Stars of Blood and Glory

by Joe Vasicek

  * * * * *

  Hikaru leaped to her feet as the alarms blared in her small cabin. Outside, the pounding of footsteps in the corridor sent shivers down her spine. Her legs went weak and her hands began to shake as she realized she had no idea what she was supposed to do.

  She palmed open the door and looked in either direction down the long, dimly-lit corridor of the ship. “Hello?” she called out, her voice shaky. “Anybody there?”

  “What are you waiting for?” came a gruff voice down by the hatch to the stairway. “Get down here—now!”

  Without knowing what she was doing or why she was doing it, Hikaru complied. A heavy hand grabbed her by the arm and dragged her down the stairwell. She shrieked in surprise but did her best to follow.

  “W-what’s happening?” she asked, alarms still blaring in her ear.

  “Combat maneuvers,” said the man, evidently one of the soldiers. “We’ve got to get to the high-gee coffins—let’s move it!”

  “High-gee coffins?” Before he could answer, they stepped out into a narrow room with coffin-like capsules lining the walls. Men poured out from hatchways on either side, sprinting to the capsules and jumping inside. The soldier dragged Hikaru to the nearest open one and threw her in, pulling down a mask that dangled above her head.

  “Here,” he said, putting it over her face. “Secure this and palm the lid shut.”

  “But—”

  “Just do it!”

  He spoke with such urgency and forcefulness that she swallowed her objections and did as he said. The breathing mask was a little too large for her, and the rubbery texture felt discomforting against her skin. She leaned back against the gel-like cushion behind her and found it molding around her body; when she palmed the access panel down by her waist, a similar cushion on the inside of the lid pressed up against her so that she had no room to move.

  What’s going on? she thought to herself, her heart racing. Though muffled, the sound of the alarms still carried through the walls of the coffin. She tried to lift her hand, but found it locked in place, the cushions keeping her from moving. When she tried to palm the lid open again, it wouldn’t respond. The air from the breathing mask had a stale, copper taste to it. Her heart pounded, and her breathing quickly became short and rapid.

  “Help! I’m trapped!” she tried to shout, but her voice carried no further than the gel-filled walls. She opened her mouth to scream, but a sudden dropping sensation took the wind right out of her. It was as if the coffin had fallen out of the wall and was now rolling across the floor—down became up and everything around her began to spin. If it weren’t for the cushions holding her in place, she didn’t know what would be happening to her.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen, she thought frantically to herself, trying not to panic. I was just supposed to have an adventure, not … this. She took a deep breath and screamed. For the first time since leaving the palace, she wanted nothing more than to be home.

  * * * * *

  Kill them.

  The words flooded Rina’s consciousness, consuming every fiber of her being until she felt she would melt. Though the alarms blared in her ears, she heard them as if from a distance, through a long tunnel. Part of her knew she should run down to the high-gee coffins to secure herself for maneuvers, but that same part knew that if she went down there, the other part—the feral, murderous part—would undoubtedly take over.

  She stumbled against the cot as the floor shifted beneath her, and struggled to fold it up against the wall. Her quarters were spartan enough that she didn’t have to worry about sharp edges or debris. Still, she opened her locker and pulled out the skinsuit, struggling out of her fatigues and into its soft, familiar frame.

  Kill them.

  The floor shifted again, and the distant roar of the engines through the bulkheads confirmed that they were already making combat maneuvers. She hastily slammed the locker shut with her foot and pulled the skinsuit up over her undershirt, ignoring the wrinkles underneath. The ergonomic frame adjusted somewhat for the force against her chest, but not enough to alleviate the growing pressure.

  She closed her eyes and tried to control her breath as the gee-forces pushed her against the wall. A wave of light-headedness passed through her as the air was squeezed from her lungs, but a change in direction sent her sprawling across the floor, gasping in relief. Still, her hands trembled, and not from the maneuvers.

  Kill them.

  What felt like a moment later, she found herself groping for the access panel, trying to open the door. No! she screamed inwardly, grabbing her hand to stop herself. Must—not—leave—this—room. If she did, there was no telling what she would do.

  Images of the crew flashed across her mind through the datalink implant—the graceful, gray-haired Captain Nova, the familiar half-cyborg face of Roman, the young pilot Yuri with his carefully trimmed beard—all of these people whom she’d come to know so well over the past few days and weeks. She clenched her teeth and tried to pull their images from her mind, but the voice in her head would not relent.

  Kill them.

  Part of her wanted to open her mouth and scream, but the other part—the cold, efficient part—knew that stealth was a far more efficient way to hunt her targets.

  Part IV

  Chapter 16

  “Jump complete, sir. Holding at point-three-one AU from the system star.”

  “Scanners picking up multiple hostiles—repeat, multiple hostiles. Six capital ships, nineteen cruisers—”

  “Sir, our countermeasures are drawing heavy fire!”

  Katsuichi pursed his lips. “Have all ships devote an additional fifteen percent of their energy reserves to countermeasures,” he said. That meant that none of them would be able to jump out for at least thirty minutes, but for good or ill, they were already committed to this fight.

  “My men have located the Demon of Tenguri,” said Colonel Webb, his voice noticeably calm. “It’s at seventeen hundred kilometers from our position, at the center of the enemy fleet.”

  Katsuichi looked out the forward window, but all he could see was the engine glow of the nearest friendly ships. He tapped the keypad on his armrest and brought up the holographic projection of the battle, with the Demon of Tenguri clearly marked near the center.

  “Are all our ships in?” he asked, frowning as he studied the hologram. “Three of them are missing.”

  “Sorry, sir,” said the communications officer. “We’ve just barely re-established contact—plotting positions now.”

  Three blue dots flickered into existence as the nearest red dots began to converge into tight battle formations. Since Katsuichi and Colonel Webb’s fleets had just jumped into the sector, their ships were scattered haphazardly across nearly a thousand kilometers of space.

  “I’ll order my men to establish formations and take the perimeter,” said Colonel Webb, glancing up from his terminal. “We won’t let that bastard Tagatai escape.”

  “He won’t try to,” said Katsuichi softly. “If he runs from this fight, he’ll lose the loyalty of his commanders, and the Hameji fleets will fall into chaos. No, he’ll try to surround us with a pincer attack and cut us off from the rest of the fleet—establishing a perimeter will only spread our forces too thin.”

  “Then what do you propose?”

  Katsuichi stared at the hologram in the center of the room before him. While the light blue marks representing Webb’s ships moved to evade the Hameji battle formations, the dark blue ones representing his own moved to position themselves between the Divine Wind and the advancing Hameji. Overhead, the starfield flashed white and pink as the smaller ships began to exchange fire.

  “We must push forward,” he said. “Charge their formations directly and take the battle to Tagatai.”

  “You’re mad,” said Colonel Webb, rising violently from his seat. “No one has defeated the Hameji with a frontal assault—you’ll lose half your ships just to push through the outside line.”

  “At l
east half,” said Katsuichi. “But that’s the only way to win this, Colonel—and I intend to lead from the front. If you wish to increase your chances of survival, you’ll command your men to join us.”

  Colonel Webb glanced from him to the other faces around the bridge and back again. His cheeks were red, though whether from rage or from terror, it was difficult to tell.

  “You damn Rigelans all have a suicide wish,” he muttered, slowly lowering to his seat. “Very well—but wait for my men to go in first and draw them off. No use charging forward until we have a clear opening.”

  “An excellent strategy,” said Katsuichi, nodding. “Gather the fleet around the Divine Wind and prepare to charge the Demon of Tenguri at my command.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the communications officer, her voice barely holding steady. On the central hologram, the giant red point marking Tagatai’s flagship warily circled the fray, like a predatory hunter of the deep circling a school of fish, waiting for the right moment to strike.

  * * * * *

  “Deploy cluster mines along the orbital to our rear. I don’t want anything following us.”

  “That’s not going to stop their fighter drones, Captain.”

  “It’ll divert their gunboats, at least. And Krikoryan, see if we can’t take a few of them out with our missiles.”

  “Arming, sir,” said the old cyborg.

  “Wait,” said Abaqa, his head spinning. “At least give me a chance to make contact.”

  Danica raised an eye at him, while the alarms continued to blare throughout the ship. “The Hameji don’t open a line to their enemies while they’re in combat. What makes you think they’ll listen?”

  “We can take the bastards,” said the pilot, his eyes burning with the same rage that he’d unleashed on Abaqa before. “Captain, if we divert their gunships away from the orbital, we can—”

  “Not now, Avanadze,” said Danica, silencing him without taking her eyes off Abaqa. “What do you propose?”

  “I—I just need to break the encryption on their transmissions,” said Abaqa, glancing frantically around him. “It shouldn’t be hard—just give me a few minutes.”

  “We’ll be in range within seconds,” said Danica, her voice colder than vacuum. “I suggest you get to work.”

  “Right,” he said, rushing to the cybernetics officer’s seat. Roman turned and eyed him suspiciously with his natural eye, but Abaqa did his best to ignore that. His heart raced, and his hands trembled as he brought up the transmissions. Of all the ways to die while on campaign, he never thought—

  “Hameji drones are breaking through,” said the flight commander, the tension evident in his voice. “Interception is imminent.”

  “Get up a plasma screen and reroute all auxiliary power to the laser-stars,” said Danica. “I don’t want anything to—”

  Without warning, a series of explosions rocked the ship, make the floor lurch and reel. Abaqa barely caught himself from falling out of his chair, while Danica stumbled.

  “Captain, they’re using kamikaze tactics!”

  “Drop us to a lower orbital and get those laser-stars firing hot. Damage report?”

  “Top sublight engine is off-line,” said the chief engineer, his old, sallow cheeks growing pale. “Starboard sensors damaged but still functional. Communications array—”

  Another set of explosions rocked them, this time sending Abaqa sprawling to the floor. This isn’t how it’s supposed to end, he thought desperately to himself. Please, not like this!

  “Tajjashvili, why are those suicide drones getting through?”

  “I’m on it, Captain. Establishing defensive screen, but it’s difficult with the Hameji jamming our transmissions.”

  “Laser-stars firing,” said Roman. “Next wave will not get through.”

  “Damage?”

  “We’ve lost a lot of armor plating and most of the weapons on the starboard side,” said the engineer. “The engine’s coming back online, but we’ve completely lost our communications array.”

  “What?” said Abaqa, pulling himself back up off the floor. His legs went numb and his knees began to shake.

  “Communications are down,” Roman confirmed.

  “Down? But—but how am I supposed to—”

  “That’s enough,” said Danica, silencing him with a single glance. He shrank back in his seat, but inwardly, he wanted to scream.

  * * * * *

  Roman watched the scanners closely as the last wave of Hameji fighter drones dispersed and retreated, sliced to shreds by the Tajji Flame’s defenses. The few surviving fighters still under Tajjashvili’s control reformed into consolidated squadrons, but the enemy starships were nowhere to be seen. No doubt the Hameji commanders had spread out into different orbitals, determined to cut them off on the other side of the rogue planet. They’d won for now, but only for the moment. The Hameji would be back.

  “Corporal Tajjashvili, report,” said Danica, ever the calm, collected leader in front of her men.

  “The last fighter drones are dispersing,” Zura reported. “They’ve sustained too many casualties to mount another attack, and appear to be in retreat.”

  “And what about our fighter squadrons?” she asked.

  “Smashed to bits, I’m afraid. Losses total out at seventy-two percent, with almost all of them irreparably destroyed. In the next engagement, our fighters will be all but useless.”

  Just like final battle of the Revolution, Roman thought to himself.

  Danica nodded. “Thank you, Corporal. Roman, any sign of the enemy on the scanners?”

  “No, Captain, they are not in line of sight. I suspect they have taken converging orbitals and hope to intercept on other side of planet.”

  “They won’t have long to wait,” said Yuri, his fingers twitching nervously. “This rock of a planet is so small, the orbitals are barely larger than that of a small moon. We only have about twenty minutes before the Hameji converge on us again.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” said Danica, nodding curtly at him before turning to Mikhail, the engineer. “Konstantin, can you give me a damage report?”

  “Yes, Captain. Our secondary sublight engines have shut down, and appear too unstable to start up again safely. The main communications array is smashed and beyond repair—at least beyond anything I can do for it right now. Starboard weapons arrays are mostly gone, as is most of the armor plating on that side.”

  “In your estimation, are we in any condition to fight?”

  Of course not.

  He paused for a moment. “No, Captain,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically somber. “I’m afraid we aren’t.”

  “We should jump out,” said Yuri, speaking out of turn. “The FTL drives are still functional, and the secondary one’s fully charged. If we can just get out of—”

  “I’m afraid that’s not an option,” said Danica, resuming her seat in the command chair. “By now, the Hameji have no doubt peppered this sector with more than enough beacons to interdict us. That explains why they aren’t jumping any bombs on our position right now. If we run, we’ll just have to fight them again in deep space.”

  “Then—then we should head to the surface,” Yuri stammered. “Hide from these bastards. Wasn’t that the original plan?”

  Roman shook his head. “It will not work. They know we are here—they will search us out and find us.”

  A somber silence filled the bridge as the full weight of the situation fell on them. Behind him, Abaqa shifted and leaned forward.

  “Is there absolutely no way to get the communications array operational?” he asked. “If I could just get a message out to them—”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” said Mikhail, “but I’m not too optimistic.”

  “We’ll have to plan our next move as if that’s not an option,” said Danica. “Does anyone have any other suggestions?”

  A strange pulse in Roman’s cybernetic implants alerted him to a mangled transmission, cut strangely short. H
e recognized the signature as coming from the Gaian girl, but it was garbled and didn’t make much sense. Frowning, he checked the high-gee coffins, still occupied since Danica hadn’t lowered the alert level. All of his men were accounted for, as well as Doctor Avanadze and the princess—but Al-Najmi wasn’t.

  “Excuse me, Captain,” he said, rising quickly to his feet. “I must go below-decks at once.”

  Danica turned to him and frowned. “Why, Sergeant?”

  “Because Lieutenant Al-Najmi did not make it to high-gee coffin before maneuvers, and may be seriously injured.”

  She nodded, her brows furrowed in concern. “I see. Be as quick as you can, though—I need you back on the bridge.”

  “Understood,” said Roman, palming open the door to the main corridor. He stepped out briskly, the dim lights flickering from damage sustained in the attack. His heat vision gave him somewhat of a better view, but only just barely. As the door hissed shut behind him, the silence enveloped him as completely as the shadows and the darkness.

  * * * * *

  Kill them.

  Rina’s heart raced as she crept down the darkened hallway, watching her own movements as if through a full-immersion holo simulation. She tried to stop, but her hands only shook a little more as she took up her position in the shadows. Down at the other end of the corridor, a door hissed open, and footsteps announced the arrival of a victim.

  No! she screamed inwardly, trying to resist. But instead of turning around, her hold on reality shifted, and she found herself swimming through memories as a wave of nausea and dizziness swept over her.

  One moment, she was standing over a mangled body, blood dripping down the side of a broken bottle she held firmly in her hand. Around her, teenage thieves and street thugs stared down in disbelief and fear. One of them turned and ran, and the others soon followed.