Burden of Sisyphus (Brink of Distinction book #1)

by Jon Messenger

“Captain on the deck!” the navigator called, as the small crew on the bridge of the Liberator leaped to their feet.

  Captain Hallith stepped off the lift and ran a hand along the bony ridges near his thinning hairline. “At ease,” he said softly.

  The cramped bridge of the Alliance cruiser was small enough that his nasal voice carried clearly across the room.

  The crew took their seats as the captain sat at the top of the tiered rows. “What’s our status, Mr. Paporus?”

  The ship’s tactical officer, a large Oterian, reviewed the day’s logs as he spoke. Captain Hallith only half-listened, knowing the review would be dreadfully similar to yesterday’s, and the day before that, and before that. The Liberator, an archaic vessel refurbished for its current mission, was assigned the duty of patrolling the Demilitarized Zone between Alliance and Empire space.

  Established in the Taisa Accord nearly 150 years previously, the Zone became a virtual barrier that consisted of sparse star systems and open space, an invisible knife’s edge through which ships from neither side would cross. The captain accepted the position only as a means for promotion, knowing that during a time of peace between two organizations, job opportunities were great potential for further advancement within the Fleet.

  Until two days earlier, his job contained little more excitement than intercepting merchant vessels traveling too close to the Demilitarized Zone. His crew boarded only one ship suspected of smuggling and, even after finding only a miniscule amount of contraband, he threw the entire crew in the brig.

  Two days earlier, however, he received a Top Secret communication from the High Council. The blanket message, sent to all captains patrolling the Zone, notified them of a potential new threat. Intel reported that Terran destroyers were seen in Alliance-occupied space. If that were the case, Hallith realized with excitement, a direct engagement with the Terran Empire would catapult his career. He would be guaranteed a Fleet command position, instead of being delegated to a small, refurbished vessel like the Liberator.

  Shaking away his fantasies, he noticed a worried expression on the navigator’s face. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ninarath. What was that you asked?”

  “I was merely asking what you thought about the rumors of a Terran infiltration, Sir,” the Avalon asked. “Do you really think there’s a possibility there are Terran destroyers in Alliance space?”

  “I think about it quite a bit to be honest.” He shifted his weight in the comfortable chair, one of the few items he was able to specifically request during the rebuilding of the old ship. “It’s hard to say how much truth there is to the rumors of Terran attacks. Need I remind all of you that this isn’t the first time Liberator has been put on alert for a potential Terran threat? You’re too young to remember, but once everyone thought the Empire would attack at any time. During those days, we were almost always on alert.”

  He slid down until he rested his head against the rear cushion. “It would be a great opportunity to put the Empire in its place for violating the Taisa Accord, but I don’t really put much stock in there being destroyers out there.”

  “Sir, I have a contact,” the communications officer said. “It looks like multiple ships.”

  “Probably merchants off course,” the captain said dismissively. “Send them the verification code.”

  “What if it’s not a drill, Sir?” Ninarath asked.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m just wondering what would happen if we later found out there really were destroyers in Alliance space. What if all this isn’t a drill?”

  Captain Hallith chuckled. “Son, there hasn’t been a major conflict between the Alliance and the Empire in 150 years. However, you’ve all trained extensively on how to conduct ship-to-ship combat. The Terrans might be surprised if they went toe-to-toe with the Liberator.”

  “Sir?” the communications officer interrupted again.

  “What is it, Mr. Chenowitt?” he asked the Uligart.

  “The ships aren’t responding with any friendly frequencies.”

  The captain frowned. “What are they replying with then?”

  “Nothing, Sir.” A hint of nervousness crept into the officer’s voice. “I’ve hailed them repeatedly on the major communications bands and have received no response.”

  “And the FIS?” he asked, referring to the Friendly Identification System that automatically sent a ship’s designation when probed by Alliance Fleet requests.

  “Nothing, Sir. They’re flying in complete blackout and radio silence.”

  “Smugglers,” he muttered, bringing his microphone to his lips and turning on the ship’s internal channel. “Attention on the ship. This is Captain Hallith. We have unidentified ships rapidly approaching our positions. All hands report to battle stations.”

  He pushed away the microphone and turned to his navigator. “Helm, bring us about and give me a full forward view.”

  The wall at the front of the bridge flickered, revealing a wide expanse of empty space. Slowly, as the ship maneuvered, distant dots swung into view.

  “Give me magnification on those vessels.”

  The image grew larger in bursts as the camera magnified in stages. They grew from distant dots to sleek, aerodynamic silver bullets. As the image grew clearer, Captain Hallith saw the shiny, silver hulls of six large ships. Along their sides, thin, colorful pinstripes painted in overlapping patterns on the silver, armored exterior of the vessels, which finally revealed their identity. Behind each of the six ships, the stars shimmered from hot exhaust as their engines burned at maximum, propelling the destroyers toward the lone Alliance cruiser.

  His jaw dropping in surprise, Captain Hallith quickly barked orders to the crew. “Helm, bring us fully around and give me full speed! Tactics, arm all weapons systems!”

  He tugged hastily at his microphone, nearly pulling it from the wall. “All hands to battle stations! Terran destroyers have crossed the Demilitarized Zone! This is not a drill!”

  The captain shook as the Liberator accelerated, slowly building forward momentum from its worn engines. The forward view screen spun to reveal the space behind, showing the six destroyers moving steadily closer. No longer magnified, they bristled with weapons ports at the bow of each ship.

  As the six ships came within range, the lead destroyer fired a single rocket. Captain Hallith saw it.

  “Evasive maneuvers! Brace for impact!”

  Quickly covering the distance between the two ships, the plasma rocket’s internal computer activated, directing the missile toward the Liberator’s leftmost engine. The antiquated ship was unable to move quickly enough to get out of range before the rocket drove into the massive rear exhaust, plunging into the superheated liquid plasma fueling the engines.

  Everyone onboard felt a jarring shake as the missile struck the engine. Though Captain Hallith gritted his teeth tightly together, anticipating a ship-shattering explosion, it never came. Slowly, his hands released their death grip on the captain’s chair.

  “Give me a status report!”

  The communications officer activated the ship’s internal communications. A myriad of shouts and screams came from the engine room. As Captain Hallith listened, he was taken aback to find they were yells of surprise, not pain.

  Within the two-story engine, the metal tip of the rocket crumpled as it struck the burning liquid fuel, exposing a resilient dark canister within. Small explosives detonated around the perimeter of the canister, spilling forth gallons of dark fluid.

  The viscous, oily substance slowed into the superheated plasma, where it began bubbling violently. Slowly, the fluid turned tar-like and began spreading into the engine. Everywhere it touched it converted molten plasma into thick tar, jamming everything.

  He heard shouts from a sea of frightened mechanics and engineers in the engine room. Vibrations rolled through the ship as it lost speed. On the view screen, the Terran destroyers closed the distance faster than before.

  “Sir, we’re losing speed!” the
navigator shouted. “The left engine is completely unresponsive.”

  His voice faded into muted oblivion as Captain Hallith watched weapon ports on all six Terran ships open simultaneously. Dozens of rockets launched from each, their smoking trails filling the screen with crisscrossing pathways. In their own hidden language, the smoky trails spelled death for the Liberator.

  “Gods save us,” the captain muttered, as the first rocket slammed into the limping Alliance cruiser.

  Metal plates buckled as plasma explosions blossomed across the ship’s length. Burning oxygen vented into space through hull breaches. Fire roared through the corridors, burning crewmen alive as they fled one explosion only to be caught in another.

  The captain watched in dismay as missile after missile struck the Liberator until, gratefully, one ended his consternation by splitting the hull above the bridge. He and his bridge crew were obliterated by the subsequent plasma explosion, which saved them from a more-arduous death as their bodies were sucked through the gaping hull into the void of space.

  As the plasma blossoms cooled, debris from the former Alliance cruiser drifted aimlessly in space. The Terran destroyers flew past, seeking their next target.