Deviance of Time

by Dan O'Brien

  “Understood, sir,” replied Reckson. “I will contact you when the plan has been carried through.”

  “Very well.” Xzin’s voice was cold and hollow, but Reckson found his faith in her abilities comforting in a way that she had not felt in a long time. “Remember, do not engage the enemy, and only subdue their progress.”

  “I shall inform all lower category ships to fly defensive patterns only and to divert core energy to front shields and low stun.” Reckson’s face softened for a moment. “Is that all, my lord?”

  “Yes, that will be all, Admiral.”

  “Roseblade out.”

  The screen darkened.

  Reckson allowed her mind to wander the distant stars.

  * * * * *

  The hangar of Eyes of the Phoenix was filled with fifteen to twenty small, short-range crafts – each branded with the emblem of the State – that were to be employed in the assault. A man entered through the far end of the hangar bay and diligently made his way across the gleaming metallic floor. He stopped in front of the congregation of anxious pilots and cleared his throat.

  “Thank you for taking time from your normal duties to join us here today. I am Master Lieutenant Zisa Eyerre, and I am going to run you through the specifics of the mission.”

  A series of murmurs arose from the crowd.

  “It is now 1325, and we are approaching the Baldorian sector. The target moon is ahead, and we will be within range at exactly 1330 hours,” the lieutenant said, his every word capturing the attention of the pilots. “Our smaller fighters will run lead with Alpha Squadrons One through Eight. Alpha Squadron Zero will land in the forest outside of the reactor city and make their way into the city itself. At 1730 hours, the reactor should blow, giving us exactly one hour to pick up Alpha Zero at the rendezvous point and escape in time to watch the ensuing fireworks at exactly 1830 hours. Any questions?”

  “What are the squadron assignments?” a small voice asked. The man was Deld Rwender, a pilot from the rim world of Takrot. It was a planet rich in spice and the addictive drug castion – a smuggler’s paradise.

  “There will be two distinct teams,” began Eyerre, his posture straightening so all could clearly hear what he had to say. “Alpha One through Four will be commanded by Jearse Bedlohi; Alpha Five through Eight will fly with Deld Rwender.”

  “Alpha Two, Three, and Four, follow me,” called Jearse Bedlohi, a tall, lanky man from Fasen Major who had, more than once, led covert missions with the katana-class fighters against Xzin’s forces.

  A series of ayes sounded as the pilots followed Bedlohi into the loading bays and boarded storms, the smallest of the fighters in the State’s navy. Firestorm-class ships were the most efficient ships in the galaxy. Their relatively small size compared to their weapon capacity, as well as their maneuverability, gave them certain covert advantages.

  “You heard Bedlohi,” called out Rwender. “The rest of you follow my lead and board the remaining storms.” The remaining pilots negotiated their way around the ships and strapped themselves into the crimson cockpits. After the last storms careened off of the hangar deck, the three solemn figures of Alpha Zero Squadron arrived. Rider brought his arm up and ran his fingers over the rectangular control panel that ran the length of his arm.

  “It is time.” Rider’s voice was flat.

  Mela met the distant look on Rider’s face, her silky features glowing against the space outside the viewport. “Have no fear, love. We shall complete this mission, and then we will be able to live the remainder of our years peacefully.” Mela’s voice sang like an angel on the darkest day. It reminded Rider of the many times he had fallen in love with Mela at each step along their journey.

  “I agree.” Wei’s voice was like a stone in a vise, never changing and hard. “This is nothing more than we have done before. We are the best, my friend.”

  “Yes,” Rider’s voice trailed off, and he did not make an attempt to complete the thought. He passed his hand over the Spacehawk patch on his chest, which housed the armor chip.

  In one smooth motion, his body was engulfed in a shimmering green energy field. His eyes were hidden behind the confines of a mask, but they looked remorseful nonetheless.

  He began to rise slowly off the deck and extended his arms forward. The armor, anticipating and following his lead exactly, moved forward. Rider’s frame was hovering, floating toward the hangar bay doors. “Are you guys coming?”

  Mela and Wei energized their suits in unison, their energy trails illuminating the hangar walls. Mela’s peaceful blue glow painting shadows across the remaining vessels and her trail sifting out behind her, carving an ocean for all those who followed.

  Wei’s aura was piercing and bright, the yellow glow permeating all corners of the vast room, exposing the darkest places of shadow. They moved forward and dropped into space with Rider, following the pyramid of Storms descending to the moon below.

  * * * * *

  The Hawk’s Eye hung in space, shields pulsing at minimum and crew scattered about the control room. Admiral Gerald Roberts looked out upon the mother to all pilots: space. His thoughts moved quickly, reviewing things he had done and things that might soon come about.

  He pictured Diana Reckson, a woman he once knew. She had been the most respected tactician in the State’s fleet, but after the mishap on her home world and the accidental deaths of her family, her countenance had changed for the worst. The ship rocked forward and shook Roberts from his thoughts.

  “Helmsman, bring up front shields and activate the view-screen. What the hell is attacking us?” Roberts’ voice was crisp and echoed above the uproar of his crew.

  The helmsman spun into his chair, bringing his hands dexterously over the controls. The distinct hum of shield generation calmed the crew for a moment, but when the view screen sputtered to life, showing the colossal form of the Roseblade, their demeanors fell sour.

  “Sir, we seem to be under attack by a Baldorian vessel.” The helmsman’s voice was shaky. “Bringing front and aft shields to full and activating reserve tanks to divert power to primary shields.”

  The view-screen shifted from the Roseblade, back-dropped against the stars, to the stoic face of Admiral Diana Reckson. The crew moved quickly at their workstations trying, without success, to restore the ship to its proper coordinates and power. Roberts walked slowly toward the screen, his hands at his sides and his brow furrowing slightly, the beads of sweat trickling down his chin.

  “Admiral Roberts.” Her tone was icy. “I see that you still serve that slaughtering government you call the State. This, in a way, is very unfortunate because it seems as though you are trespassing on a confirmed Baldorian sector. The penalty for such an offense is severe, and I believe that you, as well as your fleet, will have to pay.”

  Before Roberts could respond, the screen went dead.

  “Helmsman Tason, send an emergency message to the council immediately,” replied Roberts as he turned back toward the bridge of the ship. “All other stations go to battle status.”

  Tason looked up with a bit of panic. He merely nodded, and the helmsman moved his hands quickly sending a distress signal to the council chambers of Fael Damon.

  * * * * *

  Eight storms floated effortlessly in space, waiting for the eventual attack from the moon below when Admiral Reckson noticed the perimeter warnings and sent small ships to engage the boarding fleet.

  Roseblade cast a shadow over the battle as it pulled away from the moon’s darkness; and when the smaller State ships caught wind of the towering starship, they flew from formation.

  The storms maneuvered quickly and brought up their rear shields as they dove back toward the surface, trying to line their weapons systems with the lead ship. The fighters split into their teams and raced in a crisscross pattern at the hull of the Roseblade.

  Progress came up short when the belly of the governing ship slid open and hundreds of black forms dropped into the thickness of space. They washed over the
eight storms like a hurricane, a wave of blaster fire and screeching carbon engines.

  “This is Alpha One, break formation and pair up.” Bedlohi’s voice came through the comm system. They immediately broke formation. “Alpha Two, fall in with my lead and fly a diagonal pattern to my energy trail.”

  “Understood, Alpha Leader.” Alpha Two was a slick pilot with marksman’s reflexes. The other pilots had nicknamed him Flare Roberts for his challenging nature in battle simulations.

  “Alpha One this is Alpha Five, repeat, Alpha One this Alpha Five. Do you copy?”

  “This is Alpha One, I hear you, Rwender. What is it?” Bedlohi had always admired Rwender for his tenaciousness and dedication. He was comforted, for a moment, at the reminder that Rwender was in this situation with him.

  “We don’t stand a chance against Baldorian fighters in open space.” Rwender’s voice sounded strained over the weak frequency of the comm units.

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Fly as close as we can to the point ship. The smaller fighters won’t dare use full bursts when they are that close. It is our only chance as far as I can see.” Rwender was known for his quick thinking in tight places, but he wasn’t known for reckless abandonment for personal safety issues.

  “That’s suicide,” Alpha Three spoke up without invitation.

  “You don’t know how fast these Baldorian pilots are, Alpha Three. I have seen a single squadron wipe out entire convoys of capital ships.”

  “Sorry, sir, pardon my assumption.” Alpha Three was a political addition to the Alpha Squadron, put there entirely to maintain diversity. It had been a peacekeeping move between factions of the council. His piloting skills were par, and at a time like this they fell more along the lines of nil.

  “I agree, Alpha Five. All fighters set shields on full rotation and fly as close to the lead ship as you can.” Bedlohi unsnapped the corner strap from his helmet and rubbed the scar tracing his eye line, knowing full well the uselessness of their positions. “Maybe we can buy Alpha Zero a little more time before we have to evacuate.”

  The vapor trails of the State ships slowed, and they broke the offense line and flew in random patterns, focusing the noses of their ships at the hull line of the Roseblade.

  * * * * *

  The moon was a mixture of environments, and the reactor city sat on the edge of a vast forest that extended across more than half the planet. The reactor city glowed under the penetrating light of intense generators and the sweeping floodlights that surveyed the outpost. Alpha Zero landed in a clearing on top of a cliff that overlooked the city, their suits powering down and the sand beneath them swirling into a mass of dust.

  The reactor city was a government installation that supplied most of the Baldorian system with power. The reactor itself was at the center of the military city and was guarded by a security force that was known to be ruthless. Wei removed a sight enhancer from his suit and looked down on the city. He moved his hands over the controls along the side.

  “There seems to be around one hundred and fifty heavily armored buildings, and patrol groups of fifteen,” rattled Wei, as he peered through the enhancers.

  “What about the possibility of ambush?” Rider had always been the voice of suspicion, no matter the severity of the mission.

  “Always a possibility, but the demeanor of the security, from what I can determine, seems to be relaxed.” Wei removed the sight enhancers from his eyes and returned them to his gear bag.

  “Just watch for traps, and move toward the reactor at all costs.” Rider, more often than not, assumed the role of leader and resorted to the delegation of orders and responsibility. Mela cleared her throat and threw Rider a sheepish grin. Rider raised his hands in mock surrender and silenced himself.

  “Okay, we split up and meet at the reactor at 1700 hours. Try to avoid detection. Also, avoid communications contact because they will more than likely discover the frequency,” Mela turned to Rider as she spoke, “Rider, have the explosives ready when we reach the reactor.”

  Mela turned and leapt off the cliff as her armor conformed to her falling body. Wei and Rider exchanged glances, then followed suit. The superior technology of the armor made the drop seem more like a footstep.

  When they struck bottom, they went opposite directions and raced through the forest to the edge of the reactor town. They had four hours to disable the reactor.

  * * * * *

  The amphitheater on Verdule was in a state of absolute chaos as Damon fought to calm the council members. He held his hands in a lowering swoop, trying to subdue their fears long enough to return to civilized discourse.

  Damon had returned immediately from his private chambers when he received the hailing from The Hawk’s Eye, and from that transmission the council had completely lost all diplomatic nature. Factions within the council became evident as the very stability of the State was at a crossroads.

  Councilmen could be seen brandishing harsh gestures and shouting at each other. The very universe seemed to be unraveling at its seams. After a moment, Supreme Council Damon gained the attention of the infuriated masses.

  “Gentlemen, if you would please calm down we might be able to do something about our present situation. Continue to bicker amongst yourselves and we will get nothing done,” called Damon to the angry mob. There was only one figure amongst the crowd that remained still – Robert Welvon.

  “You have no right to speak, Supreme Council Damon. You are the one that called for this ridiculous mission in the first place,” retorted Welvon, but continued to speak with greater conviction. “I move that this mission be abandoned and that all forces be withdrawn from the Baldorian system. I move, as well, to revoke Councilman Damon’s title and that a new Supreme Council be elected in this time of crisis.”

  “There is still time to send aid, perhaps more cruisers.” Slation’s voice was one of the strongest in the room, but could hardly be heard over the rising sounds of the masses.

  Welvon smiled cruelly and made his way to the Supreme Council’s floating pedestal. He raised his hand and pointed at Damon, finger extending from a limp wrist. “The blame rests solely on the Supreme Council.” Welvon’s voice gained an amount of power after seeing the disintegration of the assemblage, and he seized the opportunity to play on their fears and angst. “This was his wanting. Damon, alone, called for the covert attack on the moon, and he, as well, traveled to Nemodtia to bring back the ambassador who further led this council astray.”

  “You speak out of turn, councilman, and I will not have you talk of Erinana in such an insolent tone.” Damon’s face flushed as his anger rose quickly to the surface, threatening to break his resolve.

  “You see nothing. Your blind adherence to this ambassador is appalling. She is a witch and has tainted this council with her venomous words. Once again, I move to have Supreme Council Damon’s position revoked. Damon has lost his ability to properly conduct this council. We need new leadership.”

  Puzzled glances and mumbled words swept through the council. “Despite the allegations in Councilman Welvon’s past, I must agree with him on both counts of his objection. I second the movement that the Baldor assault be withdrawn immediately,” began a councilman in the front row as he turned to face Damon. “I move that Damon be removed from his post and the election of a new Supreme Council be conducted. I nominate Councilman Robert Welvon.”

  “I, for one, will not see Welvon at the head of the operations of State. If this happens, I will officially resign from the council, and I will take my worlds with me.” Slation’s words hit home, and several other council members stood up and voiced similar concerns.

  “This is absolute foolishness. This anger quells absolutely nothing that is happening out there,” pleaded Damon, a deep-set anger loosening itself and rising to the surface.

  “You, coward,” glowered Welvon, as he edged closer and closer to Damon’s side.

  “You are the only coward here,” shot back Damon. “Yo
u are the worm that has destroyed the core of our peaceful civilization. Even now you wish only to bring hardship to what so many have struggled to achieve.”

  “A resolution must be reached here and now,” called out the representative from Fasen Major, a tan woman who flicked back her golden braids in annoyance. “A vote shall be taken.”

  Welvon looked to Damon and then back to the assemblage. “So be it,” whispered Damon, looking as though he had not slept in some time. The council rose one at a time, each responding aye or nay in favor of the removal of Fael Damon and, in the end, evil found a place upon the path of justice. A great man was replaced by a shadow of a man who wished to thrive in darkness.

  Welvon shoved Damon aside and took his place on the floating pedestal. He acceded to the place of absolute power, and the waves of evil permeated the remaining council. In time, all that should have been remembered was wiped away.

  “To fear is to be bound. To be bound is to be a slave. To be a slave is to be dead.”

  -Three Principles of the Clan of the Branded

  Mela was the first to reach the reactor city interior, and when she reached the primary storage building, she looked for security forces on the street to gauge her point of entry. In the middle of the terrace were two security agents standing together with their guns on their shoulders. Mela puzzled over their relaxed postures.

  “How much longer?” one agent asked the other.

  “Soon. They have us running on intervals now, overlapping patterns.”

  “Hey, Daeken, did you see that Tech Fight last night? The Box and Sean Richards went at it. The Box ripped Richards to shreds.”

  Tech Fights were held monthly on the planet of Fasen Major, and anyone who wanted to participate could enter – anything goes. Tech Fights had become so popular they were broadcast all across the known galaxy. It was one of the few things that both the Baldorians and the rest of the State participated in.