by Nick Webb
“Salt and Pepper.”
She pointed a finger at him. “You already said that one. I win.”
“Dammit.”
“Jack and Diane. Always go with your first instinct.”
He drummed his fingers on the table. “Yeah okay. Actually, I kind of like it.”
ME TOO, said her companion.
Yeah? Diane?
YEAH. DIANE. AND JACK LIKES HIS.
Alright then. Jack and Diane it is. She looked over at Danny. “They like it too.”
“Then it’s settled. Good. I was getting tired of calling it, it. Speaking of which, Jack, what the hell makes you a boy anyway?”
Liu heard the response from Jack in her own head. It felt just a hair different than Diane’s voice, like he was definitely a distinct individual. I GUESS IT’S BECAUSE OF MY BIG DICK, DANNY.
They both laughed. “Oh god he sounds just like you,” she said between laughs. “Like father like son.”
For the first time in a while they lived in the moment and let the laughter continue. Between losing their friends on Britannia, losing Earth, and any number of other disasters, it had been a long time since they’d let themselves just enjoy laughing without the feeling of constant dread.
Reality, however, interrupted. Cooper’s voice sounded out of the speakers. “Mr. Proctor, tour’s over, I’m heading back. Be ready to depart when I get there.”
“Duty calls,” he said, then tapped his handheld to reply. “Acknowledged, Madam President.” He tapped the conversation closed. “What do you think?”
“What do I think that the new chairman of the board of Shovik-Orion—who may or may not be who he says he is—explicitly told his personnel not to give Cooper anything, and they turn around and do just the opposite? What do you think I think?”
“I think it’s time to take matters into our own hands.”
“Agreed.”
She heard both Diane’s and Jack’s voices in her mind. WE AGREE.
“It’s decided then. The question is how.”
They sat in silence for awhile considering their options, and the gravity of working against the president of United Earth while employed as the very people trusted to keep her safe.
Down the hall, the airlock door slid open and they stood up to go greet her. President Cooper walked through the airlock. In one hand was a burrito, which she handed to Liu. “Warm this up for me sweetheart, I’m starving.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Liu. She took the burrito and watched the President’s other hand. It was carrying a suitcase. “Whatcha got in there?”
“Like I told you before, not your business to know.” She turned to Danny. “Get us back to Earth. Now. Before more people die at the hands of those monsters.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. At Liu, he thought, We’ll figure out what to do on Earth. If she’s got the quote-unquote Juice, there’s no way in hell we’re letting her use it.
And if we fail?
He flashed a lop-sided smile. Then we die trying.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Veracruz Sector
Chantana III
Interior
Itharan Capital City
The burning wreck of the little corvette Legend was over half a kilometer away and he could still feel the intense heat.
“Well,” said Granger, “I don’t suppose Vestige has a spare?”
“Well,” mimicked Jasper, adding a slight edge of sarcasm, “if someone hadn’t turned down a Vestige fleet escort, there might have been.”
“Well! Glad I brought this with me!” said Qwerty, hefting the briefcase holding both the Earth version of the Voynich Manuscript and the alien version.
Granger turned to Klollogesh. “I’m going to need to hitch a ride after all. I assume you’re getting out too?”
Klollogesh thumped his chest with a fist, in a gesture that Granger was unsure as to the meaning of. “Fligli ghosh yes, I leave too. But for now go with them,” he pointed to the two other Trits standing on the ship’s hatch. “They will take you to the great Eru ship in the sky dhash shoglin.”
“You’re not coming?” said Jasper.
“I have final business to attend to, young human fliglish ghash. But I soon leave as well.” Klollogesh pounded his chest one more time, this time while facing the two other Trits, and he left, his three children in tow, each still happily chattering amongst themselves as if the whole affair were simply a distraction in whatever game they were playing or story they were telling themselves.
“Please, come with us, Old-man-et-cetera,” said one of the Trits.
“Is that thing safe to fly?” said Jasper under his breath. “It looks like it’s being held together with tape, wire, and a whole shitload of hope.”
“It’ll be fine,” said Granger, and waved them forward to follow the Trits up the lowered hatch.
They buckled themselves in—at least that part was the same, though Qwerty’s strap was stuck and he had to switch seats.
“Hold on tightly, humans. We’ll fly very, very quickly,” said the Trit that slid into the pilot’s chair.
“Don’t worry, we’re used to it,” said Granger.
“Dad, look!” Jasper pointed out the window. Granger didn’t have time to be dismayed at the term dad, as his eyes fell on a formation of Findiri dropships and fighters that were screaming toward them.
“Step on it, please,” said Granger.
One of the Trits looks at his feet. “Step? Step on what?”
“GO!”
The pilot pulled on the controls and the craft launched into the air surprisingly quickly, though Granger wished their inertial canceling technology were more developed, as his stomach nearly launched into his mouth.
The ships zoomed ahead, gaining huge speed in a matter of seconds. He looked out the window. The Findiri craft were not far behind. The dropships had landed at the launchpad they’d just left, but the fighters were still trailing them. The cabin lit up with the blinding flash of a few energy bolts aimed their way.
“Goddamn. Don’t you guys know any evasive maneuvers?” said Jasper. “Or, you know, like maybe fire back at them?”
The pilot responded, “I’ve only been flying for a few threes of threes of threes of diurnal cycles, young human. And my companion here is my nearly-grown child. He’s not much use for anything, yet.”
Granger, Jasper, and Qwerty all eyed each other with what Granger assumed was the same emotion: oh my god we’re really going to die, aren’t we?
“That’s it. Up. Stand up. That’s right, you heard me.” Granger had unbuckled his restraint and was standing over the pilot.
“Old-man-et-cetera! I hav been charged with getting you to safety! Please, go restrain—”
“GET YOUR TRIT ASS OUT OF THE CHAIR BEFORE I MOVE IT FOR YOU,” Granger roared.
The pilot’s eyes went wider than tennis balls, and he jumped out of his chair and retreated back to the seat Granger had left.
“Okay. All ships are basically the same,” muttered Granger, “Thrust is here, pitch, yaw . . .” He fiddled for a few moments with the controls to familiarize himself, and then, “Okay kids, hold on to your butts.”
He pressed forward on the accelerator and pushed hard to starboard, and then port, and then starboard, even as a series of energy bolts lanced out at them from the nearest Findiri fighter.
“Old-man-et-cetera! What are you doing to our ship?” said the pilot.
“Saving our asses,” said Granger.
“He was a fighter pilot back in the day, you know,” said Qwerty, helpfully.
The ship made a series of evasive maneuvers that sent the little craft through loops and veers and hard brakes and lightning-quick accelerations, all to the sound of the Trits occasionally letting loose yelps and small screams that indicated they simply were not used to such dangerous flying.
And through it all, Granger was smiling. The biggest grin he could recall permitting to cross his face since he’d gotten his body back.
“Well shit.”
“What?” said Jasper.
“Findiri fighters ahead. We’re pinned in.” He looked back at the pilot. “Doesn’t this thing have weapons?”
“Of course it does!”
“Okay—where? How do I use them?”
“Back there! It’s a dedicated targeting system requiring another individual to operate.” The Trit pointed to the rear of the small craft toward another seat with its own console, controls, and window.
“How many times have you used it?”
“Never.”
Granger shrugged. “Of course you haven’t. Jasper?”
“On it!” Jasper yelled, unbuckling his restraint and bolting for the targeting chair. He jumped in, strapped the restraint, powered up the console, and started grappling the controls which, thankfully, moved the small turret on the rear of the ship.
“Okay! We’re pulling a hard one-eighty! But before we do you need to take out those fighters behind us, understood?” said Granger.
“They’re as good as dead,” said Jasper. He swiveled the turrets back and forth, tracking the movements of the Findiri fighters, and fired off a few rounds. They looked like common pieces of metal—nothing fancy like the Findiri—but they did their job. The first fighter exploded in a fireball, and another lost a wing and careened down toward the ground.
“Great!” yelled Granger. “One left!”
Jasper laid down a stream of slugs aimed at the last fighter, but it was prepared—swerving back and forth and seemingly anticipating Jasper’s every move. “I can’t get this one!”
“Hurry!” Granger yelled from the cockpit. “These bogeys ahead are almost on top of us!”
“Trying,” muttered Jasper. He squeezed off another dozen rounds, to no avail.
The fighter behind them suddenly exploded in a cloud of fire and debris.
“Nice shot!” said Granger.
Jasper shrugged. “Wasn’t me.”
The comm came to life. “Woohoo! That’s one. How many more you got for me, old man?”
Granger recognized Commander Zivic’s voice. “Commander? What the hell are you doing down here?”
“Saving your ass.”
He shrugged. “Fair enough.” He glanced at his tactical display and finally saw that the Defiance had q-jumped into the space underneath Chantana Three’s crust, but even as he watched, it q-jumped away. “Zivic, there’s an exit port fifty kilometers ahead, but we’ve got a squadron of Findiri fighters between us and it.”
“Say no more!”
Zivic’s fighter soared over them and raced toward the oncoming craft. Within seconds, Granger saw why the kid’s callsign was Batshit.
He was crazy. Utterly insane. “Batshit, there’s at least twenty of them. Wait for us, don’t be a martyr.”
“Don’t worry, I got this.”
And then Granger saw something he hadn’t seen in over thirty—or fourteen billion—years, not since he’d watched the kid’s father, Tyler Ballsy Volz, perform similar feats of jaw-dropping flying and targeting.
He was a genius. A savant.
“My god, he’s already killed half of them and that was only his first pass,” said Jasper.
“It’s in his blood. In the words of Klollogesh, he’s adding to the Great Story, except he’s making it badass.” He glanced back at the pilot Trit. “Speaking of which, did he get out yet?”
“Who?”
“Your leader. Klollogesh.”
The Trit paused, almost as if he was hesitating. “He will stay. There is no way to trigger an explosion using the gravity generators remotely. He must do it in person. He will leave in time.”
Fury boiled up inside him. “Now wait just a damn minute. He said he was going to his own ship.”
“He said that he would attend to business, and then leave as well.”
No time to argue. Granger yanked back on the controls and brought the ship around.
Jasper yelled. “What are you doing? I almost had one in my sights!”
“We can’t leave him.”
The Trit nodded solemnly. “You truly are the great hero of old from the stories. But this is how it must be, Old-man-et-cetera. This is the path that Klollogesh has chosen for himself, to risk his life for his world, like you did for yours. But you need not worry about him, he will escape the great death. His place in the Great Story is assured.”
Granger grit his teeth. “This is nothing like before. Besides, it doesn’t matter. He can kill himself for all I care. But not before I get that manuscript out of him.”
He aimed the ship back toward the Trit’s government building. It was a fair distance away, but even his old eyes could see what was happening.
A handful of Findiri dropships had landed and soldiers were pouring out of them.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Veracruz Sector
Chantana III
ISS Volz
Bridge
“Final q-jump,” said the helmsman.
The viewscreen changed, and the sunlit barren orb of Chantana Three appeared against the starry background.
As well as several Findiri battleships and one IDF starship.
“Dammit. Which one is that?” said Shin-Wentworth.
“The Resolute, sir,” said Lieutenant Mak.
“Sir?” The comms officer turned to look at him. “Receiving an incoming transmission from Fleet Admiral Oppenheimer.”
Dammit dammit dammit . . .
“Helm, calculate a q-jump to a location inside the planet. I’m sending over the coordinates now.” He tapped a few commands on his console, bringing up a schematic of the interior of the planet, finding one of the two-dimensional singularities, and zoomed in on the buildings below. “There, that must be the one,” he murmured, seeing a large building below it with a giant meta-space transmitter tower on top. He sent the location over to the helm.
“Sir? What do I tell Admiral Oppenheimer?” said the comms officer.
“Tell him to stand by, I’m just getting settled in my ready room.”
He stayed put in the captain’s chair, waiting for the countdown to begin for the q-jump into the interior.
“Getting some interference from the their crust levitation technology, sir,” said the helmsman. “It’s taking longer than usual.”
Great, he thought, wondering just how patient Oppenheimer would be. He tapped the comm. “Colonel Voorhees? This is the Commander. How many marines are on board?”
“Twenty-eight, sir,” came the colonel’s voice.
“I need all of them armed and ready to go in the shuttle bay in five minutes. I’ll meet you there. Understood?”
“Five min—” the comm cut out momentarily, and he imagined Voorhees swearing on the other end. The channel reopened. “Uh, yes sir, we’ll be there. Voorhees out. GODDA—” the comm cut out again.
“Time to q-jump?”
“Any second now . . .”
The screen changed again, and this time the star field completely disappeared, to be replaced by the vast underground space between the roof of the planet’s upper crust and the surface down below where Shin-Wentworth could see a city stretched out in all directions. And up ahead, just a kilometer or so away—
A shimmering white light, hovering halfway between the roof and the ground of the cavern.
“Transmission from a nearby ship, sir.” The comms officer stared at his console in disbelief. “They say it’s from Captain Granger.”
Dammit. That was a complication indeed.
“Put him through,” he said.
The comm speakers scratched to life. “ISS Volz, this is Captain Granger. How the hell did you know we were down here? Really glad you’re here. I need your help, urgently.”
“How can we assist, Captain?”
“That building below you is currently being overrun by Findiri soldiers. The Trit’s leader is there as well, and we need to rescue him. Is there a conting
ent of marines onboard?”
“There is, and they’re locked and loaded, ready to go.”
“Good. Send them down. Locate the Trit leader, evacuate him, and get the hell out of the system. Do not leave without the Trit leader. Understood?”
“Understood, sir,” he said. “Shin-Wentworth out.” And then to himself as he left the bridge, “Two birds with one stone, I suppose.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Veracruz Sector
Chantana III
Interior
Itharan Capital City
The Itharan ship bucked and swayed and dove, Granger piloting it through a series of maneuvers to throw off another Findiri fighter.
“Kid, any time now would be great!” he yelled back toward Jasper.
“Trying,” he replied through gritted teeth.
Round after round blasted out of the ship’s guns, always just missing by a meter or so. Finally—
“Got him! Got him!”
“Great, kid. Now do that fifty more times,” said Granger, eyeing the incoming ships in the distance.
“Sir,” began Qwerty, “there’s no way we’re going to land down there, assist in the rescue of Leader Klollogesh, reboard, launch, pick our way through fifty Findiri fighters, find an exit port, and dock with the Defiance, all with four Findiri battleships in orbit and a very angry Admiral Oppenheimer no doubt ready to send out his own fighters.” He held up the suitcase. “Plus, we can’t risk losing this.”
Granger nodded heavily. Goddammit, he mouthed. He was right. Shin-Wentworth would have to be the miracle worker here, not him. “Mr. Zivic,” he said through the comm, “have you cleared my path to the exit yet?”
“Oh I did that several minutes ago, sir. Now I’m picking off drop ships as they come through the hole.”
“Great. I’ll be there momentarily. We just need to provide enough of a distraction to let the Volz do its work.”
A moment’s pause on the other end of the comm. “Uh, did you say the Volz?”
“They q-jumped in just moments ago. Shin-Wentworth is sending down a squad of marines to rescue Klollogesh. It would help him out if we could—”