Captain Cosette

by R. Bruce Sundrud

  Dyson and Rasora moved a row closer to Cosette, and Dyson continued. “The civilian population is a mix of Old Earth and native humans. You should read the account of when they met each other; it’s quite a story. The natives were not technologically advanced and it was a real cultural shock. Anyway, the Union took it from the Alliance by force, ran the planet into the ground, and then we came back and drove the Union out. Right now it’s neutral territory, neither ours nor theirs, which is probably why it was chosen for a prisoner exchange.”

  Rasora rubbed his chin. “But that announcement we heard back on the space station said that the Alliance was putting pressure on the Union forces here at Aquataine, and that they were fighting back.”

  “I know.” Dyson frowned. “I’m thinking the Union doesn’t consider Aquataine neutral territory.”

  “If it’s only agricultural, why does it matter who governs the planet?” asked Cosette.

  “Recruits, for one thing,” said Dyson. “And wealth for the Union in the form of taxes, which they impose by force. It’s also a staging area denied to the enemy. If the Union can take enough supposedly insignificant planets like Aquataine by force, it can make the Alliance too small to be a threat.”

  Cosette glanced at her screens. They were entering orbit. “Do you know anything about the prisoner we’re going to exchange the Major for?” she asked Rasora.

  “Haven’t heard.” He turned to Dyson. “You hear anything?”

  “No.”

  “It’s a three for one exchange,” said Garale, standing in the cabin doorway.

  Cosette was startled, not realizing he had been listening their discussion. Garale smiled at her, a thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Major Dyson’s rank and experience made him valuable. We’re getting back three pilots.”

  “Only three?” Dyson grinned. “You’re getting swindled. I’m worth six.”

  “Hand me the key to the prisoner,” said Garale, ignoring Dyson’s comment. “I’ll take charge of him from here on in. We’ll dock with the Alliance cruiser when it arrives.”

  “Only one ship from the Alliance?” asked Dyson. Rasora pulled the cylinder from his pocket and handed it to Garale.

  “Of course. Our ship and their ship, just two cruisers, a peaceful exchange.” He slipped the key into his pocket. “The Alliance agreed to pull their ships out of here, and leave Aquataine neutral. This prisoner exchange will seal the agreement.”

  “You’re frowning,” said Rasora to Dyson.

  “I don’t like any part of it.” He rubbed the thumb and index finger of one hand together nervously. “One of the reasons the Alliance wants me back is because of my experience in negotiations, and if there’s one thing I know, the Union doesn’t bargain in good faith.”

  “Nonsense,” said Garale. “A lot of lives would be spared if you Alliance rabble would be more trusting, stick to your agreements, and let us govern ourselves without interference.”

  “Trusting? When a world cries out because its freedoms have been trampled and its people enslaved, you think we should trust you? What kind of people would we be to let people suffer without trying to help them?”

  “That’s just an excuse to spread Alliance power. I’ve heard it before.”

  “Lieutenant?” called Alena. “An Alliance cruiser has arrived. They want us to match orbits.”

  Garale sneered. “Good. We can get rid of this noble philosopher and get back some good men.” He stepped back to his pilot’s seat.

  Cosette looked at Dyson. “People have called on the Alliance for help?”

  Dyson leaned forward and spoke quietly, his long brown hair framing his face. “The Union governs from the top down, and they decide who gets educated and who gets put on the farm. Sometimes they even decide who marries whom. It’s intolerable, but when you’ve got enough force to back it up, there’s no way for people to revolt. On Sorine, it looks like the Union forces got beaten back but they’ll return in force when it suits them.”

  “That’s how you got recruited, Cosette,” said Rasora. “The order went out that the oldest child of fighting age in each family had to serve in the military.” He wiped his hands on his pants with a sour expression. “My brother and I made some good money, picking up recruits.”

  “Like me,” said Cosette.

  “Well, yes.” His face tightened as though he was preparing for her to explode.

  “Why didn’t you tell that me before?”

  “I didn’t want you angry at me and you kept forgetting everything. I figured you would remember soon enough.”

  So it wasn’t anything romantic. Rasora was just picking me up like a package. He seems sorry about it, though.

  Maybe I’ll forgive him.

  Maybe.

  “So you can see,” said Dyson, “why a world might call on the Alliance for help.”

  “Yes, I do see.” She checked her screens. All the cruiser’s systems were good, and she switched to the pilot’s sensors to watch the approaching Alliance cruiser. “I’m beginning to wonder if I’m working for the right side.”

  “Watch your tongue,” said Rasora. “You could wind up with a bracelet again if you say that out loud.”

  Her eyes snapped back to his face. “Again?”

  Before Rasora could respond, Alena spoke up with concern. “I’m reading some large ships about to come out of folded space.”

  “What?” Garale leaned over to see her screen. “I should have expected it. Alliance treachery! The exchange is off! Get ready to leave orbit.”

  Dyson grabbed the back of Cosette’s seat. “The Alliance doesn’t do that. We don’t break agreements.”

  Cosette switched her screen to see what Alena was seeing. Four large ripples in folded space were headed towards them like raptors approaching underwater.

  “I’ve got signatures,” said Alena. “Those are Union battleships.”

  “Union?” Garale looked baffled. “Can’t be. Nobody told me anything about plans to crash the exchange.”

  “Looks like you’re out of the loop, Garale,” said Dyson.

  “Shut your mouth,” he snapped. He turned to Alena. “We’re staying in orbit.”

  Dyson gripped his armrests. “I don’t think that’s wise.”

  On Cosette’s screen, four large battleships emerged, black against the starry background. Her brain catalogued them, remembering their design, their floor plans, and their capabilities. She pulled her seat harness over herself, buckled it, and then zoomed in on the ships.

  “I’ll hail them,” said Alena, but she never got the chance. Streaks of light shot out from the lead battleship.

  “They’re firing!” shouted Cosette. “Evade!”

  “They wouldn’t fire at us,” said Garale.

  “You were bait!” yelled Dyson. “Expendable! They’re attacking both ships!”

  Cosette couldn’t wait for the vacillating Garale to take action. She reached up over her screens, slapped open a panel and flipped a switch that would route piloting capability to her console.

  Thank heavens I know every circuit on this ship.

  Her fingers danced across her keyboard and the cruiser plunged towards the planet.

  “What are you doing?” screamed Garale, as the maneuver threw him out of his seat.

  She made the cruiser dodge left and right as they descended. On her screens, two red blips of light emerged from the lead battleship and headed in their direction. “Two Charon-2 missiles locked on and headed our way,” she announced.

  “Charon-2 missiles,” said Rasora. “Those are bad, right?”

  “Get your hands off of those controls,” Garale shouted at Cosette. He stood in the doorway of the pilots’ cabin, one hand gripping the door frame and the other holding an ion disruptor pistol.

  If I don’t maneuver us away from the missiles, we’re dead. But he won’t hesitate to kill me if I don’t obey him.

  He’s standing and I’m strapped in.

  She shoved a control and the ship
pitched violently.

  Garale crashed against the ceiling, then against the floor as Cosette sent the ship the other way. Rasora threw himself on Garale with a roar and they struggled for the pistol.

  When they rolled towards Cosette, she kicked Garale in the head with her boot and he lost his grip on the weapon. Rasora grabbed it and aimed it at Garale. “Now stay down!” he snarled.

  “Mutiny!” cried Garale, his eyes unfocussed.

  Cosette saw that the pistol’s safety was still on, but she didn’t want to mention it. If it had been armed, it might have gone off during the struggle and their cabin would have been punctured. She didn’t want it armed.

  She turned her attention to the missiles, now closing in on them.

  Chaff.

  This ship has tiny decoy missiles that will give off heat and electronic noise to distract the Charon-2 missiles, but they won’t work at this close range unless our cruiser becomes dark.

  There was simply no time to ponder. She fired the decoys and then hit the switches that shut down the plasma core and all communications.

  The cabin went dark, except for a few pinpoints of emergency lighting.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” cried Garale from the floor. “You can’t restart a plasma core out in space! We’re helpless!”

  She unbuckled herself, stepped over him, and sat down in the pilot’s seat. She turned to Alena. “If I have to knock you out, I will.”

  Alena’s thin face shone with perspiration, and she raised her hands. “I’m out of this. Just keep us alive.”

  Cosette flipped several switches, and held her finger over the last one. “We can’t see what’s happening, but if those missiles go for the decoys, we’ll feel particle waves right about….”

  They were slammed on both sides. Something hit the cruiser, vibrating it from nose to stern. Cosette flipped the switch, and her screens came back on. “We’re descending rapidly,” she announced. “The Union battleships are concentrating on the Alliance cruiser. It’s making a run for it.” A flare erupted on her screen. “They didn’t make it.”

  Dyson swore and slammed the side of the cabin with his fist.

  “Careful,” said Rasora. “There’s vacuum on the other side of that wall.”

  “We were bait!” said Dyson, his composure gone. “All of us, including this idiot lieutenant here. They got the Alliance to clear this planet and then they moved in. I should have been negotiating instead of sitting in prison. I know how Union minds think! I would never have agreed to this.” He cursed again, and made another abortive swipe at the wall.

  “They still think they got us with those missiles,” said Cosette, “but they could pick us up again at any moment. Strap Garale in so he doesn’t bounce around the cabin again.” Garale was bleeding from a cut on his forehead, and he looked dazed. Cosette hoped that it was her boot that had made the cut, and then she felt guilty at the thought.

  “How are you running this ship with the plasma core shut down?” asked Alena hesitantly. “I was taught that you couldn’t.”

  “The specs say you can bleed residual power from the core to get a ship landed but it erodes the core. I don’t care what happens to the ship as long as we get down.” She glanced at the altitude readout. “We’re approaching atmosphere.”

  Things are happening too fast, but if I avoid thinking about it, it seems that I use my new knowledge automatically.

  Don’t think about anything!

  “What hit us back there?” asked Rasora, tightening the straps on Garale. “Any idea?”

  “It’s not what hit us, it’s where it hit us,” said Cosette. “We’re about to stop being a spacecraft and become an aircraft, and I think our beautiful outside skin could be in bad shape. Everyone strap in.”

  “Do you know where you’re going to land?” asked Dyson.

  Cosette shrugged. “Any suggestions?”

  “In the southern hemisphere there’s a continent that looks like a bird with one wing. The Alliance had a spaceport on the wingtip, but that was before the Union drove us out. It has a generous landing strip, or at least it used to.”

  Alena pointed to a screen. “I'm picking up radio noise from that location. We’ll have to do a turnaround to get there.”

  “Can do,” said Cosette, her navigation knowledge bubbling to the fore. “If our surfaces let us turn.” She tried to let go of her anxiety and give her brain a chance to put the pieces together. A dead stick landing would have meant becoming a fireball to let the atmosphere slow them down, but they weren’t dead, they had maneuvering propellant, and the engines were green. The cruiser might fly like a crippled hog, but it should at least fly.

  “I don’t understand,” mumbled Garale.

  “What don’t you understand?” asked Rasora.

  “Why they fired at us. Maybe they thought we were the Alliance cruiser.”

  Dyson snorted. “They knew it was us. They fired at both of us.”

  “But I’m a pilot,” said Garale with a whine in his voice. “I’m valuable.”

  “You think? Did you offend anyone? Try to kiss some admiral’s daughter?”

  “No, she wouldn’t have….” Garale trailed off.

  I guess he did.

  “Why were Cosette and I assigned to this flight?” asked Rasora. “Can you answer that? There are other soldiers that could have escorted Major Dyson, other maintenance cadets that could have flown instead of Cosette. Even a cook would have had more experience than Cosette.”

  Garale swallowed. He looked confused. “They told me that Cadet Nicholas knows too much. I was supposed to keep an eye on her, and you. Besides, she refused to…” He blinked and started over. “It was an honor to be the pilot for the exchange. They didn’t tell me they were sending battleships after us.”

  Major Dyson humphed. “There must be more technical knowledge in that blonde head than I realized. The station command was going to rid itself of several problems at once, a too-friendly lieutenant, a cadet that knew all their secrets, and me. Alena, what did you do wrong to get yourself assigned to this ship?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, “but I’m doing some serious thinking.”

  “Temperature’s rising.” Cosette checked her instruments. “We’re entering atmosphere.”

  “Let me fly it in,” shouted Garale, struggling against the straps. “I’ve landed cruisers before.”

  “Sit still and shut up.” Rasora pointed the ion disrupter at him. “She’s the captain of the ship right now and we’re the passengers.”

  Cosette blocked them out and cleared her mind.

  Landing procedures.

  They were in her brain already.

  She started up the maneuvering thrusters. They were at a fraction of their power, lacking the energy from a live plasma core, but they could fire all the way down, slowing their descent.

  The outside pressure built up, and she began to get some response as she moved the ailerons on the wings.

  “Something’s wrong,” shouted Garale. “It shouldn’t whistle like that!”

  “He’s right,” said Alena. “There’s too much noise, too much vibration.”

  The ship began shaking, buffeted by the outside air screaming past.

  I can’t see the outside of the ship. I checked everything out before we left, it must be damage. A piece from one of those missiles might have torn something….

  A thought occurred to her, and she checked the armament switches on her left.

  “The cannon ports are open!” she gasped. She threw a pair of switches, and the buffeting eased.

  “Why would you open the cannon ports?” shouted Garale.

  “Stop shouting at her!” shouted Rasora.

  “I didn’t open them,” she said sharply, trying to stop her hands from shaking. “Spinner must have done it, thinking I was going to check the alignment like I did the fighter, but I never got to it, we didn’t have time.” She shook her head. “We would have ruptured the wings if I’d left them
open.”

  “Time to start the turnaround,” said Alena. “Thrusters are on full, and I can barely feel them.”

  Cosette took the pilot’s wheel, inhaled, and relaxed.

  Five degrees right bank should give a wide turnaround and bring us in position to find the landing strip on the southern continent.

  She turned the wheel to the right, and it resisted. “Alena, can you get a right bank going?”

  Alena grasped her copilot’s wheel, and together they tried banking the cruiser to the right. “It’s not responding.”

  “It’s not a mechanical linkage, it’s all electrical.” Cosette eased off on the wheel. “We can’t just push harder. Can we bank left?”

  They turned their wheels to the left, and the cruiser banked and began a slow turn.

  Alena looked at her, her eyes large. “You mean we can only turn left and not right?”

  Cosette closed her eyes, trying to pull some saving thought from her banks of knowledge, but nothing came. “Looks like it. This could be fun.”

  “You have a strange idea of fun,” said Alena. “Can we get anywhere close to that landing strip?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Is there any way to bail out of this thing?” asked Rasora.

  Garale snarled. “There are pressure suits for out in space under your seats, but no parachutes, if that’s what you mean. It’s land or die. Get that woman out of my seat and let me land this thing!”

  The cruiser started shaking again and the air rushing by screamed like a hundred banshees trying to break in and kill them. Cosette let Alena keep the ship on a slow turn while she tracked the radio emissions coming from the tip of the continent. She patched the transmission to the speakers, and the sound of pounding music and raucous singing filled the cabin.

  “We’re guiding in on the sound of some kids’ band?” asked Rasora.

  “I like it,” said Major Dyson. “I used to listen to that when I was growing up.”

  “It’s just noise,” muttered Lieutenant Garale. “Chaotic. The Union only allows civilized music.”

  Cosette hadn’t heard such music before. At least, she had no memory of it.

  I wonder what type of music I used to listen to?

  One of her screens showed a tracing of their path since hitting atmosphere overlaid on a map of the southern hemisphere. “This isn’t working out.”