Cerulean Rising - Part II: Evolutions

by Sewall, Justin

  “Do you see now that there is nothing the UNSA can do to stop these vessels?” said the Auspex, finally breaking its silence.

  “I see that you’ve done little more than resist a few nukes and some railguns designed more for asteroid removal than combat,” answered Emerson sullenly.

  “Ah, the petulance of youth. I will overlook your naiveté, Emerson, but my patience does have its limits. Have you made a decision about my offer?”

  Emerson stared at the view screen before him. He felt certain that Lieutenant Correlli or Colonel Thorsten would have devised a way to escape this mess, but it seemed his survival was up to him now. He was not confident about his chances, yet something inside him insisted he continue to fight. If this was to be his end, he would do something to strike a blow against the Auspex and the Triven, however small. Emerson drew himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders.

  “Yes, O Great Auspex of the Triven, I’ve made my decision,” he mocked, while edging closer to a console just to the left of the dais.

  “Your tone tells me you are about to make the wrong choice, child.”

  “And did your vast database about human behavior help you arrive at that conclusion, you egotistical motherboard?” Emerson clenched his datapad tighter in his right hand.

  “Insults are the defense of the weak and ignorant, Emerson. I must say I am mildly surprised at your illogical response. Perhaps my statistical model was not as accurate as I believed.”

  “Your powers of statistical prediction are truly awe-inspiring, Auspex. My answer is a thousand times no! And if there’s a hell for AIs, you can go there!”

  Emerson brought the datapad down full-force with both hands upon the console before him. The datapad made an inefficient club, but it succeeded in penetrating the control panel. Sparks flew as it damaged the delicate neuro-circuitry inside and shards of the datapad’s shattered case severed power filaments.

  “You pathetic fool,” said the Auspex calmly. “You have no idea how insignificant you truly are. I already have a sample of your DNA. More would have been useful for further study. Seeing how it changed as you grew up might have unlocked even more secrets about you, but no matter. You made your choice, now live with the consequences.”

  On the central view screen Emerson saw jagged blue lightning stretch out towards several of the orbiting mining craft. With only the slightest glancing touch, the powerful blast destroyed dozens of small support ships as it ricocheted from one to another, finally expending its full force against one of the larger PMC vessels.

  Emerson took the remains of his battered datapad and moved quickly to another console. His blood was up now, adrenaline driving him forward regardless of what the Auspex might do. He began beating on the second console, which also died in a paroxysm of pyrotechnics. In response, another fork of deadly lightning illuminated the view screen and utterly obliterated another host of PMC ships.

  “Your exchange rate is pretty poor, Emerson. One easily repairable console against the lives of the people in those ships. It’s your call. Shall we continue?”

  As Emerson raised his mangled datapad a third time, the view screen flared with the light of multiple expanding event horizons.

  27

  “Good God, Captain, did you see that?!” yelled Colonel Thorsten as he raced onto the Tempest’s bridge.

  “I saw it, I saw it!” responded Captain Kristie curtly, feeling genuine fear for the survival of his ship and crew. The tactical display now showed four alien ships deployed in a small arc above the crevasse and significantly fewer PMC support vessels in orbit.

  “Nav, evasive maneuvers! Engines to flank speed and hard to starboard. Put us on a course that gets as much of that planetoid between us and those ships as possible. Weps, fire for effect all portside railguns until we lose a targeting solution, and warm up the next set of birds.”

  “Aye, Captain,” came the simultaneous responses.

  Along the Tempest’s port side, four hatches opened in rapid succession to reveal her clandestine naval-caliber railguns. They promptly unleashed a fusillade of massive, hypervelocity projectiles at the bow of the first alien ship. Streams of ravaging fire reached out to cover their escape.

  Kristie and Thorsten watched tensely as the first shots sped through space. No shields deflected the bolts hurled from the Tempest, nor did any other type of defense attempt to parry them.

  “Direct hit on the first ship, Captain,” reported Weps evenly.

  “Damage assessment.”

  “I’m sorry, sir—I still can’t get a surface reading off that ship. Sensors aren’t giving me anything. Switching to optics.”

  The main bridge display immediately zoomed in on the first ship’s jutting prow just as the end of their first broadside impacted squarely on target... to no effect. A second wave of railgun projectiles proved similarly impotent; the ballistics shattered on impact upon the alien hull. Kristie swore under his breath, while Thorsten let fly a more audible stream of soldierly invective.

  “Now what?” asked Thorsten. Before Kristie could answer, a streak of blue lightning lanced towards them.

  “Brace for impact!” yelled Kristie.

  The blue bolt danced wickedly over the Tempest’s dorsal armor, ripping the heavy standoff plates away as if they were not attached. The Tempest staggered under the massive energy burst, but continued its hard dive to starboard away from its tormentor. Bridge consoles flickered and went dark. Several began to smoke and spark while others blew out entirely.

  Weps and Eyes screamed as electrical current discharged from their computer terminals and formed a deadly web of ravenous energy around both of them. Almost immediately the smell of ozone and burning skin filled the air. Klaxons sounded as the fire suppression system attempted to smother the voltaic assault. Thorsten leapt around the Captain’s chair and caught Weps before he hit the deck plates, but Eyes fell heavily into an unconscious, shivering heap.

  “Medic!” Thorsten cried reflexively.

  Kristie tried desperately to reassert control as conditions on the bridge rapidly deteriorated. “Nav, status report!”

  “Still on course, Captain, away from the intruders. Speed is ahead two-thirds. We’ve sustained heavy damage to our dorsal armor plates, with multiple penetrations and sections now exposed to weapons fire. No inner-hull penetrations, but many of our subsystems have been overloaded by the blast. ENS drive is offline.”

  “Is there any good news?” Kristie rubbed his face as medics moved past him to treat Weps and Eyes.

  “Sir, I’m detecting multiple UNSA IFF transponder signals!” reported Comms.

  “Location?”

  “Still in hyperspace. Captain, so it’s hard to say for sure, sir.”

  “Comms, I need to know what’s going on. Best guess.”

  Comms pointed to the fluctuating but still active main bridge display. “There, sir.”

  Kristie looked and saw the telltale bright blue flashes of UNSA vessels exiting hyperspace, followed by the welcome sight of at least a dozen warships shimmering into solidity. One ship in particular took a few seconds longer to rematerialize, but when it did, Kristie felt his hopes soar and the odds of survival swing back in their favor.

  It was the Ajax.

  A familiar voice crackled through the bridge’s speakers.

  “Captain Kristie, this is Admiral Prescott. You’ve done great work. We’ll take it from here.”

  28

  The plan to entomb the alien ships had failed miserably, and now all seven of them floated in a circular array above the planetoid’s charred surface. Their graceful dorsal spines curved up and away from each helmeted bow, while vicious, four-pronged mandibles faced outward against their enemies, of which there were now twelve. These immediately assumed a blocking position between the alien ships and Tantalus Station.

  After receiving Captain Kristie’s request for reinforcements, Admiral Prescott wasted no time ordering ships from the sector fleet into action. He had not p
lanned on joining the attack himself, but DARAC contacted him directly on his supposedly secure datapad. It... he simply said Ajax’s firepower would be sorely needed, but refused to elaborate why, claiming instead that he was too involved already. Prescott did not understand, but at Dr. Reed’s urging, he decided to trust the enigmatic AI and deploy his personal flagship.

  Now his small squadron, made up of destroyers, frigates, a Marine orbital assault ship, and even a couple Coast Guard piracy interdictors, formed a battle line behind the battlecruiser Ajax. It was a classic formation from the age of sail, designed to bring maximum firepower to bear on the target. This they planned to do with devastating effect and lethal precision. Unleashing every conventional weapon at their disposal, the UNSA ships hurled scores of thraceium-laced torpedoes, missiles, and railgun projectiles towards the alien vessels in a violent hail of destruction.

  From his commanding position on the bridge, Prescott watched closely as the tactical situation unfolded. As yet, he had not committed the Ajax to the fight, but was content to observe the effects of the squadron’s weapons fire. Although the volume of ballistics battering the targets was enough to overwhelm standard Triven energy shields, no damage appeared on any of the opposing ships, nor did they return fire.

  “I feel like I’m being toyed with,” quipped Prescott. “Are we having any effect at all?” he asked his nearest tactical officer.

  “Negative sensor readings on the bogies, Admiral. We are targeting everything with optics only. The fire control computers are having to interpolate the position of the alien vessels because none of our weapons will lock on.”

  Without warning, a jagged blue fork of lightning discharged from the tip of the first alien ship’s arcing dorsal spine, and caressed both Coast Guard ships with tendrils of deadly energy. They immediately heeled hard over and fell out of formation, riven by internal explosions.

  “Light ’em up!” ordered Prescott, leaping to his feet. “Full power to lasers, extreme focus and maximum dwell time on primary target.”

  The dorsal and ventral turrets along the Ajax’s lengthy hull rotated their barrels crisply towards the first alien vessel, and discharged perfectly straight red beams of unbroken light that contrasted sharply with the contorted lashes of the enemy. Tracer gases illuminated the normally invisible laser beams, enabling the entire fleet and those watching from Tantalus Station to see the contest of energy weapons. This included the small saurian-shaped drone still perched inconspicuously on the station’s hull that had begun transmitting during the Tempest’s first attack.

  Multiple points along the first alien hull began to glow with angry, bright yellow boils, but the beams did not penetrate. In response, several wicked forks of energy stretched out to ravage another UNSA vessel, the destroyer Hermione, directly amidships. Its standoff armor plates spared it from the worst of the onslaught—the first time. Successive blasts easily rent and ripped away the armor plates, greedily seeking out the hull inside. The Hermione staggered under the assault, fell out of formation, and finally broke in two. The bow and stern spun wildly out of control from explosive decompression, scattering a field of debris in all directions.

  Prescott swore fiercely. He had not lost this many ships so quickly in a very long time, and it was a bitter reminder to him of every casualty suffered under his previous commands. To hell with this, he thought. Sitting back down, the Admiral quickly keyed the tactical net.

  “All ships this is Prescott. Be advised we are now at Condition One. Prepare for nuclear strike. I repeat, prepare for nuclear strike.” The Admiral nodded to the weapons officer, who needed no further instructions.

  “Portside tubes are loaded. We’ve interpolated bearings and are ready to fire at your command, Admiral.”

  “Execute.”

  “Confirmed, sir… weapons are away.”

  The main view screen focused on corkscrewing exhaust trails headed directly toward the alien ship, whose superficial laser damage still festered like pulsing red cankers.

  Suddenly, the image there and on every other monitor aboard the Ajax, Tantalus Station, and the Tempest was replaced with a grainy, dark video of a young man smashing a datapad into a console. For one brief instant, a determined young face was highlighted against a darkened backdrop.

  Prescott inhaled sharply and smashed the arm of his command chair.

  On Tantalus Station, DeSoto narrowed his eyes at the transmitted image, then simply shook his head.

  Aboard the Tempest, Colonel Thorsten frantically looked for the button on Captain Kristie’s chair for the ship-wide intercom. Kristie looked askance at Thorsten, but obligingly pressed it for him. Thorsten promptly made his announcement.

  “Lieutenant Correlli, double-time your BLUE MONARCH ass to the bridge immediately!”

  A few of the bridge crew turned partially in their seats.

  “You ground-pounders are always so eloquent,” mused Kristie.

  “Too harsh for your delicate Navy sensibilities?” Thorsten retorted.

  “Not hardly.”

  “I think we need to speak with Director DeSoto ASAP.”

  “Agreed. I’ll make this call if you please, Colonel.”

  “By all means, Captain.”

  Before they could contact the station, Kristie’s intercom crackled to life.

  “Captain, this is the well deck.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Sir, Lieutenant Correlli left five minutes ago in the boarding launch.”

  The two officers exchanged puzzled looks.

  “Under whose orders?” demanded Kristie.

  “Uh, Colonel Thorsten’s, sir.”

  “Impossible! He’s been standing next to me the whole time.”

  “It’s what the log says, Captain.”

  “Whisky, tango, foxtrot,” muttered Thorsten.

  “Colonel, I heartily concur,” answered Kristie.

  29

  Emerson Avery surveyed the damage he had wrought during his fit of rage. It seemed a small, impotent thing compared to the destruction he saw through the main view screen before him. His fists were bruised, battered, and bleeding, but what had he accomplished? A few bridge consoles sat smashed and dark while entire UNSA vessels had been obliterated by the very ship in which he sat, powerless to intervene. He was exhausted, exasperated, and tired of being a pawn in someone else’s game.

  The Auspex had left him alone. Perhaps it was too busy engaging the UNSA forces, who, Emerson believed, had no idea he was sitting here witnessing their futility and annihilation. Was he going to die on this bridge, deep within an alien leviathan, a hapless Jonah never to be expelled from the belly of the great fish?

  After his mother’s death, he had pushed all thoughts of mortality far away and tried to keep them at arm’s length. He had never explored what death really meant, or what he believed would happen to him afterward, or even if there was an afterward. He was sixteen. He assumed, perhaps not unexpectedly, that he had time.

  Emerson watched another UNSA ship fall under attack. This one lasted a little longer than the others, vainly firing its weapons in its defense, but it too was consumed by the ravaging energy blasts. The frightened part of him wanted to break down and cry, but the anger still simmering within his breast prevented it.

  “I don’t want to die!” he yelled at the silence encompassing the bridge.

  “I don’t want to die,” he said again softly.

  “Then don’t,” came the unexpected answer. It was not the voice of the Auspex—the difference was clear—but it had the same disembodied quality to it.

  Emerson struggled to his feet and spun around, desperately searching for the source of the response. “Now who’s talking to me?” he demanded warily.

  “Emerson, it’s DARAC. I can help get you off this ship, but we only have a little time. I do not know how long I can keep the Auspex at bay. It is a very powerful AI and will overwhelm my systems denial attack very soon.”

  “But—”

  “I’m
sorry, Emerson, I have no time to explain. YOU MUST GO NOW! RUN!” DARAC’s voice was powerful and authoritative, but not skull-piercing like the Auspex’s had been.

  The bridge door to Emerson’s left flew open as if wrenched apart unwillingly, and instead of a pulsing blue line in the deck plates to follow, a crimson one took its place. Emerson took one last fleeting look at the carnage on the view screen, then began another tortured sprint into the unknown.

  ***

  The nuclear strike was inconclusive at best. Most of the missiles had been destroyed by jagged blue energy blasts from the alien ships before they could expend their destructive energies upon them. Although some did make it through, the hull damage appeared mostly superficial—some modest pitting and charring along the otherwise smooth exteriors. To everyone’s dismay and disquiet, especially the Admiral’s, none of their weapons had penetrated.

  After seeing Emerson aboard what he presumed was one of the alien vessels, Prescott had ordered his small flotilla to cease fire and break the battle line. The remaining ships took evasive action and maneuvered freely around the seven alien ships, which still maintained their circular formation. Now, as the last remaining embers from the nuclear weapons surrendered their heat to entropy, Lieutenant Anton Correlli deftly piloted the Tempest’s boarding launch through the newly formed debris fields, trying to blend in like another piece of floating wreckage.

  As an Alpha BLUE MONARCH, Correlli was mentally conditioned, programmed, and physically trained to lead and be decisive in any combat situation he encountered. But he was being sent to retrieve Emerson Avery without the most basic and critically important pieces of intelligence needed for success. Which ship was he on? And even if he found the right one, how would he get inside when their weapons could barely scratch the hull? Breaching charges, cutting lasers, and other gear would be utterly useless.