by Nick Webb
“Batshit! You crazy bastard, you can’t bag all these yourself!”
“Ace?” He craned his neck around, just in time to see four other fighters soar past. He recognized his squad. Ace, Barbie, Moonshine, and Spectrum.
“I’m already at three. You?” came Barbie’s voice.
“Thirty something.”
“Well fuck me,” he replied. “Time to catch up.”
Between the five of them, the dance became a whole lot easier, if not less deadly. Over the next several minutes they managed to pick off the entire squadron they were up against, before another showed up to keep them busy.
“These guys are good, but . . . not great?” said Ace.
“Maybe they just haven’t had the practice like us,” said Zivic. “Seriously, when is the last time you think they actually faced fighter pilots with any amount of skill?”
“A few million years?”
“Exactly.”
He picked off two more, and then—
He jerked both hands up to shield his eyes from an intense light that flashed a few kilometers away. The window should have darkened to compensate, but apparently didn’t have time.
“What the hell is that?” yelled Moonshine.
Now that he could see again, the darkened window finally caught up, he peered out into the vast cavern.
“That’s one of the things that was holding up the crust, I think,” said Zivic. It certainly was in the same place. Now it was just shining about a million times brighter.
“Is it, uh, supposed to be that bright?” said Ace.
“Hell if I know. Look sharp, people, there’s a good chance things are about to get a lot more interesting.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Veracruz Sector
Chantana III
Interior
“Fan out. Find the Trit leader, or any Trit that can take you to him. When you find him, take him straight to the shuttle and inform the rest of us,” said Shin-Wentworth to the Volz’s platoon of marines. There were only thirteen of them, but breaking up into teams of two each should let them cover a lot of ground at the Itharan government tower.
“Yes, sir!” yelled the marine lieutenant. He started pointing at individual teams and dividing them up.
“And you, with me. We’ve got a secondary mission,” he said to the thirteenth marine. He glanced down at his handheld sensor package and pointed it this way and that, and then up.
Bingo.
“Okay, we need to get up to the top of the tower. Let’s go!” he yelled.
“Sir!” the marine yelled back, and dashed toward the doors leading out onto the landing pad.
He ran behind the marine as he kicked the doors in, and down the hall to the central stairwell leading up the center of the tower. Didn’t the Trits believe in elevators? “Dammit,” he muttered, as they started sprinting up the first floor of stairs. At the top, he panted, “Fifteen to go.”
As each floor passed by, he’d occasionally hear explosions outside the building from far up in the sky, indicating to him that the fighter battle was still very, very hot. He half hoped—no, he couldn’t hope something so dreadful. Zivic could die during this battle, and that would certainly make things easier later.
But he was not a ghoul.
“Sir, there’s a small contingent of Findiri soldiers trailing us,” said the marine.
“Do you have a clear shot?”
“No, sir, they’re staying out of range and taking cover as we ascend. They’re shadowing us—not engaging. Yet.”
He felt a knot in his stomach. Their path back to the shuttle was closed off to them. For now. “Nothing we can do about it. Let’s get to the top.”
They burst out onto the top floor, a sort of mezzanine with glass walls that looked out on the landscape below. Near the center, by the stairwell exit, was a large bank of haphazard electronics and displays. And at one near the center . . .
“Leader Klollogesh! You must come with us! Now!” He flipped on the translator program on his handheld and ran forward toward the Trit and its children sitting quietly at the alien’s feet.
“Plohlosh shlogun. No, Human-second-in-importance-to-leader-mare. I will not. There is still much to do if I am to succeed in my subterfuge. Dharmasha ghosh.”
The Trit tapped a few more buttons with his three outstretched fingers, and suddenly the whole room was bathed in an ungodly intense light. He squinted, shielding his eyes, and saw that the light was coming from the wall of windows, in the direction of the artificial singularity hanging in the sky. “What are you doing?” he yelled, and ran forward.
“I am bringing down the sky ghilimsha ghoshaga. And it must be done with sufficient energy to destroy the Findiri ships in orbit. Rholishlik ghoshantik ghash what are you doing?” he flipped the question back on Shin-Wentworth.
“I . . . I’m here to get you out.”
“As I said, Human-second-in-importance, I am staying here tlohthla shoghosh. There is no other way to accomplish this task ghoshaga tloth.”
“And,” Shin-Wentworth added, wondering how exactly he could word it, how he could persuade the alien to let him use one of the singularities, if it was even possible. “And, I need the use of one of your gravity devices. I mean, if you’re just destroying them all anyway, it would be a huge benefit to Leader Mare and Granger if I could—”
Klollogesh snapped his head around. “Tlohthla ghoshag sa shaltha Old-man-et-cetera requires use of a gravity device?”
“Uh, yes.”
“Why didn’t you say so when you barged in here? Dhloshlag gloshlag sa sha. There. That box. Take it.” The short alien pointed down at one of the random pieces of electronics scattered nearby. If Shin-Wentworth didn’t know any better, he’d have supposed it was junk.
“That?” He reached down and picked it up. A cube. Dials and indicators and electronics dotting it here and there. About half a meter square, it was certainly bulky, but surprisingly light.
“Yes. Ginzaga glosh. It is the control mechanism for one of the nearby gravity wells. The projectors that keep it in place are at the top of a tower underneath it, but you do not need those gloshag tlitlith. You just need this, and tether your own projectors to it to control the well. And you’ll need power to use it. Lots of power. Ghingza gryk klollog. But I figure Old-man-et-cetera knows that.”
Shin-Wentworth blinked. This was far easier than he could have hoped. At least for now. There was no telling if this whole plan was even going anywhere, if they could even accomplish what he hoped with this thing. “Thank you. Very, very much. I don’t know how to repay you. And Granger as well.”
“You can thank me by getting out of my way and allowing me to secure my place in the Great Story Ghunza tlosh.” The Trit grabbed something out of his pocket, and without any warning, aimed it at one of the windows. Shin-Wentworth shielded his eyes from the light still streaming in, and from the glass that rained down as Klollogesh shot out the window. “Your return is cut off. That is your only retreat now. Go! Ghingza gryk tallog sta.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Veracruz Sector
Chantana III
Interior
“Batshit, it’s starting to pulse! What does that mean, man?” said Moonshine.
He glanced out the cockpit window port to his left and watched the dazzling light suspended in the air, still bright enough to nearly blind him even with the window darkened.
“No idea. Can’t be good whatever it is.”
A few flashes of purple light ahead reminded him he was still in a fighter battle. In fact—
“Ace, you’ve got three on your tail!” he gunned his engine and pelted the Findiri fighters shadowing Ace.
“I know! A can’t shake them!” she yelled. As he watched, several rounds managed to find her left wing, blowing it clean off. “Shit!”
“Just hold on!” His finger twitched, the trigger becoming an extension of his mind as he tried to look down the remaining two fighters. “There!” One of them e
xploded in a fireball. “One more . . .”
“I’m hit! Going down!” Ace yelled, and Zivic watched as several rounds took out the engine under her right wing. Several more punctured the cockpit, and he hoped to god that they hadn’t punctured her too.
“Eject! Get the hell out of there!” yelled Barbie.
Zivic held his breath for a few tortured seconds, even as he finally managed to pick off the final Findiri fighter. If she didn’t respond, or eject soon . . .
Ace’s cockpit exploded open, and an object too fast to see blazed out of it. He craned his neck around and upward.
And hollered. “Ace! Goddamn, you’re alive—you awake?”
“Kinda,” she slurred. Ejections could be a violent affair. “Hit my head, I think.”
“Good thing your head’s as hard as a duranium shield plate. Hang on!” He maneuvered his fighter to match her speed of descent and sidled up close to her. “Barbie, Spectrum, cover me! Moonshine, circle the perimeter to keep bogeys off those two!”
He pushed the stick forward, closing the final few meters until his broken right wing was nearly under her. “Ace, grab onto the wing, and we’ll get you the hell out of here!”
He watched with bated breath as she approached, closer and closer, drifting down slowly. He wondered if she was still awake, until, at the last second, her hand reached out and grabbed a broken piece of metal protruding off the missing wing section, and pulled herself in. She latched a hook from her flight suit onto a dangling hydraulic line, then gave him the thumbs up.
“You sure that will hold?” he said.
“Not many other alternatives here, genius,” she replied.
He scanned the skies nearby, trying to catch a glimpse of any stray bogeys between them and the roof of the interior of the planet. Nothing that he could see, so he switched to the scanner.
“There’s another incoming squadron, boys and girls. Ace, this is going to be a rough ride. I’m calling in the Defiance for extraction. You good?”
Another thumbs up.
“Good. Captain Granger, come in. Are you clear of the planet’s interior?”
“Yeah,” came the garbled reply—he must have traversed the exit tunnel and was now on the other side of dozens of kilometers of rock, interfering with the transmission. “Nearly back to the Eru ship.”
“Good. Defiance? Come in. I’ve got a pilot here hanging on my wing for dear life. We need extraction.”
An indicator light on the comm told him another transmission was incoming, and he glanced at the identity. “Hold on, sir. Getting a message from Shin-Wentworth.”
He flipped the channel over. “—of the tower. Repeat, this is Shin-Wentworth. I’m at the roof of the government tower. My retreat path is blocked and I need extraction. Anyone up there hear me?”
His finger hovered over the response button. A choice needed to be made. On one hand, he knew, logically, that there was no way he could be sure that Jerusha was murdered, and that even if she was, that he could possibly know it was Shin-Wentworth that did it.
And yet he knew. In his gut, he knew.
On the other hand, this was a critical mission, with far-reaching security implications. His revenge could wait.
Could it?
Yes. Yes, it could.
“Commander, this is Zivic. I’ll be at your location in less than ten seconds. Look alive and grab onto anything solid.”
He gunned the engine, not hard enough to shake Ace loose, but fast enough that he could hear her muttered swears through his headset.
“Commander Zivic, thank god. But, uh, what do you mean, grab something solid . . . ?”
“Meaning this is your one and only chance to get out of there alive. Ace is on my wing—she’ll assist.”
He slowed the fighter as they approached, and he saw both Shin-Wentworth and his marine companion hanging out a broken window at the top of the tower. He sidled up next to the tower, just under them. “You’re going to have to jump. Ditch that box, Commander, or you’ll never make it.”
The marine jumped down and Ace managed to catch him before he fell backward. “That’s a negative, Commander, the box is coming too.”
And before Zivic could protest, he jumped, both arms wrapped around the electronic cube—he couldn’t make out any detail on it, and hoped to God it was worth the bastard’s life.
“Got him!” yelled Ace. “Get us out of here!” Then after a pause, “Slowly!”
“Roger that. Defiance, come in, is Granger aboard the Eru ship yet?”
“Nearly, sir,” said Rice.
“Then q-jump to our location and get us out of here!”
He pushed the bird down toward the ground, Barbie, Moonshine, and Spectrum all on his tail providing cover. “The other marines,” yelled Shin-Wentworth. “Most made it back to the shuttle—they’re coming up!”
“I see them. We’ll get them safely aboard,” said Zivic. “Barbie, Moonshine, provide escort. Spectrum, you’re on us. Hurry, people, that squadron is nearly here!”
On his scope he saw the Findiri squadron indeed was nearly upon them. The marine’s shuttle finally soared overhead, momentarily blocking the light from the brilliant flashing source halfway up to the ceiling, which had not only increased in intensity, but the frequency of the flashing had gone up to an almost strobe-like effect.
“Shin-Wentworth, is, uh, that thing posing a threat to us?”
A pause. “Yes. Yes it is. We need to get out of here, now,” came the eerily calm reply.
He glanced out the window to his right and saw the three of them: Ace hooked firmly to the hydraulic line, one hand holding onto a piece of the broken wing and the other onto the marine, who was still dangling halfway off. And Shin-Wentworth, one hand clutching the electronic cube to his chest and the other hand gripping another jagged piece of metal jutting out from the wing. He was standing. Balanced so precariously, it seemed. All it would take would be a quick jiggle of the flight stick. Just a brief moment of turbulence. A quick dip of the wing, to send the man flying down to his death. It would be so quick. So easy.
“Copy that,” said Zivic, and to his relief another flash out his window indicated their relief had come. The Defiance popped into existence, just seconds before the Findiri squadron came into weapons range, and the ship let loose a full spread of PDC fire in their direction. The enemy bogeys scattered, attempting to reform back up and make a pass at the Defiance. But by then the shuttle bay had opened and Zivic was pushing the fighter in for an emergency hot landing.
Within moments, it was over. “We’re in!” yelled Barbie, followed a second later by confirmation from the others. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Moonshine’s fighter screech to a halt, sending red and white sparks that pelted the wall. Doris the deck crew was not going to be happy.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Veracruz Sector
Chantana III
Itharan Shuttle
The second Trit struggled against the acceleration, but managed to hold out a shaking arm, pointing to the port window. The ship had angled a bit, aiming for the giant rotating drum of the Eru ship, and now he could clearly see Chantana Three far, far below. Granger could just make out a collection of dots that he assumed was part of the Findiri fleet, and with them, undoubtedly, was Oppenheimer aboard the Resolute.
“They’re going to try to take Klollogesh, you suppose?” he asked.
“No. But he will kill them.”
“Wait, what?” Granger demanded. “What the hell is going on?”
“Leader Klollogesh deactivated the artificial gravitational field that is holding up the crust of our world. Soon it will fail entirely. We do not wish to be close when it does. But as I said, he will escape the Great Death.”
He’d cut their massive acceleration and were now slowing down as they approached one of the bays in the Eru ship. Granger took the chance to unstrap his restraint and press his face up against the window.
Just in time to see Chantana Three die.
“My god,” he murmured.
Giant sections of the surface seemed to fall inward, and as they did, the seams heated up to massive temperatures, indicated by a glowing network of white intersecting lines. Geysers of vaporized matter erupted off the surface, which grew in size as larger sections of the crust fell inward, creating unimaginably high pressures under the surface which then blasted outward in world-sized explosions.
The fleet of dark dots he’d seen was ripped apart by a jet of white-hot matter and debris, and the ships that weren’t hit disappeared with brief flashes—q-jumping away at the last moment, Granger supposed.
“He . . . destroyed your whole world to take out a few Findiri ships. My god.”
The first Trit touched a hand to its own chest. “We have other worlds. And now our part in the Great Story is firm, how we fought at your side against our enemies.” The ship sailed past the giant bay doors of the Eru ship and began to land. The Trit added, “And we will tell it until the end.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Sol Sector
Earth, New York City
Danny found the pilot. An old world acquaintance from his days as an ice hauler in the San Martin system who had moved back to Earth during the troubles there.
“You’re sure it’ll pay well?” he’d asked.
Danny had responded, “Troy, I’m telling you, this is the president herself asking. You’ll be paid enough, and then some.”
“Just saying. I’m no freedom fighter. Just give me a paycheck and I’ll keep my head down and do my business.”
“That’s all we could ever ask,” he’d replied.
And now he watched the live video feed of the spaceport in Baltimore as a few hundred passengers boarded the freighter for the short flight up to New York. Except they weren’t going to New York. They were escaping imminent death.