Torian Reclamation 2: Flash Move

by Andy Kasch

  Silence.

  “Sorry, Governor,” Olut6 said. “That was uncalled for.”

  “Understandable and true, General. But why are only eight responding?”

  “Those are the ones staged for immediate emergency response. Unfortunately, the other’s docked in the lower hangar here, and we got caught without any extat pilots on the station!”

  Brandon had a sudden stomach ache.

  “Governor, message the Latians,” Olut6 said. “See if they’re willing to help.”

  The moored Latian fleet could still be seen in the background in the upper right portion of the main screen. Whoever the attackers were didn’t seem interested in them. The battle next to Cardinal-4 had now degenerated into individual dogfights. Thankfully, the smaller Torian fighters were faster and more nimble. But they were missing too many shots. Occasionally, a fire ring would light up and then vanish, and the stars would reappear where the enemy vessel had been a moment ago. They were adept at dagging out quickly when the opportunity arose. Brandon understood that as a primary tactic when fighting from a small ship with interstellar capability.

  As Mip7 typed on his lightpad, the Latian fleet started moving. They had no fighters and no shuttles launched at the moment, and no real reason to stay in Tora space—other than to participate in Belle-ub’s tournament. Brandon expected to see them dag out of the system. That’s what Brandon would do if he were them, and that Inquisitor of theirs sure seemed sharp. So far they were only using local propulsion. They gradually distanced themselves from Cardinal-4, and moved closer to Amulen. Perhaps they were staying after all, having arranged a truce with the Dirgs, and now being interested in the prize Belle-ub promised the winner of the tournament.

  Olut6 yelled to the floor. “What’s happening over Amulen?”

  The voice from the floor answered. “The Dirg shuttle re-entered the atmosphere. The Dirg, Circon, and Noor fleets are all still in orbit there, plus ten or so additional unidentified vessels—not the same as the attackers. Some of those are grouped in two’s or three’s. The Latian fleet also seems to be moving to an Amulen orbit.”

  Oult6 pounded his fist on the railing. “Great! They’re having an extat convention while we’re getting our asses handed to us!”

  Enemy dark ships could be seen dagging in and out in front of the station on the main screen, firing lasers intermittently. Torian fighters swept in, fired, rolled, and turned. Occasionally a hit would be scored on one side or the other. Brandon saw one Torian ship limping in towards the upper hangar after being hit.

  “Where are those ITF1’s?” Olut6 muttered.

  The voice on the floor replied. “General, they’ve just dagged out above Banor and are engaging the satellite. We’re radioing the squadron commander with your request for help.”

  “Good. About extat time.”

  Mip7 shook his head and spoke. “The Latians are declining our request for help, sir. They don’t want to get involved.”

  “Stop calling me sir, Governor. And if those flatheads won’t help, why in Erob are they sticking around in our star system while all this is going on? Why are any of them, for that matter? They can’t want to play that extat game so badly that they’d risk getting in the middle of a war.”

  “You could try asking the Dirgs for help,” Brandon said on an impulse.

  “Those walking mire pits? The only help we’re likely to get from them is advice on foreign relations policies, assuming we could understand it through all that hissing. Besides, their allegiance is to Belle-ub.”

  “Great idea,” Brandon said. “Mip7, try to contact Belle-ub on the ground and ask him for help. Let’s see how much influence he actually has, and where his loyalty lies.”

  Olut6 cocked his head at Brandon for a second, but Brandon pointed back to the big screen.

  “There they are.”

  Two sleek and beautiful ITF1’s appeared on the right side of the screen perpendicular to a grouping of several enemy craft. They released missiles and promptly vanished again before the dag around their hulls even stopped glowing. The short yellow sections of light streaked towards their unsuspecting targets and then explosions could be seen on two of the enemy vessels. The other two quickly lit their virtual dags and vanished, but the two which were hit remained behind, obviously damaged.

  The two wounded enemy ships then fired upon the station. Their missiles were red in color. The barrage was constant and uncoordinated, as if they were desperately trying to empty their batteries. This was a suicide move. Apparently, they didn’t want to be taken alive. They were easy targets. Two conventional Torian fighters dove on them, connected lasers, held, and the two enemy vessels exploded.

  But the widespread missile pattern they managed to lay came speeding towards the station.

  Chapter Nine

  The Cardinal-4 defense crew in the bunker fired a REEP blast at the incoming missiles from short range, but several of them still got through. One was too close to the bunker for Brandon’s taste. They could feel shaking from the impact.

  “Add that to your remodeling project,” Olut6 said to Mip7.

  Mip7 didn’t look happy. “Sir—I mean General—if the attackers learn we can’t fire the REEP directionally above or below the station, there may not be a station left to remodel.”

  “Get two squadrons each positioned above and below the station,” Olut6 yelled at the floor.

  “Yes sir!” the voice from the floor shot back. “Sir, reports coming from Banor are desperate. The strikes from the alien satellite are pummeling us there. The ITF1’s have scored direct hits with missiles, lasers, and REEP blasts without effect.”

  “Extat!” Olut6 said. “How can missiles and REEP blasts be ineffective? What in Erob is that thing?”

  “They’re requesting more help, sir.”

  “Lieutenant, what do they think we’re doing? Everything we have is engaged, except for that last ITF1 we have no crew for. And we have our own problems here.”

  Olut6’s words proved to be prophetic. As Brandon watched the screen, a great multitude of glowing rings appeared in the distance, then vanished. Nearly all the stars in the background went black.

  “General!”

  “I see them!” Olut6 shouted back to the floor. “Get five squadrons on them!”

  They watched as Torian fighters came at the new, massive enemy formation from every direction. But lasers fired back at them from every direction. The enemy was arranged in a tight ball with weapons ready to fire outward at all possible approaches.

  Then, the short red light segments came. They raced towards Cardinal-4 in no discernable pattern. The enemy apparently decided the space station was a target worth pursuing.

  “Defense pattern 109!” Olut6 shouted. “Repeat! Defense pattern 109!”

  “Yes sir!”

  The radio controller got busy communicating the order.

  “What’s defense pattern109?” Brandon asked.

  “You ought to know,” Olut6 replied. “You invented it. Partially, anyway. We’ll harass them from the front as much as we can with individual squadrons. A larger group hangs above in a cluster. Immediately after a REEP blast, half of the main formation dives at the attackers and the other half chases down stray missiles from the rear. The boys above and below the station try to clean up what’s left.”

  “Yeah,” Brandon said. “I remember something like that.”

  “Me too,” Mip7 added. “It was an impressive improvisation when I first encountered it.” He looked at Brandon and managed a smile. That was the old Mip7. It was good to see he wasn’t totally cracking under the stress of the current situation.

  “How much else do you two remember?” Olut6 said.

  “No!” Brandon and Mip7 said in unison.

  “We need that last ITF1, boys,” Olut6 said. “Badly. And we need someone with experience solving problems on the fly. You heard what’s happening on our home soil.”

  “General” Mip7 said, “it’s been too long. We aren�
�t in that kind of condition.”

  “Oh? You both have the highest security clearance for game downloads. When’s the last time you ran through an ITF1 battle simulation?”

  Mip7 shook his head. “General…”

  “When was the last time?”

  “Last week. But that doesn’t mean—”

  “You play it more than two or three times a month?”

  Mip7 sighed. “Yes, I do.”

  Olut6 turned to Brandon.

  “How about you?”

  “Extat,” Brandon said. “I knew it. I just knew it.”

  “About the same, then?” Olut6 pressed.

  “More. Two or three times a week. Once you’ve operated one of those, in a battle especially, no other game is satisfying.”

  “You two take the cockpit. I’ll man the REEP cannon.”

  “You’re going to come with us?” Mip7 asked.

  “Yes.”

  “General, we need you here,” the lieutenant on the floor said.

  “You know the drill, Lieutenant. There comes a time in a soldier’s career when he has to save the day by his own wits. This is that day for you. I’ll take an O-tube with me so we can be in constant touch. But I might not be able to always reply immediately, so use your training—and your instincts, for Erob’s sake.”

  “Yes, General.”

  “What about Belle-ub?” Brandon asked Mip7.

  Mip7 shook his head. “It takes a while to hear back from him. Typical Sheen, doesn’t carry a lightpad and his subordinates are slow in communicating.”

  “We can’t count on any help from him, or anyone else,” Olut6 said. “Let’s go.”

  Mip7 looked at Brandon.

  Brandon shrugged. “We have no choice. Mind if I fly?”

  “I insist upon it,” Mip7 said. “But I have something to take care of first. I’ll meet you down there.”

  “What is it?” Olut6 asked.

  “Governor stuff. Go on down. I’ll be right there.”

  “Please don’t make us leave you behind, Governor.”

  “General, I’ll be there.” Mip7 hurried down the steps and exited the bunker.

  “Pressurize the lower hangar,” Olut6 said to the lieutenant. “But keep it dark! Come on, Brandon.”

  Brandon followed the general to the special lift that led directly to the lower hangar. They had to wait a few minutes, as it wouldn’t operate until the hangar was pressurized.

  “I had no idea the lower hangar was even operational,” Brandon said.

  “It’s not.” The lift arrived, the two of them stepped inside, and Olut6 pressed the only button on the wall. They started moving. “At least, that’s the official policy. We have it rigged enough to employ for special purposes. But we aren’t using it, other than having built a docking arm for the extra ITF1. As you know, we’re maxed out at the Niptil station at eight. Extat politicians won’t give the go-ahead for increasing the fleet size, mainly because they don’t want to spring for the extra docking stations. But that figures to change after today—assuming we survive.”

  “Yeah,” Brandon said. “Defense spending has a disappointing habit of falling into complacency until an emergency revives it.”

  The lift opened and Brandon followed Olut6 out to the deck. Dim lighting in the rear of the hangar was all there was to see by. It took Brandon’s eyes time to adjust enough to see the ITF1 up on the docking arm. He had only seen one docked in this manner once before; the damaged one his crew had taken enemy fire from above Milura 25 years ago. Brandon still blamed himself for the death of that smart young human in the REEP cannon turret, but had long since learned to live with it. Mistakes were part of life. Sometimes they were deadly.

  Bad memories. Brandon shuddered, and then noticed a saucer-shaped landing craft on the opposite side of the hangar.

  “I thought you said the ITF1 was the only ship down here.”

  The general saw the landing craft, cursed, and walked towards it. Brandon followed.

  “One of ours,” Olut6 said. His tone indicated relief. “For a second there, I thought maybe that gubernatorial business Mip7 had to attend to involved more than he was letting on.”

  Brandon looked closer at the saucer. “This is one of the older models. I wonder what it’s doing here.”

  “Probably left here after the initial reconstruction was done to the hangar,” Olut6 said. “Not many of these are still in use, if any. I’ll have to remind the governor to get that thing down to Banor for refurbishing.”

  “All right!” Mip7’s voice yelled from across the hangar. Brandon and Olut6 turned around. He was carrying a ladder.

  “Good,” Olut6 said. “Let’s go.”

  *

  “How can anyone be afraid of animals?” Jumper said.

  Kayla elbowed him. Jumper couldn’t tell if it was in response to his surly comment, or because the cruiser had just been jarred from crossing over a large rock protrusion that penetrated the cruiser’s hover field. These native militia guys weren’t great drivers.

  They were squeezed in much tighter on the return trip. Alan and Lakor5 were also in the rear seat this time, on the other side of Kayla. Mulb9 and the three mountain dwellers took up the middle seat. Totlen6 was up front with the driver.

  One of the mountain dwellers was the polwar champion Jumper was “supposed” to play before he and Alan decided to dive off the cliff instead. Another had been thrust into the position of being their political representative by Durmat1. The other was one of the natives who had been holding the driver against the rock until Jumper fired a shot over his head. Durmat1 had no interest in coming himself, and his laser injuries didn’t help with that. But he did seem to develop a genuine interest in arranging for the Sinlo Mountain range to be “left alone” by the new C3 coalition, if possible. Jumper was surprised at the diplomacy Totlen6 was capable of.

  “Oh, excuse me,” Kayla said. “You aren’t scared of felidors?”

  “Erob yes, I’m afraid of them. That’s why I shoot my laser when I encounter them.”

  “So you’re afraid of them too. Good. Glad we have that settled.”

  Jumper was tempted to launch into a lecture on the difference between cowering behind a log and reacting to defend oneself from danger. But he didn’t. Jumper didn’t know a whole lot about women, but he strongly suspected winning an argument with one was impossible. Even if he succeeded in shaming her, the aftermath wouldn’t be worth it. Jumper did, after all, still have to live with her back at the colony.

  And ultimately, Jumper didn’t want to embarrass her. That wouldn’t be a nice thing to do. Humans were a tiny minority in this place, and needed to stick together. Sitting close to her like this was kind of nice still, and she was the one who saved the day up there. If it wasn’t for Kayla’s timing, Jumper and Alan might be lying dead in a rock crevice right now.

  The cruiser came to the swamp. It was getting late in the afternoon. The driver hit the water too fast, much in the same way Jumper had at the river the other day.

  Only that time, the cruiser kept running. This time it didn’t. They stopped dead in the middle of the swamp.

  Totlen6 scolded the driver. “You didn’t slow down for the water.”

  “That’s not the problem,” Mulb9 said from behind him. “You took that jagged rock too close back there. It ruptured the hover field. This thing is going to sink.” He stood up in his seat, turned around, stretched a leg out over Kayla and said, “Let me through please.”

  Kayla hopped on to Jumper’s lap. Mulb9 stepped into her space and kneeled. He leaned out over the vehicle and opened the compartment on the back. The cruiser had already settled on the water.

  Mub9 produced a coil of rope and a grappling hook that sat in a tube with its far end out the other side. As he attached the rope to that end he said, “You Earthlings can all swim on top of water, right?”

  The cruiser started sinking.

  “Yes,” Alan said. He didn’t need any more encouragement and jumped i
nto the swamp. He went in over his head for a second, then came back up and swam towards the other side.

  “Are there any water serpents in this swamp?” Jumper asked. He felt Kayla’s fingers dig into his arm and immediately regretted asking that. Hopefully, Mulb9 would be smart enough not to answer that question—

  “Yes,” Mulb9 said. He then looked at Kayla and said, “But not many. It doesn’t matter. None of us are getting out of here without getting wet. We need your help. Please, get over there and hook our line securely.”

  Mulb9 pressed a button on the tube and the grappling hook shot out across the water. It landed on a patch of land next to a small grove of leer trees.

  “Quickly please,” Mulb9 said.

  “Go,” Kayla said to him. “Secure the hook. You know natives can’t swim. I’ll stay here and help as needed.”

  Jumper and Kayla both stood up in the seat. Jumper looked at Kayla and shook his head.

  “Go!” Kayla said and pushed him out of the cruiser.

  Jumper felt the brackish water tug at him from underneath. For a second he panicked, but then surfaced and began swimming towards the grove of trees. That was so stupid, bringing up the possibility of snakes. Now Kayla might be too scared to leave the sinking vehicle. But at some point she would have to. Wouldn’t she?

  Jumper made his way to the shore. Alan was on all fours coughing. He might have swallowed or inhaled some water. The rope was laid out on the ground next to him. Jumper followed it to the end and found the grappling hook. He picked it up and tried to hook it to a tree trunk, but the rope wasn’t quite long enough. He pulled on it and waved to the cruiser, hoping Mulb9 would understand he needed more length. But they must have taken the signal wrong, because one of the mountain dwellers jumped into the swamp while holding the other end of the rope.

  The new weight on the rope pulled Jumper forward. Jumper reacted by leaning backwards and digging his heels into the ground, but the soft soil wouldn’t anchor him and he was pulled forward like a water skier, leaving ever-deepening trenches behind his feet. He couldn’t hold the heavy native in place.

  His feet then struck something in the ground. Jumper stopped and started to pitch forward. He looked down and realized he was caught on a large submerged root. He immediately starting pulling on the rope with all his might, and then worked his way up the length of it hand over hand. Jumper was still losing the tug-of-war, but the grappling hook was dropping behind him. He kept pulling and moving up the rope. The hook was now dragging on the ground. One of the prongs dug in and caught on the root. Jumper let go. The rope pulled tight.