Relic Tech

by Terry W. Ervin II

  I watched, stunned. “Like BB’s against aluminum foil. We can’t stand up to that.” The Riveter slowed and angled out of formation. “She’s still firing!” One tri-beam turret tore into the damaged battle cruiser. Six more missiles sped from the light cruiser’s racks even as internal explosions rocked her. A fiery disintegration followed. “No escape pods?”

  “None,” whispered Watts, double-checking the monitors.

  I could barely watch as the caustic canisters closed. The corvettes and destroyers let loose with their point defense pulse lasers. “There’re too many canisters,” I said. Lasers blazing, the corvettes followed by the destroyers plowed into the caustic wave. One police cutter dove and evaded. The other took several hits and tumbled. Detonations riddled the destroyer and corvette hulls. A resulting debris cloud engulfed the ships.

  I couldn’t believe it. “They survived!” The destroyers and corvettes emerged from the cloud, launching missiles and focusing all laser turrets on the crippled battle cruiser. The dock and monitor added their long range fire.

  “She’s breaking up,” announced Instructor Watts, as two of the battle cruiser’s forward sections ruptured. Three missiles survived defensive fire and detonated their nuclear warheads against the dying battle cruiser’s hull. “Scratch that one.” She eyed my puzzlement. “Explosive armor. Reacts when caustic fluid impacts a ship. The outer plating is blown from the hull. It’s an old armor trick.”

  “For all the good it’ll do them,” I said. The human escorts had swung broadside at point blank range to bring all turrets to bear. The Crax pulse lasers cut down every missile launched.

  “Wise,” said Watts. “They’re targeting a troop transport.”

  “Too late.” I said, leaning on the console. Streams of emerald energy bolts shattered the two destroyers and one corvette. “We’re no match for the Primus.” The surviving corvette executed a series of radical maneuvers to join the fleeing police cutter and fighters. The Crax cone formation ignored the evading ships and bored in on the dock and defending monitor.

  “The dock can’t hold up to that,” I said. “Let alone us. They could take out the con-gate. Especially if it’s energized, and it wouldn’t be any use to us if it wasn’t.”

  “They’ll try to capture the dock intact,” said Watts. “The con-gate as well. They’ll want a base of operations.”

  I tuned into the Kalavar’s fighter frequency, but adjusted my com-set for command frequency priority. The Chicher battlewagon continued to scatter the area with ion cannon fire, with as much luck as the midget frigate fusion beams. “Their targeting and tracking just can’t do it.” I checked the console broadcast from my com-set. “Only two midget frigates left. One enemy fighter eliminated.”

  “Approaching optimum range,” Howler’s voice crackled through the outside interference. Just then the Chicher battlewagon scored a hit on the leading destroyer, followed by a second.

  “Ion cannons,” I said. “That should cause them some troubles.” The Crax vessel slowed.

  “Temporary,” said Instructor Watts. “They’ll be quick to reset affected systems.”

  The unaffected destroyer ignored the approaching enemy fighter flotilla and fired a canister barrage at the battlewagon.

  “Viper one away. Viper two away!” yelled Howler. “From Umbelgarri with love.”

  “Let’s get back to mother,” said Griffin. “Chicher flotilla, evasive maneuver waterfall, on my mark.”

  “We gnaw nest raiders,” replied the flotilla leader. “Return. Defend your nest.” The Chicher demonstrated their intent by firing another volley of balled electricity at the stricken Crax. Several bolts found their mark, adding to the internal havoc.

  “Acknowledged,” said Graying Griffin and led the larger attack shuttle into a dive, away from the reforming enemy fighters. Three stayed on the midget frigates. Two broke off to chase the Kalavar’s combat shuttles, leaving a pair to bore in on the Chicher battlewagon.

  The battlewagon continued to fire ion cannons and opened up with defensive fusion beams at the two Crax attack craft. “They made their run unscathed,” I said. “Knocked out one ion cannon.” The battlewagon launched debris pods in the path of the oncoming Crax canister barrage. The remaining pair of midget frigates raced behind Howler’s two missiles toward the destroyer.

  “She’s recovering,” said Watts. “Returning to course.”

  “Two bogies on our tail,” called Bolt as he maneuvered his attack shuttle. “Gaining fast.”

  “Acknowledged,” replied the fighter in the wing position. “We’re full throttle.”

  “Run straight, preparing caltrops,” said Howler, music still reverberating. “Keep running. Keep running. They’re approaching optimum range. Release!” A trail of proximity-fused micro-explosives scattered in the attack shuttle’s wake. From the wing position, Griffin’s fighter followed suit.

  “This had better work,” said Bolt.

  Flashes erupted around the Crax fighters as they blew through the barrier. The lead fighter slowed, but continued to close.

  “Bank left,” called Bolt. “Griffin, get on their six.”

  Howler opened up with the rear-mounted pulse laser. “Can’t get a lock, going manual.”

  The Crax fighters bored in unfazed. Griffin’s fighter was parallel to, and then slipped in behind the lead enemy fighter, risking all. The trailing Crax fighter was parallel to Griffin. The lead Crax began machine-gunning caustic pellets at Bolt and Howler as they strove to shake their pursuers.

  “Can’t get lock,” called Griffin. “Second bogie is slipping behind me. Going to manual.” Pulse laser fire from the fighter and the attack shuttle crisscrossed around the enemy fighter. It jinked side-to-side, foiling their efforts.

  Static erupted from the communication signal. “We’re hit,” called Howler.” Alarms sounded. “Aft turret out. Systems failing.”

  “Losing power,” called Bolt. The shuttle shuddered. Another line of pellets impacted, eating through the skin and into the bowels of the craft.

  “Eject! Eject!” cried Bolt, too late. The shuttle exploded.

  “Yes,” shouted Instructor Watts.

  “What!” I said. “They just blew Howler and Bolt away!”

  Watts looked over to my screen. “Oh, no,” she said, catching the flaring embers that seconds before had been Bolt and Howler. “At least their sacrifice.” She stopped and looked me in the eye. “Their missiles were Umbelgarri.” She tapped the controls to replay the sequence. The missiles’ installed defense screens absorbed the point defense lasers before they split into multiple warheads. “Eight of the ten warheads hit.”

  The switch back to real time showed the Crax destroyer’s port side smashed inward. Both surviving midget frigates sped past, raking the crippled destroyer with fusion beams. Two Crax fighters raced in hot pursuit.

  “Mom!” Skids pointed. The Chicher battlewagon rocked with explosions and began breaking apart. “They’re still coming.” He gulped and lost all color. As if to punctuate his fears, both the surviving midget frigate and Griffin’s fighter exploded.

  “Transport Kalavar, this is the destroyer escort Samuel B. Roberts,” crackled over my com-set.

  “This is the Kalavar,” Captain Tilayvaux replied.

  “Report situation, Kalavar.”

  “All Chicher vessels destroyed. Defensive fighters destroyed. Aft armament ready, limited to 70-degree arc laser, 135 degree target acquisition. There’s a Crax destroyer, two attack shuttles, three breaching pods between Kalavar and the gate, and advancing. Our cascading engine won’t recycle for another forty-eight minutes.”

  “Acknowledged. We’re tracking them now. They’ve four fighters forming up with them.” The destroyer escort captain paused. “Your priority cargo acknowledged. Come about, best speed. Form up with us and we’ll punch you through.” He paused again. “Gunboats Thunder Child and Calling Thunder, advance on the enemy flank. Use long-range fire if you can to end that crippled destroyer’s
fighting days.”

  “Acknowledged,” returned both gunboat captains.

  “Destroyer escort,” I said to Watts. “She must’ve been pulled from mothballs and upgraded.”

  Michael removed my helmet. “Look there.”

  My eyes followed his to the monitor that showed, boxed by its fighters, the Umbelgarri frigate. Two trailing police cutters supported. “This engagement’ll be decided as fast as the other?” They closed on the second, smaller Crax formation.

  “It will,” said Watts. “First, the wave of enemy fighters and attack craft will sweep through to disrupt the formation. Watch. The Umbelgarri won’t miss.”

  On cue, golden, arcing energy beams, resembling the Chicher white fusion beams, emanated from the Umbelgarri frigate and fighters, striking out at the closing enemy.

  “Advanced tracking systems,” I responded. “Accurate and deadly.” The frigate emerged pockmarked from the sweep, but unhindered. “I count six Umbelgarri fighters.” I reexamined the display. “One cutter’s falling back.”

  “Yes, Specialist,” she said. “But see, two of the three squadrons are gone.”

  “Chopped to bits!” yelled Skids.

  “They’re circling back for another run,” said Watts, resting a hand on Skids’ shoulder. “They’ll ignore the cutters.”

  The Umbelgarri fighters broke from their mother ship to intercept the returning fighters. “That’s not standard tactics,” I said. The frigate accelerated into the maw of the three Selgum Crax destroyers that supported the carrier and assault ship. “Think it can take them?”

  All five Crax let loose with their canister weapons. “Maybe.” Hope echoed through her voice.

  “Really, Mom?” Skids’ shoulders no longer slouched as he leaned toward the monitors. “Take’em out! Take’em!”

  The Umbelgarri reached out with its main beam armament. The ghostly, golden-hued line slid downward, slicing into the assault ship. Smaller beams arced madly to obliterate the canisters as they approached. About one in three got through. The Crax laid in a continuous acidic avalanche.

  “The assault ship’s slipping behind that destroyer,” I said. The Umbelgarri sliced into the intervening vessel, severing one of the sections at the elbow and, with an upward return stroke, tore into the main junction.

  Watts adjusted the screens. “She’s lost seventy percent of her defensive beams. They’re getting through.” The Umbelgarri sliced into the assault ship, clipping off a disk section before carving upward into the central hull.

  “Two down!” cried Skids as internal explosions emanated from the assault ship. Then he frowned.

  “She’s losing power,” said Watts as the Umbelgarri ship appeared to list. “She’s not going to make it.” Several escape pods popped from the hull, but instead of running, they rocketed toward the enemy formation. The Crax targeted them and destroyed two. The third detonated against a destroyer’s port side.

  “I think they picked that one up during the Silicate War.” I said. “From us.”

  The Umbelgarri beam struck out again, targeting the damaged destroyer, but the weapon only scarred the hull. Flames erupted aft, near the sleek Umbelgarri ship’s engines. Explosions followed.

  I shook my head. “They’re swinging wide to finish her off.” Canister fire rained down on the faltering Umbelgarri ship. It reminded me of Ms. Jazarine’s tortured demise.

  The frigate lashed out, one final ineffectual blow, before breaking up. Eight Crax fighters and two attack craft formed up with the surviving carrier and two destroyers.

  I slid into a seat and scanned the internal security monitors. Each marine had paired up with a sec-spec. Each duo had a score of armed civilians with them. I flipped from camera to camera.

  “Are you okay, Specialist Keesay?” asked Instructor Watts. She rolled her chair close.

  “Give me a minute.” I said, and took several deep breaths.

  “Michael, how about you?”

  “I’m okay—I’m a little scared, Mom. They’re coming.”

  I checked my equipment. Pulled Ms. Jazarine’s slender blade and set it across the desk.

  “Specialist Keesay?”

  I looked at Instructor Watts. “I’d say call me Kra, but I don’t know who you are.” She pursed her lips. “The pilots,” I said. “Griffin, Bolt, Howler. They were good guys. Really helped me out.” I flexed my fingers. “Sorry, guess I just came off my adrenaline rush. Hope I got all the infiltrators.”

  “Me, too,” she said, and switched off the room’s internal monitors. “Dr. Maximar Drizdon.” Her face had lost all expression.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Dr. Maximar Drizdon is my husband. His son, my son, is Maximar Jr.”

  “Maximar Drizdon?” I said. “The combat theoretician? Who masterminded the offensive against the Shards?” She nodded. “Anticipated a wormhole appearance and enabled a fleet to take the attack to them?” She nodded again. “I guess you would know something about fleet weapons and tactics.”

  “Yes.” She smiled, and extended her hand. “Veronica Drizdon.” I shook it. Skids, or Maximar Jr., stood next to me grinning ear to ear. “You kept the secret well,” she said to her son.

  “And you’ll have to continue,” I said to Maximar Jr. I scrutinized his mother. “I recall clips of you. Cosmetic surgery?”

  “DNA manipulations too. At least for me.”

  “With war brewing, I can guess why some might be after you. Wonder how much Stardz, Schultz, Jazarine and B’down took to turn traitor on their own species.”

  “The Crax might not have paid them,” she said. “But that’s all I can say. You deserve that much, at least.”

  “Understood. Thanks. I’ll continue to refer to you as Instructor Watts, and Skids. Not only for security reasons, but it’s so ingrained.”

  “Lori will do, Kra.” She flipped her hair back and rubbed her chin. “If I had to classify you, I’d say you’re a hybrid. Rogue and good Samaritan.”

  “I think we know which genes are dominant,” I said, reactivating the internal monitors.

  My com-set crackled. “Transport Kalavar, this is the Zeta Aquarius Dock, Rear Admiral West.” The voice was throaty and deep. “Con-gate set for condensation ratio 51.375K. Altering target. Will commence long range bombardment of blocking Crax vessel.”

  “Zeta Aquarius Dock,” replied the captain. “Gate factor acknowledged. Negative on blocking vessel. Forming up with Samuel B. Roberts, Thunder Child and Calling Thunder.”

  “Kalavar, near zero probability of surviving enemy assault. We’re set to self-destruct.”

  “Acknowledged. Situation understood. The longer you keep them occupied, the better our chances.”

  “Con-gate power setting for two ships, minimum two minute interval. Both will be at 22.833K. Kalavar, Sammy Roberts, good luck. We’ll hold’em and take as many as we can.” The admiral either forgot or chose not to close the channel. “Bays launch all attack shuttles and remaining fighters. Keep that carrier from crawling up our ass. Surviving cutters, flank them. Stellar Inferno, let’s help the Primus bastards remember they were in a fight. Target escort on the heavy’s port side. Lock will be inoperative, so go manual and shoot straight. All batteries open fire. Fire at will.”

  I turned away from the initial bombardment to watch Specialist Liu approach Security. She wore a sidearm on her hip and carried a satchel. I keyed the intercom. “Specialist Liu,” I said. “Good day, how can I be of service?”

  She gazed at the door for a second. “Busy day. I’ve brought breakfast.”

  “Now that you mention it, I am hungry.” I checked Lori Watts and her son. They both nodded.

  “The chief suggested chicken patties, your favorite.”

  “Very kind, Specialist Liu. I’ll check with him.”

  “He thought you might.” She spoke into her collar. “Chief, I’m at Security. Door remains locked.”

  “Keesay,” came over my com-set. “Better eat up. May be a while.”
r />   “Understood, Chief.” I double-checked the monitors and keyed open the door.

  Skids whispered into his mother’s ear. “Specialist Keesay,” she said. “Michael needs to relieve himself.”

  Liu set the satchel on the desk. “Can you hold the fort?” I asked.

  “No need,” said Liu. She called up a screen and entered a code. “The chief’s office has a back room.” The connecting door to his office slid open.

  “Really?”

  “Long hours,” said Liu.

  “You keep them, too. Joint code,” I said. “Makes sense.”

  “I’ll take him,” said Lori.

  I asked Liu, “How go the preparations to repel boarding?”

  “Actually, your colonists seem the most eager. How goes it out there? I heard not too well.”

  “Correct. We’ve got a Crax destroyer and some support between the con-gate and us. We’ve got a damaged destroyer escort, some fighters and a couple of gunboats to assist.”

  “They’ve got breaching pods?” asked Liu.

  I nodded. “Captain’s plan for a surprise run ended quick.”

  “The chief said you took out two infiltrators.”

  I opened up the satchel and set out the food and juice. “The exotic dancer and a business man. Both had Crax screens. Hope that’s all because I was lucky.”

  “You always seem to manage, somehow,” she said. “I caught part of it in engineering, but only your part of the conversation came through.”

  “Oh, Ms. Jazarine,” I said. “Offered me a place in their conspiracy. I immediately accepted.” Admin Specialist Liu’s mouth dropped for just a second, until I broke into a smile and winked. I took a bite of the sandwich. “Actually, I slit Mr. B’down’s throat. Ms. Jazarine fell on her own narcotic tainted blade. I’d have killed her just the same. Kept his blood on my bayonet and hers on that for analysis, should we make it through this.”

  “They’ve got Schultz rigged for cold sleep. Think there are any more?”