by SD Tanner
Their mission was to find the enemy aliens that had seeded Earth with their DNA millions of years ago. One hundred and eighty years earlier, on an unspoken command, the enemy had used their seeded DNA to transform half of the Earth’s population into spider-like creatures. The spiders, or critters as they were called, killed most of the people and turned others into newborns. Nobody knew for sure, but Dunk had believed the newborns were supposed to become host bodies for the enemy aliens. It was the arrival of two spaceships hovering over Albuquerque and New York that had galvanized the last of the survivors to throw a Hail Mary to save the human race. If it hadn’t been for the Navigator gear then they would have lost the war. As it was, they’d barely won, losing ninety-eight percent of the world’s population in the battle. Under Dunk’s leadership, the surviving army of Navigators used the alien technology to transform into Bombardiers, and began scouring space looking for the enemy.
Eyeing the screens, he asked, “What is it?”
“I dunno,” Tank replied.
With space being so huge, they’d never run into an alien ship before, so finding one was a big deal. “Is it attacking us?”
“It’s hunting.”
“What does Ark Command say?”
At the mention of their name, a voice came through his earpiece. “The visibility pods are sending images. It doesn’t look like a machine.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s probably made from transformed cells.”
That was how their enemy made anything, which meant the ship wasn’t their friend. “Doesn’t that make it enemy?”
Tank spun in his chair until he was facing him. Using his standard vision so that he could see his face, he studied his mentor’s bald head and hardened features with their solid green eyes. Although his face was largely expressionless, his eyes glinted with what he thought was a wicked stare.
“You’re the future leader of the Bombardiers, so what do you want to do?”
He was Arkansas the Third, the grandson of the man credited with winning the war on Earth against the aliens. His grandfather had gone onto lead the Bombardiers into space, disappearing without a trace somewhere in the universe with his grandmother, Lexie. In theory, a Bombardier could live for hundreds of years, but they rarely did. Usually they were lost in space within ten years, presumed dead, but no one really knew what happened to them. To improve communications, Ark Command and the space stations were now able to move around the areas they controlled. Hunting for their enemy and taking over the universe might have looked simple on paper, but it was really a slow process of transforming cells into ships, building weapons and training troops.
Flicking his eyes past Tank, he studied the screen displaying the black, spiky hulk that was pursuing them. It didn’t look like a spaceship, but more like a lump of black coal with lethally sharp forty-foot spikes. Easily keeping pace with them, both ships were hurtling through space playing a mad game of chase. If one of the spikes penetrated their hull, the ship could seal a single breach, but he didn’t rate their chances if the alien dug in deep and continued to tear at it.
Sniffing and still tasting the goo filling the gaps between his teeth, he replied, “Send out three attack ships so it’s got four targets to deal with.”
Despite his hardened face, Tank managed a grin that looked more like a snarl. “Good call.” Standing until he was his full height of over seven feet, Tank began moving towards the slit in the wall. “Bom Four-two. Bom One-oh-one. You’re on point.”
Turning to his own squad, he ordered, “Samson, you’re with Bom Four-two. Lace, you’re with Bom One-oh-one.”
By unspoken agreement, he would travel in Tank’s attack ship. The advantage of their communications gear was that the battle could be controlled from anywhere. Ark Command would monitor the fight, no doubt having plenty to say. Propelling himself along the tube-like corridor, he followed Tank to the hole in the ship that acted as the docking bay. Like everything else on board, it was really just an open space sealed by the ship’s skin. With a ship that lived, they didn’t need pipes and wires, relying largely on the beast to take care of itself. It refueled by absorbing light and small meteors, self-healed by replicating its own cells, and retained a healthy instinct to survive.
The attack ships were the size of a large truck, seating only two troopers, and bristling with bolted on weapons and armor. Unlike the battleship, which had no windows, this one had a clear screen over the cockpit. Seated behind and slightly above Tank, on each side of him were handgrips he could use to target and fire the weapons.
“Exit. Forward. Advance to unknown ship. Hold ten-kay from target.”
He didn’t understand how the engineers coded the words into the cells, but every ship understood the same language. On Tank’s command, the attack ship fired out through the opening in the hull.
Their three vessels surrounded the black chunk in space, maintaining the same speed. Closer to the alien ship, the uneven pitting resembled the skin covering their own, and the fifty spikes jutting out of it were molded into its surface. It was definitely a transformed creature being used as a spacecraft.
“Do you think there’s an alien inside of it or is it operating independently?”
Ark Command answered his question. “Hard to say without boarding it. We know the transformed creatures retain a level of intelligence, much like our own ships do, so it’s possible there’s nothing inside of it.”
“What do you think its orders are?”
Sitting in front of him, Tank snorted derisively. “It’s doing what we’re doing.”
“Learning about us.”
“Exactly.”
They could keep running or they could start a fight. Depending upon its capabilities, they might be able to outrun it, leaving the creature with little information about them. If they started a fight then there was a chance they wouldn’t win, but it would send a clear message to whatever it was.
“Shoot it.”
Tank laughed. “You’re a chip off the old block.”
An image of the weapons control appeared on his visor screen and Tank was already charging the lasers. The laser canons fired long pulses, making sure they hit the hull with enough energy to burn through it. Although at longer distances, the pulses dissipated in space, at this range they could cut through anything. If there were any aliens hiding inside of the ship they would be forced to act.
“Fire!” Tank called, as he unleashed a three second burst at the center of the spiky chunk.
The effect was instantaneous. Instead of destroying the hull, the ship split in half then quickly reformed as two smaller ships. Now they’d doubled their problem. The spikes covering the hull reconfigured into smaller and more lethally sharp ones, giving them two enemy ships to deal with. Spinning wildly, one of the newly formed ships changed its course to chase them. Where the larger battleship might have survived being spiked, their small attack ships wouldn’t.
“Evade! Evade!”
Tank didn’t really need to issue the order. With its will to survive, the attack ship was already on the move. Jagging to the left, it increased its speed and spun upward until it was above the chunk of black. Seeming to bristle with fury, the chunk continued to pursue them. Powerful pulses were fired from the laser arrays on the battleship, cutting the chunk into smaller pieces, but that only seemed to make it angrier. Rather than die, the chunks reformed into increasingly smaller parts, making them hard to see against the backdrop of space.
“Crap,” Tank muttered.
Grabbing the controls at his side, he said, “Targeting closest to our position.”
“Take the ones on your left. I’ll deal with the right.”
Through his earpiece, he could hear a stream of orders being issued by Ark Command. It was their job to coordinate the battle team and his to fight. His visor was running through spectrums, trying to find any that would give him better visibility of a black object against a black background. Using the sensors on the as
sault ship and visibility pods, the outline of ten smaller chunks appeared. Pressing the button on the control paddle, he set the closest to his left as the target for the seeker. This type of missile was self-powering, relentless and unstoppable.
Tank was also setting the smaller enemy ships as targets, firing the seekers to chase them. With ten per assault ship, they were launching from both sides, making the ship rock unsteadily. Once the seekers left to destroy the smaller chunks, Tank ordered their ship back to the main battle. It wasn’t going well. One of the assault ships had been rammed, leaving the crew adrift, and the other was on the run. The Bombardier and Navigator were floating in space, hanging onto one another while they drifted further from the battleship.
Now they had a real problem. The battleship would need to collect the two troopers, while also defending itself from the remaining half of the enemy ship.
“BCP, collect those troopers,” he ordered. “Tank, we need to use fixed targeting.”
“Fixed on what?”
“The center of the last half of the enemy ship.”
The Target Acquisition Generator, usually called a TAG, was a radio frequency beam that needed to be locked onto a mass. The beam could penetrate through anything and would go straight through the enemy ship unless they managed to lock the beam length to the middle of it. Once locked, the computer would shorten or lengthen the beam according to the movement of the two ships. If they could maintain the beam for long enough, eventually the molecules would superheat and explode the enemy ship from within. It was a risky tactic. Usually the radio frequency beam was only used to destroy asteroids or space junk and not as a weapon. They would need to stay within range, which would make them a target to be rammed by the larger enemy ship. There was also a chance it wouldn’t work. In theory, it should, but he didn’t know the composition of the black ship to be sure.
Tank replied, “Interesting tactic. I like it.”
The large chunk of black was now swiftly moving towards the other assault ship, clearly intent on mowing it down. While Tank ordered their ship to pursue, he used the sensors in his gloves to manipulate the screens he could see through his visor. Selecting the center of the ship, he set the laser to stay fixed on it.
Without his visor, the red beam pouring from the front of their attack ship would have been invisible to the human eye, but it cut straight into the large chunk ahead of them. Appearing irritated, the enemy ship began chasing them instead of the other attack ship.
“Maintain distance to target,” Tank ordered the ship.
Now they were waltzing, neither vessel getting any further away or closer to the other. The enemy ship must have realized they were determined to stay exactly the right distance away from it. It wasn’t easy to see panic on a faceless hunk of black in space, but when it turned tail and began to speed away, it was clearly having a fit.
“Maintain distance to target,” Tank ordered again.
He didn’t need to repeat himself and their attack ship, which was able to move faster than the enemy vessel, tagged along behind maintaining a perfect distance. At no point did their beam break contact, keeping a shaft of red in exactly the same spot. The enemy ship was zigzagging left to right, up and down, desperately trying to shake them. Spinning and spiraling, throwing itself around as if were having a seizure, their own determined dog refused to let it go.
The rapid movement of the attack ship was making him dizzy and bile was crawling along the back of his throat. All that was inside of his stomach were the remains of the goo and it wouldn’t be pretty to hurl it up while he was still wearing his helmet.
They must have travelled over a hundred million miles and the enemy ship was now heading for a planet. Still dogging its tail, they followed until it broke through whatever atmosphere surrounded the brown waterless land below.
Having been silent during the chase, Tank finally spoke. “Uh oh.”
CHAPTER THREE:
Bogeyman
(Ark Three)
The burn on entry was turning his clear viewing window red and, if it weren’t for his Navigator gear, he might not have survived the trip. Shuddering with the movement, he gripped the sides of his seat in the attack ship. Waves of adrenalin were flooding his system, only adding to the nausea caused by the goo. Pressing the back of his head against the seat behind him, he swiveled his eyes to watch the enemy ship. Spiraling towards the planet, still firing the beam, their mad waltz across space was about to come to an abrupt end.
“Cease fire,” Tank said in his usual steady tone.
“I think that would have worked…eventually.”
“Maybe so, but that dumbass is about to crash and I don’t fancy dying today.”
With his grandparents disappearing in space and his mother doing the same, no one in his family had ever been raised by their biological parents, so Tank had become something of a father figure to him. Once he had his own children, he would be sent into space to lead the Bombardier forward army and assuming he too was lost, Tank would become their surrogate father as well. Dunk had wanted the United Guild to be led by himself and Ark’s descendants. It meant there was always a Dunk clone and one of Ark’s direct bloodline controlling the Guild.
The enemy ship was spinning out of control, finally landing and skidding onto the dusty ground, throwing a spray of sand high into the sky. Not looking any worse for wear, it was clearly made of the same hardy cells as their own ship.
“Land half a mile from the enemy ship,” Tank ordered.
Their attack ship glided gracefully to the ground and then clumsily clunked onto its four legs.
“What do you want to do?” He asked.
“That’s your call.”
Tank never let up on his training, forever throwing one challenge after another at him. As Dunk Two would always remind him, inside of his head was a brilliant strategist and tactician, but it was a muscle that needed to be used if he were to reach his fullest potential. He was only twenty-one years old and it seemed a lot to place on his less than mature shoulders. As far as everyone else was concerned, he’d been born to lead so he could die in battle against an enemy that no one other than Tank had ever seen. Despite his unspoken reservations about his future, he didn’t want to let Tank down.
Unclipping his harness, he heard it click sharply. “We should go inside of the ship and see what she’s got.”
“Good call.”
Pushing the clear cover above him, it unsealed and opened, allowing him to jump from the ship. Any planet considered habitable was colonized by planet riders, and this one looked typical of the ones they lived on. Smothered in sand and colored a light brown with craggy low mountains, above him was a cloudless and faintly red sky. His visor was flashing red indicating that the oxygen and temperature were low. He suspected the gravity wasn’t too good either, but his Navigator gear would compensate for that and the atmosphere. Covered in a similar skin to the ship, it was already absorbing energy and oxygen. Providing he was somewhere with some light and air, his gear was self-powering and able to support him indefinitely.
Walking towards the large and uneven black lump, half of it was now embedded in the sand. It had no windows and the pitting he’d noticed earlier was more like a honeycomb of holes about two feet in circumference. He suspected they were used to expend energy, so the ship had the power to lift off and maneuver through space. Not round, but more a bulky lump approximately fifty yards high and eighty yards wide, there was no obvious entrance.
Genuinely perplexed by the black wall in front of him, he asked, “How are we supposed to get in?”
Tank was wearing his own suit, but needing little to survive and naturally armored, he mostly needed his visor to control the ships and weapons. His shrunken internal organs were protected by a deep hardened outer shell that very few weapons could penetrate. If he was hit with a powerful laser or a plasma bullet from extremely close range he could be injured, but he would survive pretty much any other sort of attack. Even if he was wound
ed, his chances of survival were still good, which was why no one understood why the Bombardiers disappeared. Thanks to deep psychological testing, only the most aggressive and determined humans were ever transformed, so whatever was killing them had to be tougher than they were.
Tank began using the sensors in his gloves to control the screens on his visor, directing the attack ship to fire a steady beam from the laser cannon to carve the enemy vessel open. Doing nothing to defend itself, it fell into two pieces, showing large round holes that were clearly tubes. In the middle was a round opening that reminded him of the Battle Command Pod inside of their own battleship. Although the exterior was different, the inside of the enemy vessel looked much like their own.
He didn’t have time to ask Tank what he thought before small black creatures poured from the tube shaped holes.
“Critters!” Tank shouted, while he pulled his Burner from the holster strapped to his thigh, firing plasma bullets at the black swarm. By using electromagnetics instead of explosives to fire, the plasma inside of the bullet was already superheated as it left the gun. Able to cause devastating injuries, it was only really useful up to eighty yards, beyond that the plasma ate the bullet casing.
During the alien invasion, humans had transformed into blackened spider-like creatures that were nicknamed critters. Those had been large, but these were small and with so many long legs, they were moving quickly. Their scuttling created the effect of boiling black water and this bizarre sea on dry land was heading straight for them. Copying Tank, he began firing at the swarming carpet of black.
Stepping backwards, he headed for the attack ship that was already walking towards them. The good thing about their ships was they were smart and loyal, always willing to sacrifice their strange life to save their masters.