by G J Ogden
Ashley ignored the soldier and continued working. “I won’t ask again... I will count to three…”
Sergeant Nott stepped back and away from the line of fire, but continued to watch Ashley nervously.
“One…”
Ashley finished entering the command sequence. “Very well, just give me a moment to shut down the pre-ignition sequence,” she said, shooting the soldier a cross look.
“Two… Step back now, this is your last warning.”
Ashley initiated the command and then stepped back, raising her hands. “Honestly, this is preposterous!”
The soldier bustled forward and hurriedly inspected the console, while the second raised his rifle and covered Ashley. “What were you doing here?”
Ashley smiled. “Just clearing out the trash.”
Alarms sounded all around the space port, causing Nott and the two soldiers to jump, but Ashley simply folded her arms and waited. A row of red warning lamps rose out of the decking, lining a path to the gate of the space port, followed soon after by an automated message that blared out at an even more alarming volume than the sirens.
‘DECOMPRESSION WARNING
FAIL-SAFES NON-OPERATIONAL
LOCK-DOWN IN SIXTY SECONDS
EXIT IMMEDIATELY’
Sergeant Nott darted to the control panel, barging the soldier out of the way. “What have you done?!”
The second soldier stepped forward and jabbed the barrel of the rifle into Ashley’s sternum. “Make it stop, now!” he commanded, but Ashley stood firm, and swatted the barrel of the rifle away from her body. “No.”
The soldier spun around and grabbed Nott by the collar of his overalls. “You! Turn this off! Do it now!”
“I can’t! She’s locked the system somehow!” he shouted back, hammering desperately at the panel to find a way to reverse the process.
‘DECOMPRESSION WARNING
LOCK-DOWN IN FORTY SECONDS
EXIT IMMEDIATELY’
“I suggest you leave, unless you want to be vented into space,” said Ashley, resolutely.
“But you’ll die too!” cried Nott.
“I intend to die here. Do you?”
Sergeant Nott stared back into Ashley’s eyes and saw her conviction, then he glanced at each of the soldiers in turn, eyes wide with terror, and sprinted for the gate.
“Stop!” cried the soldier, but Nott was already half-way across the deck and running hard, joining others who had also scrambled to the exit to avoid being blown out into the cold vacuum of space.
‘DECOMPRESSION WARNING
LOCK-DOWN IN THIRTY SECONDS
EXIT IMMEDIATELY’
The emergency bulkhead slowly began to whir shut, cutting-off the space port from the rest of the sector to protect the base from being compromised.
“Last chance,” said Ashley, coolly. “Run, or die here with me. Your choice.”
The lead soldier growled with anger and frustration and then ran, closely followed by his partner. Ashley unfolded her arms and slipped them casually into the pockets of her flight suit, watching with interest to see which of the two soldiers was the better sprinter. As it turned out, they both passed through the narrowing bulkhead door together in the last few seconds, in what would have been a close photo finish.
‘DECOMPRESSION WARNING
LOCK-DOWN IN FIVE SECONDS
EXIT IMMEDIATELY’
Ashley felt the force of the giant door thudding shut resonate through the deck plating, and then collected the hacked ident and comms package from beside the console and stepped onto the ladder of the training fighter.
‘DECOMPRESSION WARNING
LOCK-DOWN COMPLETE
SIMULATION COMPLETE
RESET IN TEN MINUTES’
Ashley dropped into the cockpit and glanced back towards the bulkhead door, smiling as the two soldiers banged against the porthole window in the center, as if their feeble thumps could break through the ten-centimeter thick toughened glass, which was strong enough to withstand them both emptying their rifle clips into it.
“I knew they’d fall for it,” she commented to herself, pulling on the helmet and firing up the engines, bypassing all of the pre-flight checks. Now is not the time to be cautious she thought, as the canopy closed and the fighter’s power core whirred into life. Seconds later the thrusters kicked in, lifting the craft off the deck into a static hover. Ashley lifted the comms package off her lap, slid it into the auxiliary systems port, and flipped the switch. Then she inserted the hacked ident into the main console and bypassed the training program, unlocking all of the ships systems, including its weapons.
The commlink in her helmet clicked on. “Fighter Trainer U2, this is primary fighter control. You are not authorized for departure. Power down immediately.”
“Control, this is Fighter Trainer U2. Copy your message. Go to hell. Jansen out.” Ashley clicked off the commlink, laughing, and then enabled the forward pulse cannons, feeling the ascending mechanical whir and deep tremble of the weapon system as it charged.
She grabbed the control yoke and breathed deeply. Even though it had been a few years since she had last flown, the feel of the controls and even the contours of the seat were instantly familiar. She pushed the ship forward and aligned the nose with the launch pod.
“Here goes nothing…”
She squeezed the trigger and a beam of brilliant blue plasma accelerated through the docking hatch as if it were made of tissue paper. Instantly, alarms rang out all around her, and she wrestled with the controls to steady the fighter against the extreme turbulence caused by explosive decompression, which was drawing her rapidly towards the rupture. Knowing that the emergency systems would plug the hole within a matter of seconds, she steadied her alignment and pushed the thruster control fully forward, rocketing towards the opening like a missile. The force of the acceleration pressed her back into the seat and squeezed the breath from her lungs. The collision alarm flashed up in her visor and she pulsed the starboard thrusters, altering her trajectory by a fraction of a degree; just enough to scrape through the opening. The twisted remains of the destroyed docking pod gouged a furrow through the ship’s left wing, but miraculously the damage was minor. Ashley pulled back on the thruster control and turned sharply back towards the base, wary that straying too far would make her an easy target for the perimeter cannons. Chevrons and alerts flashed all around her, on the cockpit panels and in the visor’s HUD, but then dropped off one by one as the pressures on the ship, and her body, returned to normal, allowing Ashley to take her first breath of oxygen since firing the pulse cannon.
She glanced out to her starboard side, inspecting the groove that had been sliced into her wing.
“Well, that could have gone a lot worse,” she said out loud. “You’ve still got it, Jansen, just about!”
She levelled the ship and dropped low, practically skimming the dusty surface of the moon, and then made a sharp arc around the inside of the defense perimeter. Even a slight error of judgement could mean creeping within range of the surface cannons, and getting blown out of space in an instant. She locked in the co-ordinates of the comms control center in the government sector, dead in the center of the moon base, and adjusted her course. Her fingers were already white from the pressure of holding the yoke, and she had to force herself to remember to breathe as she skimmed across the milky-white surface of the moon at an altitude that would have resulted in any of her student pilots being severely reprimanded and grounded, should they have been caught pulling a similar maneuver.
Another alarm sounded in her helmet as the domes of the UEC moon base came back into view ahead. She glanced down at the sensor panel and saw three contacts.
“Identify,” Ashley spoke aloud and her visor flashed up its analysis, and then the word CAPPS appeared beside each of the chevrons.
“Great…” Ashley groaned. CAPPS stood for Close Assault Perimeter Protection Sentries, and she had hoped that the blue boots wouldn’t know how to depl
oy them. She knew that all of the pilots from Kurren’s initial secret training program were already gone, and no Flying Corps pilot would ever launch against one of their own, but despite their programmed and automated nature, which lacked the intuition and natural instinct of a real pilot, Ashley knew the CAPPS could still pose a serious threat. Designed as a last line of spaceborne defense, should a GPS raid break through the fighter perimeter and evade the surface cannons, they were fast, nimble and packed enough of a punch to take down a light training fighter with relative ease.
“I guess we really are going to find out if you’ve still got it,” said Ashley, shunting additional power to the thrusters, and flexing her trigger finger in readiness for a fight.
She locked onto the first CAPPS and fired a burst from the mass cannons, but her shots sailed wide and vanished into the void. She banked and pulsed the thrusters, pushing the ship away from a flurry of blue energy bolts, which flashed past her wing, followed soon after by the three CAPPS, which spun on their axes and burned their engines hard to slow their velocity and continue their pursuit. The CAPPS were roughly half the size of Ashley’s training fighter, so were tricky to hit, but as sophisticated as their automated piloting skills were, Ashley knew their weaknesses. She accessed the comms package and re-tuned the jamming signal to the frequency of the CAPPS’ control systems. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sustain the transmission for long, not without the comms package burning out – and if that happened then her whole plan was a bust – but it might be enough to confuse them for a short time and give her an opening to take them out.
More flashes of blue energy zipped past her cockpit, and Ashley jinked, spun and pulsed the little ship in every direction, using all the tricks that she had been teaching since her retirement; but theory was one thing and the reality was quite another. A bolt of energy hit her port wing, destroying the cannon and one of the thruster packs; Ashley’s visor filled with red warning chevrons, but she ignored them and pulled the nose up, pulsing the main engine to gain altitude rapidly. This was a maneuver she would tell her students to file under the heading of ‘desperate last resorts’, and the current situation certainly qualified as such. The ship rose sharply above the apex of the domes and then Ashley spun the nose around and immediately pushed the engines into a hard burn, aiming directly for the center of the base. The forces on her body were so immense she felt like her legs and back were ready to snap, but the maneuver had paid off because the CAPPS had pursued her, matching every move. Flashes lit up the cockpit as the base’s surface turrets seared the void with a near-blinding flurry of energy bolts. She fired the thrusters, making the nimble fighter trainer jolt and jar chaotically to avoid the blasts, which sailed past her like shooting stars. An icon representing one of the CAPPS flashed and disappeared from her tactical display. Ashley smiled. That’s one…
The two remaining sentries continued their pursuit, narrowing the gap with each passing second. Ashley pulsed the engines harder, burning towards the interconnecting web of tunnels that linked the bubble-like domes of the UEC base together. Her aft quarter took a hit, but she was unable to check how badly, because her attention was solely focused on the giant dome that was rapidly filling her view. A collision alarm sounded and she redirected power to the ventral thrusters, producing a crushing deceleration that was just enough to prevent the ship from crashing into the surface, but left enough forward momentum to allow Ashley to thread the ship between the tunnels, practically skimming off the surface of the domes like a skipping stone. She knew that the CAPPS were programmed not to fire while there was a risk of damaging the domes, and she hoped that even the blue boots weren’t dumb enough to disable that safety protocol.
Artfully weaving from one dome to the next, Ashley emerged in front of the government sector and brought the agile trainer to a dead stop. Free from the powerful forces that had been exerted on her body, she drew breath sharply, as if she had just surfaced from a long dive underwater. She checked the tactical display and watched as the two remaining CAPPS vastly overshot her position, but not before a random volley of weapons fire hammered into the nose of the trainer, destroying the pulse cannon array and most of the ship’s sensor electronics. Ashley’s visor HUD went dark, and circuits sparked and crackled at her side. Panic rose in her gut and she frantically checked the comms package, but it was still intact and still operational.
“I’ve had enough of this game,” snarled Ashley, flipping the switch on the comms package to initiate the jamming pulse. Instantly, the two remaining CAPPS lost power and floated listlessly in space, before colliding with the giant dome of the government sector and rebounding up towards the stars in an unpowered, uncontrolled spin. Ashley tested the controls; the ship was badly damaged, and had lost several of its thruster pods, but she was close enough to the comms control center that she could limp there without much trouble, providing the CAPPS didn’t regain power and finish her off. She lifted the visor on the helmet and reached forward, lifting the manual gun-sight out of its stow in the center of the cockpit.
“I’ve not used one of these in an age,” she remarked. It seemed silly to talk to herself, but it helped take her mind off the fact that she was out there alone. The damage had made the ship sluggish and skittish, and she wrestled with the controls before finally managing to bring the part-obliterated nose of the fighter trainer in line with the listing CAPPS. The comm package began to flash; the power drain needed in order to maintain a signal that stretched far enough to affect the CAPPS would cause the package to burn out in less than a minute. She drew a long breath and held it, teasing the controls and trying to compensate for the compromised thruster controls, until the first CAPPS drifted into view behind her hard metal gunsight. Ashley gently squeezed the trigger sending a single column of cannon fire erupting into space, and a second later the CAPPS exploded, bathing the cockpit in a warm orange glow. Ashley breathed again, but then an alarm sounded and she glanced down; the comms package was critical and had to be shut down. She hit the control to deactivate it, keeping half an eye on the last remaining CAPPS, which had drifted deeper into space so that it was barely the size of a peanut and hardly visible against the blackness of space. With the jamming signal offline the sentry rebooted and Ashley could see the flash of its thrusters as it reoriented itself, scanning again for its target. She watched the flashes and lightly touched the controls to gently tip the nose of the training ship towards her target.
“Come on, come at me…” Ashley urged. “Just a little closer…” She nudged the controls again and held the ship in place, waiting for the CAPPS to pass in front of her sights. Blue bolts of energy flashed past, narrowly missing one of the interconnecting tunnels to her aft. “Come on, just a little to the right…” she urged, adding gentle pressure to the trigger until the CAPPS slid into position, and then she held her breath and fired a burst. The cannon rounds pierced the darkness and seconds later the sentry exploded, creating a bubble of orange light like a small sun, which then fizzled into nothing as quickly as it had appeared. She pressed her head firmly into the seat back and closed her eyes.
“If I survive this, I’m going to have to re-write my training course on combat tactics against remotes,” said Ashley, before angling the ship towards the comms control room and slowing to a hover less than half a meter above the rectangular housings that hosted the UEC moon base’s primary communications hardware. “I’m probably going to have to stop talking to myself too.”
She reset the comms package to the holo broadcast override frequency, diverted all remaining power to it and then initiated the signal. She relaxed and allowed herself to slide down in the chair, suddenly aware of how every muscle and joint in her body felt like jelly. There was nothing she could do now, other than wait.
“Okay Sal, over to you. It’s now or never...”
Chapter 22
Page severed the remaining bond, slicing into the back of his hand with each frantic thrust of the knife, and then wrenched his arms apart, ju
st as the crack of a pistol firing reverberated around the oval walls of the Teardrop. He sprang out of the chair, adrenalin numbing the stiffness and soreness of his muscles, and found Kuba standing over the prone body of Maria, aiming a small pistol down towards her head.
“No!” he cried, and without thinking he grabbed the chair he had been bound to and tossed it towards Kuba. The effort was agonizing, but by sheer dumb luck his aim was true and the chair struck the politician across the shoulder, before he was able to adjust his aim toward Page. Kuba yelped and reeled backwards, the pistol spiraling from his grasp and landing at Maria’s side, just beyond the pool of blood that was leaking from her body. She tried to reach for it, but searing pain prevented her from moving.
“Guard!” cried Kuba, falling to his knees, grimacing and holding his arm. “Guard!”
Page made a dash for the weapon, but a burst of rifle fire from the far end of the room forced him to take cover behind the huge black conference table. He peered over the top and saw a soldier dressed in light combat armor rush through the archway that connected the Teardrop to the main elevator and begin sweeping the room with the barrel of the weapon, looking for him.
“He’s behind the desk you fool!” Kuba cried, pushing himself along the floor with the heels of his shiny, black shoes, while dragging himself toward the soldier with his good arm.
Maria clenched her teeth and again tried to reach the weapon, bearing the excruciating agony that tore across the side of her body, threatening to make her black out. Eventually she managed to land a finger on the barrel and drag the weapon into her grasp, just as another volley of rifle fire erupted into the room, tearing through the high backs of the black conference chairs. She spotted Page, huddled behind the table, shifting position to make it harder for the soldier to locate him. She tried to toss the pistol to him but her muscles spasmed from the pain, sending the weapon tumbling tantalizingly out of Page’s reach. In order to grab it Page would need to step out of cover, and Maria knew the odds of him reaching the weapon and shooting the guard before being shot himself were slim-to-none. She glanced back at the guard, prowling ever closer to Page, and had an idea; shifting her wounded body towards the guard, she hoped she had not yet used up all of her good luck.