“This is Flight Lieutenant Clara Aylett, former Executive Officer for Corsair Squadron of the Elathan Combined Starfleet Commission.”
The channel remained silent while someone presumably consulted her identity. “Corsair Squadron was destroyed twenty-seven standard days ago in the Tethra system by Delbaethi squadrons. Reconnaissance drones found unsalvageable debris on the surface of the moon Orna and drifting in orbit.”
“No, I survived the ambush. I’m the only survivor. And it wasn’t Delbaethi interceptors that attacked us. Triaxus Corporation is responsible. Do you understand me? You’re at war with the wrong adversary.”
“We cannot recognize your authority or identity at this time. Desist your broadcast.”
“Clara Aylett, authentication code Corsair-L570B31-49106. I’m also sure your computer is telling you my voice and speech patterns match the profile for Lieutenant Aylett in your database with a certainty somewhere in the high nineties. So stop screwing around and acknowledge my goddamn identity.”
When the channel remained silent for long seconds, leaving Clara’s labored breath the only sound in her helmet, she worried the communication controller had chosen to abandon her. Finally he returned in a begrudging, almost hostile tone.
“Your starfighter transponder has been distributed across the fleetwide Friend/Foe network as an unconfirmed friendly. But you are not granted access to dock in any capital ship hangar bay until further notice. Nor are you permitted to engage in combat against any starships.”
“I can manage out here fine,” Clara responded. “Just connect me with one of your superiors in Starfighter Command. They need to know we can’t waste ships and lives fighting Delbaeth.”
“Personnel of Starfighter Command are presently unable to communicate with you. As you may or may not have noticed, we’re in the middle of a battle. Stop using this channel and await instructions.”
Clara watched an explosion rip through an Elathan corvette and felt her patience snap. “You self-righteous little shit. You’re not engaged in anything more taxing than punching buttons. You are an unimportant, low-ranking controller being given a direct order by an officer. Connect me to the highest ranking officer from Starfighter Command aboard the Sentinel right now or face charges of high treason for deliberately ignoring a threat to Elathan security, which won’t be leveled against you until the proceedings for your dishonorable discharge have gone through after refusing the command of a superior officer during combat.”
“I…uh…connecting you to Starfighter Command.”
Clara almost smiled at his discomfited and fearful sputtering, but the stakes were too high for even a momentary pleasure. This small victory guaranteed nothing, since her task only became progressively more difficult. Persuading the leaders on a warship to abandon their attack against a hostile military base while still embroiled in bitter aerial combat was a daunting mission. Yet she needed to try for the sake of everyone here today, even those she considered enemies only weeks earlier. Lives depended on her rhetoric and ability to convince superior officers they were making a grave mistake.
“This is Colonel Khalil of Starfighter Command. Who am I speaking to?”
“Flight Lieutenant Aylett of Corsair Squadron, formerly based out of Uaithne with the 51st Tactical Wing.”
“My records tell me your entire squadron perished near Erimon.”
“Everyone did but me, sir. I went to ground in my damaged Marauder and powered down inside the canyons.”
“Our reconnaissance found no signs of life, though admittedly our efforts were minimal given Delbaeth’s unprovoked invasion. How’d you manage to survive and escape the system?”
Clara did not think discussing an intelligence operation over communication channels, even a secure one, was a wise decision and chose to manipulate the truth a little. “A passing merchant freighter heard my distress signal and found me, sir. They brought me onboard but I had to abandon my starfighter. I tried returning to Elatha straight away, but they’d only narrowly escaped the planet when Delbaeth attacked and refused to bring me home.”
“This isn’t a military tribunal, nor have charges for desertion been brought against you, Lieutenant. At least not so long as you remain officially listed as killed in action. You don’t need to defend your choices with me and this transmission isn’t being recorded. Speak freely without fear of incriminating yourself and please explain how and why you happen to be piloting a Stiletto from the Confederacy Starfleet.”
“The merchant freighter traveled to the Heliades and told me to find my own way home, but I had no funds or way to contact our government. Especially after the communication embargo against the Tuatha system. So I infiltrated a—”
“What embargo? The Confederacy’s own laws prohibit any agency from interrupting interstellar communications in peacetime.”
“You still haven’t heard, Colonel? Even with the InCore blackout I thought word might have reached Elatha and Delbaeth.”
“Evidently it hasn’t,” Khalil replied. “What has happened in the Heliades?”
“That’s the reason I’m here, sir. The Confederacy has declared war on our home. Their fleets are preparing for an invasion.”
“You’re certain?”
“I was on Jiaolong when Parliament voted for war.”
“We’ve received no official declaration or warning. Any attack against us would be illegal and constitute war crimes. They have no right to launch a war.”
“They feel warranted after what happened here, Colonel.”
“No war crimes have been committed by either side during our internal conflict that might give them the legal pretext to intervene.”
“That isn’t what I mean, sir. Were you aware a token Confederacy task force was sent to our system to mediate a ceasefire?”
“Yes. Our scouts monitored the starships in orbit around Ollathair for several days to see if they had another motive. We had no interest in negotiations led by the Confederacy and therefore ignored their presence once we confirmed mediation was indeed their purpose.”
“They claim to have been attacked by Delbaethi warships, sir.”
“Absurd.” The scorn in his voice was almost venomous. “Delbaeth has hidden resources in their own star systems, but they could not have brought sufficient warships as far inward as Ollathair without any of our scouts, spy satellites or recon drones finding evidence. More to the point, Delbaethi leadership would never be stupid enough to make such a fatal blunder. They know what attacking Confederacy vessels would mean.”
“I agree, Colonel. That’s why I don’t think Delbaeth is guilty. But the Confederacy force was certainly ambushed by someone, and I believe Triaxus Corporation is responsible.”
“The mining and manufacturing concern? Their disreputable lawyers have tried forcing us into contracts over the rights to mineral deposits in our territory. They have nothing to do with this war.”
“With all due respect, sir,” Clara said, “you’re wrong. Triaxus starfighters destroyed Corsair Squadron, and they probably played a role in firing on the Confederacy task force. They’re manipulating us all. We need to stop fighting Delbaeth and ready our fleets for the real enemy. Or we’ll lose everything we have.”
“Do you have any evidence to substantiate these claims, or are you in the habit of tossing around outlandish assertions? I’ll admit an unfamiliarity with your service record, though I’m willing to attribute these irrational and baseless allegations to anxiety and post-traumatic stress disorder resulting from the loss of your squadron.”
“Grief and trauma aren’t causing me to imagine things. I’m fine. Let me testify before the Naval Board.”
“You have no credibility, Lieutenant. I cannot base a recommendation to my superiors on the word of a pilot who went AWOL a month earlier. My suggestion is for you to maintain a low profile and make no attempts to slander Triaxus or any other entity you deem responsible. Otherwise you will attract unwanted attention and face charges of desertion
in a time of war.”
Roiling anger burned in her chest. “I never deserted Starfighter Command.”
“I’d like nothing more than to believe that. God knows we can’t spare veteran pilots at a time like this. But the decision won’t be mine to make, and the more you try agitating the status quo the greater your chances of indictment.”
“Sir, please. You need to stop hostilities with Delbaeth—”
“That’s enough, Lieutenant.”
“—before the Confederacy invades! Their fleets are coming and we’re wasting time and resources battling Delbaeth.”
“You’ve taken enough of my attention away from overseeing starfighter deployment in this theater. I’m granting you clearance to dock in the Sentinel’s primary hangar. Once you do so, your Stiletto will be confiscated for an in-depth study regarding Confederacy technology and capabilities.”
A message from Tonk flashed across Clara’s visor:
I CANNOT ALLOW THIS STARFIGHTER TO BE SEIZED BY A NON-ALIGNED PLANET AND WILL SELF-DESTRUCT AS PER EMERGENCY PROGRAMING 758-2 IF YOU ATTEMPT TO FOLLOW COLONEL KHALIL’S COMMAND.
“You will not be given another vessel or placed on active duty,” continued Khalil. “Instead you will be taken into custody until the matter of your desertion can be adequately addressed.”
“Sir, you’re making a mistake—”
“We’re finished discussing the matter.”
“Colonel?” questioned Clara. “Colonel Khalil?”
THE COMMUNICATION CHANNEL IS CLOSED.
“Damn it all.”
I WILL NOT TOLERATE THE SURRENDER OF THIS ARJ-77 STILETTO.
“I’m not landing on the Sentinel,” Clara explained. “My job isn’t done yet.”
WHAT OTHER RECOURSE DO YOU HAVE?
“I don’t know. But I won’t stop trying to end this senseless fight.”
Chapter 29
Pressure slammed into Taylor’s chest like a fist as the Solar Flare plummeted in a near vertical descent, whipped across the surface of Kanaloa and climbed through a whirling roll. Confederacy Blinker starfighters pursued over tundra and between frost-rimed mountain ranges, shattering peaks and triggering avalanches with their zealous salvoes.
“Kinetic buffers have fallen below forty-two percent on the topside hull,” Kyla hissed. “They won’t hold for long.”
“Make the damn thing hold,” answered Taylor. “We aren’t letting our beautiful freighter get shot down by archaic Blinkers yanked from the scrapyard and slapped with fresh paint.”
The Solar Flare lurched and lights within the bridge dimmed as plasma scored the hull. “There’s a good chance we are.”
Pulsating rounds fired from their Hedgehog multi-turret cannon, spraying projectiles across the sky at the two Blinkers. The starfighters weaved and slewed in clumsy rhythms, their boxy, cumbersome frames lumbering through their shallow maneuvers. Each Blinker resembled a squashed oval with bent wings mounted on either side, a cheap design to manufacture though one that was hampered by poor performance in atmospheric confrontations and insufficient against modern fighters. Unless the opposition was a damaged freighter ill-suited for dogfighting.
“This is ridiculous,” Harun barked. “Those pilots will clue in eventually that he’s deliberately missing and not just a poor excuse for a gunner.” He punched a button and leaned over an active comm. “Morris, bloody well hit your targets.”
“Belay that,” countered Taylor. “Evan, do not change your tactics. We aren’t killing Confederacy personnel today.”
“We might not have a choice,” Harun declared.
“We do so long as I’m the one dictating orders. Now shut your damn mouth and make yourself useful.”
The Solar Flare pitched skyward, scraping across a rocky summit and shearing broad fissures through the stone, then rotated through a downward spiral while plasma flashed beyond the bridge and warning sirens blared. Crosswise harnesses yanked taut against Taylor’s chest and he slammed forward hearing a high-pitched shriek tear through the freighter, a shrill, grinding cry that pounded in his skull.
“Last shot pierced our kinetic buffers,” warned Kyla. “Hull integrity has been compromised.”
“We aren’t faking damage to the engines now,” Connor announced. “Power’s decreased fifty-six percent across the board. I’m losing maneuverability and lateral control.”
“Transfer all the power you can find from non-essential systems,” Taylor directed.
“Can’t. We’ve already lost those. What we’re currently running on is all we have left, and our systems won’t remain active for long.”
“Neither will the hull,” Kyla added. “Another direct hit and we’ll have a breach.”
“Captain, this is absurd,” snapped Harun. “Tell Morris to stop frightening our pursuers and aim to kill. Time to do away with that inconvenient morality you adore cultivating. Otherwise we might all die here and now.”
Taylor clenched his fist in feeble rage and struggled with the weight pressing on his shoulders. “Evan, you’re clear for lethal fire against the starfighters. Say again, target the Blinkers to kill.”
His voice came back bristling with uncertainty and holding a measure of distaste. “You’re sure, boss?”
“I wish I wasn’t. Bring them down.”
“Understood.”
A whirring staccato erupted from the Hedgehog, its barrage aimed for the hostile cockpits and pilots within. Projectiles chewed through kinetic buffers, showering sparks from wing mounts riddled with damage. Designed as heavy starfighters able to receive fierce punishment, the Blinkers veered and climbed higher but did not abandon their chase.
One Blinker catapulted above the Solar Flare and righted itself before diving for the unshielded hull. Plasma lashed across the engines and Taylor heard jarring detonations resound through the freighter. Warning lights and strident klaxons inundated the bridge.
“Engine fluctuations are critical and controls are unresponsive.” Connor fought against a quaking yoke, the muscles in his arms straining from the effort. “I can’t keep us flying. We’re going down.”
Taylor shouted orders over the comm system. “Evan, abandon the gunnery station and get your ass to the bridge before we hit dirt.”
The Solar Flare lost altitude and canted to starboard, corkscrewing and flailing at a dizzying rate like a ragdoll trapped in a windstorm. Tools and mementoes not bolted to each surface whipped across the bridge to clatter against walls and the viewport. A first aid kit bounced airborne and hurtled past Taylor’s head, almost rendering him unconscious in a mockery of what the case was designed for.
Taylor unfastened his restraints and scrabbled higher using the chair for support. “I’m heading back to help Evan. The rest of you stay here.”
He leapt down shaking stairs and charged through the corridor past unornamented crew quarters, sighting the entrance to their lounge as Evan rounded a corner and collapsed. The floor slanted at a steep angle and Taylor lost his balance, smacking against one surface and sliding into Evan.
“You damn fool,” he said. “You’ll get us both killed.”
“Shut up and get to your feet,” Taylor responded.
Bracing one another, the two men scrambled into an unsteady stance and floundered onward, each stride a test of willpower amid the quaking hallway. They reached the staircase and Taylor heaved Evan upward, following closely in his wake. As Evan bounded for one vacant chair, a tremor seized the Solar Flare and Taylor pitched backward down the steps, landing in an awkward heap tangled among the railing. Warm blood seeped over his tongue and between rattling teeth. Frothy saliva streaked with crimson spilled from his lips and wetted Taylor’s chin as he choked for breath.
Groaning, laboring against the spinning freighter, Taylor ascended the stairs. He lunged for the beckoning entryway, only to stumble and whack onto metal grating. A figure silhouetted by vibrant sunlight tottered into view clutching at the rail. Taylor pawed at the air through a haze of winking stars flooding
his vision, fingertips brushing warm flesh.
Kyla’s outstretched hand clasped onto his and hauled him upright, gouging his kneecap against the topmost stair. Taylor and Kyla swayed through violent shudders, crashed into empty chairs and groped to secure harnesses. The click of his locking into place was drowned beneath the clanking, trembling bridge.
“Brace for impact!” howled Connor.
Hoarse breath hissed through Taylor’s dry lips and his pounding heart rate quickened.
The Solar Flare struck a lifeless valley floor, ejecting dirt-encrusted ice and chunks of frozen soil in a torrential upsurge as the freighter shredded through a shallow hilltop and bounced higher trailing fragmented pieces of hull. Wretched cries echoed through the bridge from crewmembers hurled against their restraints. Squealing metal resonated and the Solar Flare impacted with the surface again, rending a broad, snarled furrow across the landscape. Debris and muddy clumps spattered their viewport, lights short-circuited and exploded into slivers, deck plates bowed inward beneath Taylor’s feet. The freighter listed to one side and slowed to a rest.
Discordant noises gave way to eerie silence.
Amber sunlight streamed through clouded viewports bathed in dirt and grime. Taylor squinted his aching eyes and groaned, fumbling with numb fingers on the harness. He depressed the release latch, slapped suffocating restraints off his chest and inhaled deep breaths. Dust particles floating amid the quiet air sparkled in shafts of light. Black fabric on his trousers dangled from a hole and revealed a gash across one knee. Agony lanced through Taylor’s ribcage when he climbed to his feet, feeling blood trickle down the wounded leg and pool in his boot.
Taylor paced to where Kyla lay slumped in a chair, slick red staining her forehead and one cheek. Scarlet blotches sprinkled the computer panel beside her head.
He knelt down, released the restraint and placed a hand on hers. “You still with me?”
Outriders Page 39