . . .”

  A targeting reticle appears on my HUD, and a tiny red button lights up on my control stick.

  “Missiles?” I ask.

  “Missile, singular,” she replies. “A big one. Make it count.”

  Oh yes.

  “Quick changeup!” I call to Rion and Zee. “Focus on the fighter for a minute, then switch back to the engine. You’ll know when.”

  A hail of bullets slams into our shields as I finally roll away, out of Captain Thomas’s line of fire. A quick turnaround, gun the engines, line up the shot, thumb over the button—and there’s an explosion, a flash, a rain of debris.

  But I never launched the missile.

  “Yes, got the fighter!” Rion says with a whoop. “Point us back at the ship, Captain, let us at it.”

  But my heart is a lump of cold dread, heavy in my chest.

  The transport ship is gone. Jumped away.

  We saved a few people on Tau’ri—but we may have killed everyone else in the process.

  “Case, jump to Ellis Station. Right now.”

  She obeys without hesitation, the jump vector appearing on my HUD barely a second later. I swallow a painful lump in my throat, steady my breath as I make the run up to the jump point.

  I never thought I’d be heading back to Earth space ever again. Once all this goes down, we’ll almost certainly be arrested for violating the no-return rule. We’ll be prosecuted, executed, all our dreams of life in the colonies, of piloting, gone.

  But if we don’t, we give a death sentence to every single colonist. Including Malik.

  It’s no choice at all.

  “This is it,” I say, steadying my hands on the controls. A grim smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.