by Andy Kasch
Suddenly, the space around Banor erupted in huge yellow fireballs. It was spectacular. Jol2 tried to count them. Ten or eleven, at least. It worked, and it was the most beautiful site Jol2 had ever seen.
But then the long, devastating red light missiles reappeared in two places. They only got a few shots off, though, before they stopped again. Two of the attack satellites had survived. Only two. That was a high success rate. Hopefully, the last two would both be blown in the next attempt.
Happy, Jol2 swung his fighter up over the top of the fleet facing the enemy position. The dark ships were sitting out there, as if taunting, begging for another engagement. They would shortly get their wish.
But something was happening in the space above Amulen now. A fleet of fighters had deployed from somewhere. Jol2 could see them, so they weren’t the enemy. They looked white, and were of a narrow single-hull design with short wings. They approached the enemy from behind.
“Request the identity of the fighters coming from Amulen,” Jol2 radioed. “Looks like we may have gotten some help.”
“Confirmed,” the dispatcher’s excited voice replied. “We have positive ID. The fleet scrambling from Amulen is Latian. Repeat, those are Latian fighters at the far point.”
“Let’s move in with them,” Jol2 said back. “If we go now, we can catch the enemy in a pincer movement.”
“Go, Captain!” Olut6’s voice said on the radio.
Jol2 led the attack. It was a straight-out reckless run directly at the enemy. Well, perhaps not that reckless when you had an entire fleet right behind you. The timing looked right. They would come into firing range at about the same time the Latians would from behind. This should be extremely effective, and the resulting scatter would give the Torians and Latians the advantage in the resulting dogfights—as they figured to be the pursuers. Hopefully, the enemy ships would all dag out and go home when they realized an allied force was now against them.
The engagement began. Jol2’s gunner scored a hit and sent an enemy ship spinning out of control. He fired at the next closest ship above them while Jol2 checked the schematic to see what the Latians were doing on the opposite front. If the attack was coordinated, they should quickly scatter the enemy formation.
There was no fighting in the rear. Jol2 looked up. He saw the Latian fighters continue to come up alongside the dark ships on the far side now. Their white hulls were easy to see. They weren’t firing, though. They positioned themselves next to the enemy. That was odd.
Then they fired on the Torians.
“The Latians are aiding the enemy!” Jol2 screamed into the radio. “Repeat! The Latians have joined forces with the enemy! They’re engaging us!”
Chapter Seventeen
Watching the third round from the player’s box in the stadium seats was fun—or at least it would have been, if Jumper wasn’t so apprehensive about playing in the semi-finals. He scolded himself for being nervous. That could easily throw him off his game. He needed to get it together. But he was so close now. So very close. Only needed to win the next game to make the finals.
Being the only Earthling at the event was something of a letdown. Alan and Kayla should be here. Uncle Brandon, too—although Jumper knew Brandon probably wouldn’t sit for this. But there were no other humans in the stadium. It didn’t feel right. They weren’t that far away, either, with the Earth colony only a few hours’ drive away. Jumper wished he had sent word to some of his other friends to come out and watch him. But he knew they wouldn’t come. They weren’t like him and Alan, and rarely left their comfort zones. What a pathetic way to live.
Jumper watched the three games in progress, looking for clues in the way the remaining contestants played that might help him formulate strategies against them. But it was hard to concentrate. His mind kept wondering. He found himself gazing at the giant final game set often.
It was so cool. Oh, to have the opportunity to play on that. He had a real chance, too—just needed to not blow the next match.
He noticed now that the top of the big frame had small metal antenna-like protrusions. They looked like laser conductors. The game set itself didn’t have a defense weapon built into it, did it? That seemed like overkill. But, Belle-ub was an overkill kind of a guy.
Jumper kept catching himself staring at it and daydreaming. He had to force himself to watch the games in progress. Of the six players on the field, he didn’t know which one he preferred to play against in the next round. He supposed it didn’t matter. They all had to be good to make it this far.
One of them was the Sinlo Mountain champ. He was still in it, and playing well. Jumper was especially drawn to his game and rooting for him. But did Jumper want to play him? If the Sinlo champ was the last winner declared in the current round, he would be Jumper’s opponent in the semi-finals.
The pace of these games was slower, since there were no time incentives left. It got to be the middle of the afternoon before the first winner was declared; one of those aliens who wore the helmets with the blinking lights. That could make for an intimidating opponent, someone whose eyes you couldn’t see. He had a sizeable cheering section, but those aliens were restrained and only stood to calmly applaud—as if his victory was expected.
Shortly thereafter the second game finished, and it wasn’t the Sinlo champ’s table. His would be the last game to complete in the third round, which meant Jumper would have to play him if he won.
That’s what happened. The crowd went wild. Jumper’s opponent in the semi-finals was the local hero. Most of the spectators would be rooting for him. Add to that the fact he seemed highly skilled. None of this helped Jumper’s confidence.
After a short interval, the semi-finalists took the field. It felt like everyone present was against Jumper. But, maybe it was better that two Torians wouldn’t be in the finals, after having invited all these guests from all over the galaxy.
The four semi-finalists sat at the two special slightly-larger game frames. These were set up on low platforms, above the field level, next to the huge final game set—one on each side of it. Jumper found it invigorating to be sitting so close to it. His momentary intimidation turned back into determination. He wanted that seat. Wanted it bad. But how best to get it?
His opponent nodded to him from the other side of the frame. Jumper nodded back. There was a mutual respect between them, which was nice.
“Looks like we finally get to play that game,” he said. “I don’t see any cliff here for you to go flying off of.”
Jumper smiled and wished him luck. Jumper was the curved pieces because of the time reward. The crowd noise increased and the frames lit up. It was on.
Jumper decided to play conservatively in the beginning and see what developed. That proved to be a mistake. His opponent played along and was well versed in the more conservative game developments. He made no mistakes and soon the frame was one-third full of pieces, forming a solid defensive structure which offered no chance at morphing off into one of those gambit variations Jumper so excelled at. This would be a battle of attrition.
Despite the video screens constantly flashing red, the mostly-Torian audience cheered the Sinlo champ’s moves too loudly. Jumper was irritated by that at first, but noticed his opponent actually became more distracted by it than he did. He was becoming prone to looking up at the crowd, nodding, and waving in acknowledgment.
In other words, being on stage was going to his head. It caused lapses in his focus. Jumper might be able to use that against him.
There was a lesser-known move available that resembled a standard move in the current position. It was slightly out of place, and would present a bridging opportunity for Jumper if his opponent failed to study it properly and took the expected defensive reaction for the “normal” move instead. Jumper placed his piece there as routinely-acting as he could.
His opponent took the bait. Some of the crowd must have seen it because the cheering was a little less after the Sinlo player’s next move.
&nb
sp; Jumper had him. He carefully played the rest of it out until that subtle bridging move built into an overpowering pattern. The Sinlo champ sat there looking like he expected to be thrown off a cliff. He probably had not lost in a long time.
“Aren’t you glad we didn’t play in the mountains?” Jumper asked.
“In the mountains, there would be no crowd to distract me. Extat. This is why we want to be left alone up there.”
Jumper had done it. He was in the final game.
*
The Latians joining the enemy took the Torians by surprise. The battle became heated, with dogfights and groups of two or three ships engaging each other all over the space between Amulen and Cardinal-4. Debris began cluttering the space as more ships on both sides were destroyed. The Latian transport ship fleet removed themselves from Amulen orbit and were last seen headed in the direction of the Torian sun.
The space station still served as a sanctuary. Jol2 noticed that each time the Torians regrouped there, the enemy—especially the Latians—would venture closer to it, as if they were testing the boundaries, seeing when and where the light weapon may be fired. They kept themselves spread apart when they did that.
Jol2 didn’t like the way the battle was going. The Torians still had an advantage in numbers, but it wasn’t helping as much as it should. Casualties on both sides were mounting equally. The Torian military would be severely wounded if this kept up. The High General must have realized this as well. You could hear the frustration in his voice on the command channel.
Jol2 was about to order another engagement when a new fleet of fighter ships could be seen massing at Amulen.
“What’s happening over Amulen?” Jol2 asked the dispatcher. “Are more Latians coming?”
“Negative on Latian,” the voice said back. “Please stand by for identification.”
“Dirg,” the dispatcher said after a short pause. “The Dirgs have scrambled their fighters.”
Olut6’s voice came back on the speaker. “Hold your position at Cardinal-4, boys. Repeat. Hold your position.”
Jol2 fought back a growing feeling of despondency. If another alien fighter fleet was lining up against them, the Torain military would have more than they could handle.
“General, you’ve got to bring the ITF1’s into the fight,” Jol2 radioed.
“Just hold steady for one extat minute, Captain. Let’s see if we’re getting help.”
Help. That’s what they thought when the Latians scrambled, and they only joined the enemy.
The light weapon. It had to be the light weapon that was causing the visiting aliens to make war with them. Jol2 understood. It was a fearsome device of mass destruction. The aliens were all afraid of it, and would rather destroy the Torians than allow anyone to possess such a thing. This whole affair was so convoluted. Now the Torians were relying on their enemies’ fear of it in order to maintain a measure of control in the ongoing battle. Too bad they didn’t actually possess such a thing. It would be incredibly useful right about now.
Maybe the High General knew something about the Dirgs Jol2 didn’t. He had, after all, recently visited Amulen. The Torian fighter fleet obeyed the last order and hung back around the station. They watched as the Dirg fighters assembled next to Amulen in the distance.
The Latians, meanwhile, boldly inched ever closer to Cardinal-4 in well spread-out fly-by formations. They came within range of Cardinal-4’s REEP defense system now when they did that, but were so spread out the bunker probably couldn’t find a shot they liked.
The Dirg fleet finished massing and began to approach from Amulen.
“Clear the front side of the station,” the dispatcher’s voice said on the speaker. Good. They were going to take a shot at the impetuous Latians. Perhaps that would make the Dirgs think twice about engaging them.
Only one squadron of fighters needed to clear the front of Cardinal-4, as the rest of the fleet was positioned above, below, and behind it. A new wave of Latian fighters then swooped by in front of the station. The space went wavy and two of them exploded. Two others were visibly shaken. The Latians retreated and rejoined the enemy ranks.
Then the Dirgs came. Their fleet of half-star shaped fighters accelerated impressively the last distance between Amulen and the enemy position. Some of the dark ships, and several of the Latian fighters, turned to face them. But not many. Jol2 got the impression they didn’t know whether the new fleet would be friend or foe either—but reacted in a non-confrontational way, banking on them being friendly.
That was a mistake. The Dirgs fired into the rear of the enemy position. They had come to help! Olut6 was right. And these guys could fly. Jol2 was impressed with their attack formation, which came in fast and tight before spreading out at the last second. A significant portion of their fleet broke off and ran directly at the Latian position. So much for their truce.
“The Dirgs are friendly!” Jol2 radioed. “Repeat, the Dirgs have engaged the enemy. Moving in to help.”
“Go,” Olut6’s voice said back.
With so many of the enemy ships having now turned to engage the Dirgs, Jol2 found his next attack run to be much less hindered. Inspired by the veracity of the Dirg attack, Jol2 led his squadrons in fast and tight, directly at the enemy, spreading out at the last moment as the Dirgs had done. It was the pincer movement he wanted before. The Latians and the dark ships were now fighting two fronts.
Jol2’s gunner focused and scored two direct hits with lasers, damaging two of the dark ships. The space all around them was full of fighters and lasers. Jol2 arced his way up and through it all to the left, coming out of the dark ships and heading towards the Latian grouping. His gunner fired missiles into the thickest part of them.
Jol2 didn’t wait to see if the missiles hit before swinging back around to Cardinal-4 again. Most of the Torian fighters did the same. It was better to make calculated runs from their position of safety than to stay actively engaged. That was higher percentage fighting for them. The enemy wanted them to stay actively engaged. Never give the enemy what they want.
As Jol2’s ship flew around the backside of the station, he saw two big yellow fireballs detonate above Banor. The spacewalker crews had successfully blown the remaining two attack satellites. Banor was safe again.
*
Jumper’s opponent in the final was from a race known as the Callians. Jumper remembered them a little from his galactic species studies. They were the ones who wore the helmets with the dark face shields and blinking lights. The rest of their outfits matched their helmets; eggshell-colored arm and leg guards, plus a breast plate, all made from some kind of hard plastic alloy. Jumper didn’t know if they dressed that way to protect themselves from solar rays, or if they just wanted to look like a bunch of tough-looking robot warriors or something.
One thing he did know was they were unemotional in their approach to the game. When Jumper’s opponent emerged victorious in the semi-finals, he showed no jubilation, and, once again, the Callians in the stands only stood and clapped in an orderly fashion. That may have been part of their gamesmanship, but they sure appeared to have every expectation of winning the tournament.
As the two of them walked out on the field, Jumper discovered he finally had a cheering section. A large one. He was he last Torian left alive, and had apparently assumed the role of the new local hero. They went crazy when he stepped on the field, cheered louder when he waved to the crowd, and roared as he took his seat in the mechanical chair.
This was what he had been playing for, to win the opportunity to play on the special game set. It was, perhaps, the single greatest thrill of his life. The Callian took the opposite chair and they both played with the controls for a bit to get the feel of them. The joystick pulled up and pushed down in addition to moving directionally, so it alone controlled all possible movement.
The chair controls were sensitive. The large mechanical elbow-arms that held the seats complied with the joysticks’ every slight whim.
The
Callian moved his seat up to the top of the frame once, over to one side once, backwards once, and then pulled it forward to sit in the middle and wait for the game to begin.
Not Jumper. He wanted to milk the opportunity for all it was worth. He drove the chair all around the frame, out, in, down diagonally, and made tightening circular motions to the delight of the audience.
Belle-ub stepped up to the front of his terrace and delivered a short speech before the final game began. It was late in the afternoon. Shadows stretched across the stadium, leaving only the highest seats on the western side to bask in the remaining rays of sunlight.
The stadium lighting came on and the crowd cheered. Belle-ub congratulated the two finalists and made a few more remarks about galactic peace before stepping back.
The game frame turned on. The light from it was bright. Jumper shielded his eyes until it retracted to the edges of the frame and dimmed. It was time to play.
But something didn’t feel right to Jumper. The energy from the game had a bad effect on him. His head started hurting and the knot returned in his stomach. He was fine until the game turned on. Being this close to such a strong electromagnetic field might not be something that is easy on the human physique.
Jumper was the curved pieces again, having finished first in the semi-finals. He drove the chair down to the piece bin, grabbed one, took it to the upper-middle of the frame, positioned it sideways, and released. The force of the energy field sucking it into place was stronger than he expected, and tipped him off balance. He had to steady himself with his other arm on the side of the chair to avoid falling out of it.