by James Evans
Tomsk screamed something as the faceplate on his helmet closed, but Cohen couldn’t make it out. He triggered the door control, overriding the safety mechanism to force it to open even as the ship’s atmosphere leaked from the bridge. Then he punched the icon to run the script that would overload the hyperspace engine and trigger Ascendant’s destruction.
Then a large piece of the hull blew out of the side of the ship, taking the remaining atmosphere from the bridge and turning the breeze from the open corridor into a howling gale. Cohen watched as Tomsk clutched at the bridge furniture while around him his troops were blown or knocked through the gaping hole.
Cohen waited till he was sure Tomsk was looking at him. Then he gave a friendly salute and pushed himself into the stream of gas. In seconds, he was gone, snatched away by the wind and blown outside the ship. The stars flashed before his eyes as he spun end over end. Then the suit’s automated systems took over, firing manoeuvring thrusters to stabilise him and stop his tumble.
“That seemed to work,” muttered Cohen. Then he took control of the suit and set a course that would take him back to Ascendant.
33
Corn’s hands flew over the shuttle’s controls as she guided it along the underside of Target One, using the bulk of the capital ship to shield them from detection until they were ready to make a break for it.
Unlike the interstellar ships, the shuttle had transparent ports in her nose, offering a panoramic view of the way ahead. Designed for short range ship to ship transfers, the shuttle lacked the heavy shielding that made high-speed travel possible in an environment where even grains of sand were dangerous.
It also lacked both space and compartments, so as Corn flew, the Marines were crowded in behind her watching every move. It was like sitting every flying test she’d ever taken, all at the same time.
“Nicely done,” said Warden as Corn guided the shuttle clear of Target One’s bulk. “Where is Palmerston?” he asked, looking around.
“Should be waiting for us over there,” said Corn as the shuttle span, “nice and safe behind Ascendant.” Then the great ship came into view, sliding upwards as the shuttles came down.
“Last round of charges firing now, Captain,” said Marine X from the back of the shuttle. He was peering out of the rear viewing ports, taking in the undeniable majesty of Tomsk’s flagship as the shuttle slid slowly past.
“Any sign of action?” asked Warden nervously. The shuttle was completely unarmoured. A railgun round would go right through the tiny ship and out the other side, and that would mark an ignominious end to an otherwise successful venture.
“Not a sausage, sir,” said Ten happily. “Looks like they’re busy with other problems.” As well they should be. The Marines had torn through Target One using every demo pack they could carry and leaving behind a trail of high explosive charges. A few they had triggered as they went, others were waiting to be detonated remotely, and a few were on timers; all were placed against sensitive or delicate parts of the ship.
Corn brought the shuttle over the lip of Ascendant’s hull into the relative safety of her shadow and relaxed a little. Then she frowned as she looked around.
“She’s not here,” Corn said quietly as the shuttle came to a halt relative to Ascendant. “That’s going to make things a bit tricky.”
“They said they were dealing with Target Two,” said Warden, “but shouldn’t they be back by now to collect us? And where is Target Two anyway?”
“Can’t tell,” said Corn slowly. The shuttle’s sensors were limited, however, and wherever Palmerston and Target Two had gone to play, they were out of range. “Or destroyed,” muttered Corn under her breath.
“We’ll be next if Palmerston’s been destroyed,” said Warden quietly. It was a grim thought, especially so far from home.
Then a message popped up on Corn’s HUD.
“Oh, thank fuck for that,” murmured Corn, dragging Warden into the channel.
Corn and Warden exchanged a glance.
Warden frowned at Corn.
“He means they’re accelerating too fast for safety and taking injuries,” she explained.
“Shit,” said Warden.
A package of data unfolded into Corn’s HUD.
“This is going to be tricky,” she said as she worked to translate the flight plan into the unfamiliar Deathless navigation system. It took a minute, then a blue line appeared on the main screen showing a suggested route to the rendezvous.
“Okay, we can work with that,” said Corn. “They’re coming in close and braking hard. Difficult, but we can get most of the way there in Ascendant’s shadow.”
“And the rest?” asked Warden with a frown.
“If you wanted safe,” said Corn with a shrug, “you should have stayed on New Bristol.”
Warden looked at her for a moment then nodded. “I’ll brief my team.”
Corn guided the shuttle along Ascendant’s flank, staying close to the hull and moving so slowly she could see every gouge, puncture and tear in the great ship.
“Strange, the damage doesn’t look so bad from out here,” she said as Ascendant’s hull floated past. Then she passed a gaping hole almost big enough for the shuttle to land in, and she quickly revised her opinion.
The message floated across her HUD attached to Cohen’s avatar.
She stared at the messages, open-mouthed, then she grinned.
“Cohen’s alive,” she yelled to Warden and the Marines.
“On the outside,” she said quietly, her grin fading.
Corn shook her head. It was insane. People travelled inside ships for a damned good reason. But she didn’t have a better plan.
“We’re going back for Cohen,” she yelled to the Marines. “Hang on to something.”
She flipped the shuttle around and mashed the accelerator, pushing the shuttle’s tiny engine to burn as hard as it could. There was a chorus of disgruntled protests as the Marines were tossed and bounced around the inside of the shuttle, but even going flat out ,the little ship wasn’t much faster than an old-fashioned bus.
“Quit your whining,” she yelled over her shoulder as Warden heaved himself into the co-pilot’s chair.
“Where is he?” Warden asked as the shuttle raced along only metres above Ascendant’s hull. The guidance computer pinged and beeped for attention, continuously re-plotting their route as Corn took the shuttle further and further from the rendezvous point.
“Up there near the bridge, somewhere,” said Corn, waving her hands vaguely. “Keep your eyes open.”
“There,” said Warden, pointing excitedly. A small figure was standing on the outside of the hull, waving at the shuttle and flashing a weak light.
“Here we go,” muttered Corn, hands hovering over the console as she judged the distance.
“Wait, you’re doing this by eye?” asked an incredulous Warden.
“No time for anything else,” shouted Corn. “Hold on!”
Then she killed the main engine, fired the thrusters to flip the shuttle through a hundred and eighty degrees, and rammed the engine back to full power. It screamed, and the Marines were thrown around like dolls on the inside of the shuttle.
Corn flicked up a feed from the rear cameras and watched as the image of Cohen grew rapidly. He threw himself flat against Ascendant’s hull at the last minute as the shuttle came to a halt above the hole in the bridge’s wall.
In the forward windows, Corn, Warden and the Marines watched as Cohen, only a few metres away, levered himself upright.
Then he pushed away from Ascendant to float across the gap and land on the outside of the shuttle. There were four distinct clangs as the magnets in his suit’s gloves and boots engaged, clamping him to the shuttle’s hull.
Corn fired the shuttle’s thrusters, angling the tiny ship along the path the computer was showing, then she triggered the main engine and pushed it to maximum. There was another round of groaning complaints from the Marines as the shuttle shot forward.
“This is going to be very close,” Corn muttered, teeth gritted.
Then the shuttle shot out from the protection of Ascendant’s shadow and streaked across open space.
“Come on, come on,” muttered Corn, almost bouncing in her seat. She glanced at the rear monitors as Target One’s bulk came quickly into view before receding slowly into the distance.
“Is that turret moving?” asked Warden, zooming the image to focus on a small section of Target One’s hull.
“Oh, shit,” murmured Corn, glancing at the monitor as the gun swung slowly in their direction.
Corn slapped at the controls and the engines died. The change in acceleration was a relief to the Marines, but it didn’t stop them grumbling.
“Where the hell is Palmerston?” hissed Warden as Target One’s gun came to bear.
“There,” said Corn, pointing out of the window as the engines of the gunboat flared brightly against the stars. “Bloody close,” said Corn in a tight voice as she gripped the arms of her chair.
There was an awful moment when Corn thought they might have overshot and missed Palmerston entirely. Then there was a flash of dark grey hull and the shuttle was suddenly inside the gunboat’s bay. There was a terrible shudder as the shuttle touched down and then the most appalling juddering as she scraped across the floor of the bay, twisting to run backwards into the wall.
Corn had one last look at Ascendant and Target One, still locked together, then the bay doors closed, and Palmerston escaped into hyperspace.
Admiral Tomsk watched in disbelief as Cohen escaped through the hole he had blasted in the wall of the bridge.
“Get him,” he screamed, although it was obvious that none of his boarding party were in any state to obey his order. It was all they could do to hang on to the furniture to avoid following those of their comrades who had already made the ultimate sacrifice.
Then the wind finally died away as the last remnants of Ascendant’s atmosphere were vented into space. No longer fighting against the wind, the Deathless recovered their poise and looked again to Admiral Tomsk for orders.
“Back to the ship,” yelled Tomsk, pushing away from the console to which he had been clinging, and heading for the door. He bullied his way past his troops and into the corridor, but where previously their passage had been eased by the open doors, now they found every door closed against them.
“Get them open,” commanded Tomsk, gesturing wildly. The troopers struggled to obey, eventually resorting to cranking open each of the heavy doors manually. By the time the party reached the inner airlock that led to the flagship, they were exhausted.
Tomsk cycled quickly through the airlock and across the tube to his flagship, but things were hardly better here. Emergency sirens wailed and red warning lamps flashed everywhere, but at least the ship’s gravity still worked. There was nobody to greet him – an appalling breach of protocol – and a series of updates, alerts and dire warnings scrolled through his helmet’s display. He silenced the feed and walked quickly towards the bridge.
“What the hell is going on?” he yelled as he strode onto the bridge.
The ship’s commander, Captain Smirnov, glanced over, then straightened and saluted.
“We’ve been boarded, sir,” he said in a tone of mild panic.
“Boarded?” hissed Tomsk, outraged. He removed his helmet and tossed it onto the floor. “What do you mean?”
“A hundred at least, maybe more. They opened an airlock and forced entry, then made an assault against our systems.”
On a screen behind Smirnov, a feed from a corridor played, showing enemy troops moving quickly through the ship into the main shuttle bay.
“Sir, something’s wrong with Varpulis,” said Junior Lieutenant Kuznetsov, pointing at his monitor. “The radiation readings are spiking and there’s a strong heat signature from the hyperspace engine.”
“What?” snapped Smirnov. “Show me.”
He crossed the bridge to look closely at Kuznetsov’s screen.
“Shuttle bay doors have opened,” reported Orlov quietly. Nobody took any notice.
“Hyperspace engine overload,” breathed Kuznetsov. He turned to look at Admiral Tomsk. “They’ve rigged the ship to blow, sir. It’ll take us with it.”
“Get someone over there, right now, and fix it!” instructed Tomsk.
“Yes, sir,” said Smirnov, relaying instructions to the science and maintenance teams.
“And move us away from Varpulis,” snapped Tomsk, “immediately!”
“We can’t detach, sir,” said Smirnov. “The mechanisms are locked.”
Tomsk stares at him. “Don’t give me ‘can’t’, you worm. Fire the engines, move us away from Varpulis.”
“Engines are offline, sir,” said Junior Lieutenant Ivanov, hands shaking as they rested on his console. Tomsk whirled around. “Something cut the power supply, sir,” said the hapless helmsman quietly.
“How long till Varpulis becomes critical?” shouted Smirnov.
Kuznetsov looked around, shaking his head, fear etched into his face. “I don’t know, sir.”
“Then find out!” screamed Tomsk. “And get us away from Varpulis.”
The bridge crew worked feverishly, shouting instructions to maintenance teams or just trying to reboot their own consoles. The damage to the ship blocked everything they tried.
“It’s no good, sir, there’s nothing we can do!” said Smirnov.
“What is that?” snarled Tomsk at a comms message in the corner of the display.
“The mandrills, sir,” said Kuznetzov. “They’re abandoning us.”
A mandrill waved at the admiral, then the comms link was cut.
“They’ve gone to hyperspace, sir.”
Then a feed on the main display showed a shuttle emerging from behind Varpulis and heading into space. The movement caught Tomsk’s eye and he stared at it for a moment, distracted from the mandrill and captivated by the craft’s slow progress.
“Kill them!” he yelled suddenly, pointing manically at the screen, eyes blazing. “Kill them, kill them, kill them!” He leapt across to the weapons control desk, shoving the operator out of the way to take direct control.
“Argh! Does nothing work?” he screamed in frustration, cycling through the weapon systems to try to find one that hadn’t been disabled. “Hah, now I have you!”
The screen flipped to show a targeting display for the ship’s only working railgun. Tomsk hissed as the weapon slowly turned, gradually coming to bear on the fleeing shuttle.
“Die, you bastards,” he yelled in triumph.
But in the instant victory, a second ship flashed into view and the shuttle disappeared into its bay. Tomsk stared, open-mouthed, unable to believe what he was seeing as the railgun churned slowly into position.
The ship’s doors closed, there was a sudden burst of light, and both shuttle and rescuer disappeared into hyperspace.
“No!” screamed Tomsk, punching the controls and sending railgun rounds spewing harmlessly across the void.
Then Ascendant’s hyperspace engine exploded. A ripple of blue light seared along the length of the ship, tearing it apart before cutting into Tomsk’s flagship and slicing it to pieces. Further explosions followed, ripping open both ships and atomising Tomsk and his remaining crew.
34
Palmerston dropped out of hyperspace mere seconds after entering, appearing only a few hundred kilometres from Child of Starlight. An hour later, Palmerston touched down in Child of Starlight’s main bay to be met by a flood of medical personnel.
Cohen, White and Warden stood by as the injured were triaged and taken for further treatment.
“There wasn’t anything we could do,” said White quietly as the Valkyr worked. “Target Two diverted from their course.”
“You did the right thing, Tim,” said Cohen. “The Deathless would have wrought havoc on Child of Starlight. We’re lucky they turned back.”
“And you couldn’t have left then unchallenged, sir,” said Warden, adding his support. “One way or another, they had to be dealt with.”