Bringing Stella Home

by Joe Vasicek

  James bit his lip. A chill ran down his arms—not of fear, but of excitement. After nearly a month of tedious training exercises, they were finally going to see some real action.

  “Now, they may not attack us at all. If that’s the case, we’ll continue on our current trajectory without incident. But if they do attack, we can expect them to jump a bomb or an ionized deep space EMP and follow up with a squad of three boarding craft. Our beacons have enough power to draw off the incoming missiles, but they will not interdict the boarding craft. If the Hameji follow their standard procedure, we can expect to be outnumbered three to one.”

  Danica paused to survey the room. No one said a word.

  “No one has survived an encounter like this,” she said. “Rumor has it that no one can. I intend to prove that wrong. The Hameji don’t know that we’re anticipating them, which means we have the element of surprise. Let’s use that to our advantage.

  “Our primary objective is to survive long enough to escape. Our secondary objective is to disable and capture one of the Hameji assault craft.”

  Danica’s announcement was met with shock and bewilderment among the crew. Several of them gasped in surprise, while others groaned and shook their heads.

  “Now, hold on a moment,” Danica said, raising her hands for attention. “I know that capturing a Hameji ship may seem impossible, but if we can disable one of their assault craft long enough to jump out with it, we can vent the interior and eliminate any hostiles at our leisure.”

  “Yes, but why?” asked Ilya, always the one to speak out of turn.

  “A captured Hameji transport is absolutely crucial to completing the next phase of our mission,” said Danica, “and we aren’t going to get a better chance at acquiring one than this.”

  James’s heart leaped in his chest. Danica was right—this was the perfect opportunity to acquire a Hameji transport.

  “I know this seems grim,” she continued, “but I have complete confidence in your abilities. If we all do our best, I fully expect to come out of this engagement with zero casualties.”

  At that moment, a rapid beeping noise came from James’s right. “What’s that?” he asked, startled.

  “We’ve lost contact with two of our jump beacons, Captain,” said Anya. “It looks like they’ve been hit.”

  Danica nodded. “Then it’s begun. Stand by!”

  * * * * *

  The boy without a name leaped from his bunk and raced down the dimly lit corridor of the battleship. The smell of sweat and adrenaline filled the air as he joined his platoon brethren, the alarm blaring in their ears. Without thinking, they fell into line, running in perfect unison as adrenaline surged through them.

  Today, they would see combat. Real combat.

  At the armory, they fanned out along the racks and prepared to suit up. The boy grabbed a heavy black vest and threw it over his jumpsuit. With speed that came from repeated experience, his fingers raced up the clips on his side and shut them tight. He then slipped a waistband around his midsection and a codpiece around his groin.

  With that done, he ran into the nearest fitting stall and leaned against a human-shaped robotic frame. A series of clamps closed shut along his feet and legs until the frame conformed to his body. He took a step forward and the frame moved with him, the mechanized joints anticipating and mirroring his every move.

  The boy stood in the center of the stall and raised his arms. Above him, a massive robotic arm hissed as it lowered the main breastplate of his armor and fitted it over his torso. The armor connected to the frame with a satisfying click. As other arms fitted the plate shielding to the rest of his body, the interior of the armor filled with smart-foam, cooling him. The interior climate controls read his body temperature and adjusted accordingly.

  The boy slipped his hands into a pair of armored gloves. They connected seamlessly into the liquid plate armor of his forearms, and the cool dryness of the interior of his suit slowly extended from his torso to the tips of his fingers. He stepped into a pair of heavy battle boots and felt the magnetic locks secure them to the rest of his suit. Last of all, he closed his eyes as his helmet descended over his head. A short hissing noise sounded from the seal around his neck, followed by silence.

  The boy opened his eyes. Through his visor, the room brightened into shades of gray from the visible and infrared spectrum. A mouthpiece inserted itself into his mouth, and he took in a deep breath of coppery-tasting air.

  The robotic arms retracted, and he stepped out of the stall. Though his heavy armor suit weighed nearly a hundred pounds, with the extra support of the skeletal frame, he moved as easily as if he were wearing only a light jumpsuit.

  He followed his platoon brethren to the arms rack and selected an assault rifle. With his armored gloves, he grasped the grip of the weapon and tenderly stroked the barrel.

  Power.

  “Attention soldiers,” came Sergeant Voche’s tinny voice through a receiver in the boy’s ear. “We will be boarding a hostile craft imminently. Report to the high-gee coffins to prepare for combat maneuvers.”

  With the alarm now muffled by the noise control systems in his helmet, the boy ran with his platoon to a long room filled with open vertical caskets, each lined on the inside with thick cushions. The boy knew that during high-gee combat maneuvers, these oversized cocoons would keep him and his brethren safe.

  He stepped into the nearest one and stood still as it shut around him. Through the tactile input relay in his armored suit, he felt the pressure of the cushions against his armor. The coffin tightened until he was snug and immobile.

  The respirator in his suit connected with the coffin unit’s hose, and his lungs filled with high-pressure, oxygen-rich breathing liquid. At first, he felt as if he were drowning, but he resisted the urge to cough it up. Within seconds, the feeling was past.

  All noises from outside the coffin faded until he could hear nothing but the bubbling of his respirator and the buzzing in his ears.

  * * * * *

  Danica took in a deep breath and buried her growing fear and anxiety behind the captain’s mask she so often wore. In the heat of battle, she could not afford to let her men see her true emotions—that was a sure recipe for disaster. If her men knew that she was on the verge cracking, their resolve would fall apart.

  “Konstantin,” she said, keeping an eye on the scanner, “I want you to power down everything but the jump engines and auxiliaries and put the ship on standby mode. Make us look like a floating derelict.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Mikhail. He turned to his console and began to furiously type commands into the computer. The lights in the room dimmed, and the ever-present hum of the ventilators died into eerie silence.

  “Captain,” said Vaclav, “are you sure that’s wise? What about our combat systems?”

  “The auxiliary power will keep them online long enough to bring them to bear,” Danica answered. “Are your fighter drones ready?”

  “Yes. We can start launching the moment you power up the main computer.”

  “Good.”

  With luck, the unmanned fighter drones would give them an edge. The Hameji conquered worlds and defeated entire navies through perfect coordination of superior firepower, not the strength of their pilotless fightercraft. With the latest bootleg Imperial combat algorithms they’d acquired from Balthazar, Danica wouldn’t be surprised if they took out two or three Hameji fighters for every casualty of their own. It wouldn’t be decisive, but it might be enough to get them out of a tough spot.

  Besides, the Tajji Flame had a few other tricks up her proverbial sleeve.

  “Systems powering down,” said Mikhail. “Going on standby in three, two, one. Full standby.””

  The remaining non-essential lights shut off, leaving the bridge in near total darkness. The stars seemed dimmer than usual out the forward window; the sun was below them, out of their view but still close enough to drown out the starfield.

  “Captain,” Anya announced, “I ha
ve two bogeys, repeat, two bogeys. They jumped in five hundred klicks dead astern and are closing fast.”

  Danica frowned. “Only two?” Where’s the third one?

  “That’s right. They’re accelerating towards us at a rate of—” she squinted as she peered at the data on her screen, her face silhouetted against the LCD light, “of fifty meters per second squared and climbing.”

  Five gees, Danica thought to herself. Combat speed. Five hundred k-clicks—not close enough. Give them half a minute—yes, half a minute should do nicely.

  But where’s the other damn ship?

  “Sikorsky, can you get a location on the third transport? Anything at all?”

  Anya toggled the main sensor display. “No, Captain,” she said. “I’m only picking up the two. The third one’s outside our local scanning radius.”

  They’re holding back from the action, Danica thought to herself. Providing backup. Waiting to see what we do. If she took out the first pair too quickly, the third might call in for reinforcements. But if she destroyed only one and disabled the other, the third ship might attack them while they were attempting the capture. Their best bet was to wait for the third one to jump in, destroy it, then dock with the disabled ship and jump out with it in tow.

  We can do this.

  She glanced down at her command screen. The Hameji ships were less than three hundred kilometers away and closing fast. Now was the time to strike.

  “Konstantin, bring up the gravitic dampers and the mass accelerator cannon. Nicholson, deploy the fighter drones. Sikorsky, bring the nose around and prepare to target the enemy.”

  “Mass accelerator cannon?” James exclaimed. “You’ve got a mass accelerator on this ship?”

  Danica couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, Ensign,” she said. “You’ve discovered our secret weapon.”

  A custom-built miniature mass-accelerator had been fitted to the Tajji Flame, running the length of the mid-sized freighter. It was nowhere near wide enough to launch an asteroid, but was just the right size for half-meter ball bearings—and powerful enough to accelerate those projectiles to lethal speeds. A direct hit could cut through two meters of plated durasteel hull like a sniper round through a water balloon.

  “Cannon and gravitic dampers online, Captain!” Mikhail called out. “We’re ready!”

  “Excellent. Lieutenant Sikorsky, target the nearest enemy ship.”

  “Yes, Captain!”

  Anya had already started to bring the nose around. The faint starfield spun in the window, and a slight tug on Danica’s stomach indicated the abrupt shift in rotational momentum. Behind her, James fell to the floor; she glanced over her shoulder and saw that his cheeks were pale.

  Not used to combat maneuvers, she mused.

  “Fighter drones deployed and in formation,” Vaclav announced. “Orders, captain?”

  She glanced at the battle screen. The three fighter squadrons formed a triangle, with the Tajji Flame in the center. The Hameji were slowing down and launching fighters, but hadn’t yet brought them into formation. To Danica’s delight, they appeared to be making evasive maneuvers. Two hundred kilometers was too close for them to safely use their heavier munitions, but too far to effectively target them with their precision weaponry.

  She had them right in the sweet spot.

  “Send the first two squadrons to intercept the further transport and its fighter contingent,” Danica ordered. “Order the third to give us a loose escort.”

  “Acknowledged,” said Vaclav. The dozens of screens surrounding his chair spun with views of the starfield as he relayed the commands to his fighters. As they cycled through the camera feeds of the individual drones, she admired her flight lieutenant’s skill. Each cone-shaped fighter flew tightly in sync with at least two others, no doubt giving the appearance on the enemy’s scanners that both squadrons were little more than two or three flights.

  “Target acquired,” said Anya. “One hundred eighty klicks and making evasive maneuvers.” Outside the forward window, the stars stopped spinning.

  “Fire.”

  The floors trembled and shook. Through the walls, the engines roared to life. Just as the sound reached its climax, the whole ship lurched. Danica reached out and braced herself against the back of her chair, but otherwise made no motion. The half-meter ball bearing was too small and dark to be visible, but on her screen, a red line traced the path of the improvised bullet as it shot toward its target.

  “Five seconds to impact,” Anya said. “Four, three—”

  “Cannon loaded and ready!” said Mikhail.

  “Fire again.”

  “Firing.”

  The engines roared, the walls shook, and another deadly projectile disappeared into the darkness of space.

  “Shit,” Anya muttered. “Our first shot missed. Adjusting launch trajectory—”

  “Keep firing.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Four more shots issued from the mass accelerator cannon. The floor rumbled as if a beast were loose on the ship.

  “Come on,” Anya moaned. “Come on, dammit…”

  “Steady,” said Danica, her muscles tightening. “Don’t lose it, Sikorsky.”

  “Almost there…almost—yes! Hit, direct hit!”

  The point of light on Danica’s screen broke apart like a fizzling firecracker. A cheer rose across the bridge, and Danica allowed herself a sigh of relief.

  “Nicholson,” she said, “give me an update.”

  “The first and second squadrons are approximately one hundred kilometers from the target,” he said. “Enemy squadrons moving to intercept. Estimated time to contact, one minute.”

  “Excellent. Ayvazyan, can you hack their drones?”

  “Yeah,” said Ilya. “At least the ones from the destroyed ship, that’s for sure. Give me five minutes and I might be able to give us full remote access.”

  “We don’t have five minutes, Lieutenant,” said Danica. “Just shut them down, fast.”

  “Gotcha. I’m on it.”

  If they could cut the enemy’s fighter contingent in half, the battle would be theirs. Vaclav could send the third squadron to disable the surviving Hameji ship while the first and second mopped up the surviving drones—perhaps they could jump out with the disabled second ship before the third one even showed up. The Tajji Flame wouldn’t even get a scratch; their victory would be immaculate.

  Why, then, did something feel wrong?

  “Sikorsky, what’s the status on our jump drives?”

  “Almost fully charged, Captain,” said Anya. “Two more minutes, and we’ll be there.”

  “Good. Set the rendezvous point as our destination and start the preparations for jump.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Five seconds to intercept,” said Vaclav. “Engaging in three, two, one. Contact.”

  The dozens of screens at his station spun and flashed with light as the fighter drones engaged. A handful of screens went out, turning to gray static before switching to the next available feed. Though the drones’ dance was soundless and deathless, there was always something ominous in the way those screens flickered and cut out.

  “Dammit,” said Vaclav, “we’re losing fast! They must have better programming than I’d—”

  “Ayvazyan, report.”

  “Almost there,” said Ilya. “And…gotcha!”

  He triumphantly jabbed his index finger onto his primary keypad. On Danica’s screen, several dozen specks from the firefight flew outward in perfectly straight lines—derelict Hameji fighter drones doomed to hurtle forever through space in the direction of their last maneuver.

  Vaclav laughed. “Haha—that got ‘em!”

  “Nicholson, how do we look?”

  “The enemy’s reduced to only a couple squadrons—we outnumber them now by fifty percent. Kill ratio is climbing—we’re taking out three of theirs for every one of ours.”

  “Excellent,” said Danica. “Send the third squadron to engage and disable
the surviving transport. Target the weapons and engines, but do as little damage as you can.”

  “Acknowledged,” said Vaclav. He leaned forward and attacked his work with a vengeance.

  “Sikorsky, bring us closer to the Hameji transport. Set the engines to full throttle—we’ve got only a short window for this dock-and-carry.”

  “How short, Captain?”

  “Shorter than you think. Let’s move.”

  “Yes, Captain, but the soonest I can do is five minutes.”

  Damn.

  “Then make it four—just get us over there.”

  “Engaging Hameji assault ship,” said Vaclav. “Arriving in two, one—”

  Across nearly a dozen screens, the dark gray bulk of the enemy ship came into sight. Tracers and proximity explosives flashed soundlessly across the screens, but enough of the fighters survived to lay down a coordinated plasma strafing run. Within seconds, the screens blurred as the fighters came around for another pass.

  “Squadron three’s taking heavy casualties,” said Vaclav, “but most of their short-range weapons are down. Two more good strafes, and she’s ours.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Captain, I’m detecting a Hameji broadcast,” said Anya. “It looks like a distress signal.”

  Danica bit her lip. Where the hell was the third ship?

  “How are our jump reserves?”

  “Fully charged, Captain. We can leave at any time.”

  Any time. In only a couple of minutes, the transport would be theirs. If only they could hold out…

  “Watch those scanners.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The bridge was deceptively calm. With the battle raging almost two hundred kilometers away, there wasn’t much for Danica and her men to do but push buttons and wait. The waiting was always the worst.

  “Second ship taking heavy damage,” said Vaclav. “We’ve knocked out most of the guns, though. Going for the engines.”