by M. D. Cooper
The three Papote ships ceased their deceleration burn, turning to meet the Barbaric Queen head on, taking care not to expose their engines.
Rogers reviewed the weapons assessments Ricket provided, noting that the cruiser could fire beams at up to nearly a hundred thousand kilometers, while the destroyers were limited to a range of only eighty thousand.
The ‘Queen didn’t have any of the higher energy beams the ISF ships sported. Tanis had determined that those types of upgrades would make them too rich a target for anyone wanting to steal ISF technology.
However, ISF had upgraded the Barbaric Queen’s conventional weapons loadout, putting their shields and firepower on par with that of a heavy cruiser. They’d even secreted away a dozen relativistic missiles, though the Papote ships were already too close to make the most effective use of them.
Thinking of the upgrades brought back memories of when Rogers had met Field Marshal Richards for the first—and only— time.
He had been in the I2’s A1 docking bay, staring up at the Barbaric Queen, her hull gleaming after the ISF crews had gone over it. Rogers had flown a lot of ships before, but only the Dauntless had really captured his heart. He remembered thinking that the same thing might have begun to happen again.
He was falling head over heels in love with the Barbaric Queen, lost in his own private world as he took in her curves and lines, when a female voice interrupted his special moment.
“She’s a beautiful ship. You’re a lucky man.” The voice was feminine, but authoritative. The sound of it requiring, but not demanding, a reply.
He turned to see Admiral Tanis Richards, or the ‘Field Marshal’ as he’d heard her referred to more often than not. She was a tall, rather imposing woman; blonde hair pulled back in a tight pony tail, perfect facial structure, and eyes that shone with a vibrant enthusiasm for every pursuit she took up.
“Yes, ma’am.” Rogers couldn’t help the roguish grin he let slip onto his lips. “Just hope she’s ready to do what we need her to do.”
“Oh, she’s ready. New shields, stronger weapons, she’ll get you where you need to go. Treat her right, and she’ll keep you in the black a long time.”
“I can’t wait. I’m getting happy just thinking of it. The ship, I mean.” Rogers cringed. “Sorry, Field Marshal. Forgot who I was talking about for a minute.”
Tanis had snorted and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’d be lying if I didn’t feel the same way about the I2, though I don’t normally share that sort of information with strangers. Granted, I’m not often surrounded by those who aren’t dignitaries from some foreign government or folks in my chain of command. Your candor is refreshing.”
“Refreshing? Pretty sure I nearly shit myself. Oh, I did it again, didn’t I?” Rogers ran a hand through his hair. “I guess my special moment with the Barbaric Queen has affected my better judgment.”
“I’ll leave you to it then.” Tanis gave him a friendly nod before turning and walking away. After taking a few steps, she paused and looked back. “You remind me of another pilot I know. She loves her ship too, treats her right. Maybe someday she’ll even get to be one.”
Rogers frowned. “What? A pilot? I thought she already was one.”
The field marshal had laughed and shaken her head. “No, Rogers, a ship. Maybe someday she’ll get to be a ship.”
“Uh…OK. I hope that’s a good thing, ma’am.”
Tanis smiled. “I think it will be, provided it comes in good time. Anyway, the Barbaric Queen couldn’t be in better hands. Take care of her, Rogers. Kylie too.”
Rogers understood the words Tanis hadn’t spoken. She was a very powerful woman, but also a perceptive one. Rogers had a feeling she knew what Kylie was going through. The guilt, the crushing weight she carried. Rogers wanted to help Kylie, that was what fighting by her side, fighting for her, had all been about.
It—
“Rogers!” Ricket grabbed his shoulder and shook him awake. “Rogers!”
He snorted and realized he had fallen into some sort of thoughtful trance. He hoped he hadn’t been asleep while on approach to engage the enemy. “I’m back, I’m back.”
“Stars…thought you’d gone into a coma or something,” Ricket said, relief evident in her voice. “Bring us high and to starboard of them. I want to target those two destroyers first.”
Rogers nodded and adjusted vector just in time for Ricket’s firing pattern to still be effective.
The Queen’s six thirty-centimeter beams slid out from behind protective panels and three aligned with each of the destroyers, slashing at the enemy ships just as all the Papote vessels fired back.
Rogers jinked the ‘Queen to avoid most of their fire while Ricket targeted the enemy cruiser, the Victorious, with the fifty-centimeter beams.
The directed energy was diverted by the enemy’s shields, though Rogers could see that some had slipped through an overlap point on the Victorious’s umbrellas. A section of the Victorious’s hull glowing dimly on IR where carbon plates had ablated away.
“Nice shooting,” Rogers said as he spun the Barbaric Queen and fired the fusion engines on full burn to arc around behind the enemy formation which was pivoting to keep their engines facing away.
“I can’t believe they’re sticking around,” Ricket said. “We clearly outgun them.”
“Maybe they think we don’t have the powerplants to fire all those beams again,” Rogers suggested. As he spoke, the world around him fell away, and he only saw the ships in the black, engaged in their deadly dance. It was as though he was no longer in his body, but rather a part of the ship. He wondered if that was what Tanis Richards had been referring to.
Ricket fired the fifty-centimeter beams on the other destroyer, punching a hole in its shields directly above the ship’s engines. Then she switched to the thirty-centimeter beams, boring a hole through the hull.
“One down!” Ricket crowed as the destroyer’s acceleration ceased and it drifted away from the Papote formation.
“Nice shooting,” Rogers said, grinning at Ricket, forgetting how bad he probably looked just then.
“Crap!” Ricket shouted in response. “Four more ships, they were occluded by the debris field from Chimin-9’s refineries. All capital ships. Wait…the three in the back are firing on the one in the lead. It’s hailing us, putting it up.”
“Ship designated Barbaric Queen, are you with the people of Chimin?” The woman’s voice was strained, carrying an undercurrent of worry tainted with fear.
Rogers glanced back at Ricket and nodded. “You do the talking. I need to keep up the dance.”
Ricket nodded in response before calling back to the new ship. “This is Ricket of the Barbaric Queen. Yes, we’re defending Chimin against Papote. If you’re looking for safe harbor, this isn’t it.”
“My name’s Rastock, I lead a group called the Coalesce Legion. We were en route to bring aid to Chimin when we were attacked by Papote ships. We’re outgunned. Can you render assistance?”
The Victorious still managed to shed most of the inbound fire, and returned its own salvo of beamfire, along with a dozen rail shots.
Rogers jinked the ship aside to avoid the rail rounds, but four of the enemy beams struck true, knocking out the rear port shield umbrella.
“OK, I’m sending you a vector to follow. If your pursuers stay as predictable as I hope, then it will put them between us. Stay on comm for firing solutions.”
“That sounds great, but what about the Victorious?” Rastock asked.
Ricket let slip a cruel laugh. “Right, wh
at about the Victorious?”
As they’d spoken, Rogers had spooled out the Barbaric Queen’s AP drive and poured on the ship’s full thrust of over one hundred gs—enough that the a-grav dampeners were having trouble fully compensating.
The extra acceleration from the AP drive had lined the ‘Queen up to fire a shot directly into the Victorious’ starboard engine. He watched as the charges built in the main beams, and then as Ricket triggered the shot at the perfect moment, following up with a tungsten slug from the ship’s railgun.
The beams overwhelmed the enemy’s rear shields, and then the tungsten slug tore into the engine, shredding it and causing a reactor containment failure that shredded the rear half of the Victorious.
Rogers watched the events through the ship’s sensors, his mind feeling even more like it was one with the vessel, completely detached from his body. He knew he should be worried but couldn’t bring himself to care. He felt amazing, the ship thrummed with power and energy, unlike his beleaguered body back in the pilot’s seat.
“Damnit,” Ricket swore. “They tagged us again on the port side right before we ruined their day. Slashed a hole into the rear shuttle bay.”
“Well, no one’s going to be entertained in it anymore,” Ricket replied. “Speaking of ships, that Rastock woman has a real clunker. Thing’s a retrofitted insystem ore hauler. Tons of engine, but not a lot of guns. She could probably outrun the Papote cruisers for days if she hadn’t been slowing to match v with Chimin.”
“I think it’s no good,” Ricket said, and Rogers could sense her shaking her head. “The new Papote ships have already shifted vector, they’re trying to move beyond Rastock’s ship.”
Ricket hmm’d for a moment, and then nodded. “Yeah, I’m going to drop two. We’ll come around the front, and they’ll head around back. If we time it all right, we can take out two of them, and then mop up the third.”
Neither spoke as they reduced speed and then dropped into a long arc that would take them around the three enemy cruisers.
The enemy, for their part, continued to move away from their previous path, though still on one that would put them within firing range of Rastock’s ship in ten minutes.
“We’re going to have to get close with Rastock’s bird if we want to be in range,” Ricket said at one point. “I sure hope she’s not bait.”
“You know what I mean,” Ricket replied.
Rogers nodded silently as he cut the AP drive and lowered the fusion burners output.
“Shit!” Ricket cried out a moment later. “They’re jinking, boosting hard!”
Rogers saw it as well, all three Papote ships had altered vector and were running at max burn for Rastock’s ship. They would pass within ten thousand kilometers—close enough to ravage the converted ore hauler with their beams.
“Lighting up the relativistic missiles,” Ricket called out, and Rogers saw two massive plumes erupt sixty thousand klicks distant. They streaked toward the enemy ships, aimed at the center of the three, but still with enough maneuvering room to hit either of the other two as well.
Rogers guided the ‘Queen toward Rastock’s ship, calculating his trajectory to pass only ten kilometers above their hopeful ally. He heard Ricket advising Rastock to stay on course, and not jink into their flight path or move too far away.
Then, the enemy beams lanced out toward Rastock’s ship just as the Barbaric Queen passed overhead, all shield umbrellas configured to direct power off the keel, extending the field down to create a shield in front of their ally.
The maneuver left the upper half of the ‘Queen completely exposed, and they took two hits, one knocking out one of the fifty-centimeter beams before Ricket was able to fire, then tearing through one the nearest cruiser’s shields in turn. A moment later, the cruiser in the center jinked away from the incoming RMs, but it wasn’t far enough, and the RMs lined up, slamming into the ship’s rear starboard flank.
Rastock’s ship took advantage of the chaos and fired on the center Papote vessel, and then the nearest one. Ricket added two rail shots to the mix, and a few seconds later, both cruisers were holed.
The third Papote vessel had come through unscathed, and peeled off from the main formation, angling stellar south, working to keep its engines shielded from shots Ricket was peppering it with as it fled.
“That was some fancy flying, there,” Ricket said, her voice sounding breathless.
Rogers felt his mind flow back into his body, and he realized he was slumped in his chair, bathed in sweat. His fever had broken, and now his damp clothing was giving him the chills. His eyes were aching now that the cure was ridding his body of the virus, though he still couldn’t see out of them.
He couldn’t even blink—it all felt fused together. It more than just worried him…it wrecked him.
But then he felt her…Ricket. She put her hands on his shoulders and slid them down to his chest. “You handled this ship like she was a fighter, Rogers.”
He wanted to say something witty, wanted to say anything at all, but her mouth pressed against his and Rogers forgot all about that. She tasted sweet as honey, and his hands gripped her back, pulling her closer, aware that nothing had felt as good as her.
His hands had flown the most unique ship he had ever dreamed of. Hadn’t felt like this though.
Was that love?
Rogers hoped so, but the idea didn’t so much scare him as it terrified him.
“Rastock is hailing us,” Ricket whispered.
“One more minute.” Rogers stroked back Ricket’s hair, wishing he could see her face, wondering what her expression might be. With his other vision, he could make out her shape, the data associated with her, the temperature of her skin, and the amount of air she drew, but it wasn’t the same.
It wasn’t the same as seeing like a human should see. He didn’t know what was happening to him, didn’t know what it meant, and for the first time it scared him.
Rogers had never had a lot to lose before and as Ricket kissed him again, the stakes got higher.
A lot higher.
GIVE ME LIBERTY
STELLAR DATE: 11.05.8948 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: BQ Pinnace, Platform 9, North Docks
REGION: Chimin-1, Hanoi System (independent)
Liberty swung the skillet again and this time Kylie caught it before it struck her head, and her arms stiffened, tightened. Liberty strained to bring the skillet back down and her eyes widened as Kylie held her off.
Clenching her teeth, Kylie shoved hard, pushing Liberty away before pulling herself up using a hand-hold next to the cockpit door.
Liberty swore and snapped a kick at Kylie’s side before swinging the pan once more. The woman was fast—especially for someone who had been dead—but Kylie managed to deflect the kick with her left arm. Liberty lost her balance, and Kylie caught the skillet, wrenching it out of the other woman’s grasp.
“You’ve got some muscle for such a skinny bitch,” Liberty sneered. “But I’ve got a lot more than organics un
der this skin.”
Liberty kneed Kylie in the gut, knocking the wind from her lungs, disorienting her long enough to land two blows on her face.
Kylie staggered backward, up against the cockpit door once more.
On a good day, Liberty would have been no match for her, but today, with Kylie’s body still recovering from the virus—as well as the fight with Raynes and his goons on the Winthrop’s dock—she didn’t have a lot of fight left.
A moment later, the door behind Kylie opened, and she fell through into the small cockpit to the sound of Liberty’s laughter.
“Wow…not sure what you had in mind there, but I got a good laugh out of it.”
Kylie pulled herself backward as Liberty approached.
Marge replied, and the moment Liberty stepped over the threshold, the cockpit door slid shut, slamming into Liberty, and pinning her against the jam.
Liberty’s face was turned to the side, eyes staring into the cockpit while she struggled to get free.
“I think you’d have to rip one of your boobs off to get out of this predicament,” Kylie smirked. “I bet you never thought you’d lose a fight to a door.”
“Screw you, bitch,” Liberty sneered.
Kylie sighed as she grabbed Liberty’s chin and lifted her head. “Who sent you? Who wants me dead this bad? It’s not the Papote Allegiance.”
It was more a question than a statement.
Liberty struggled to swallow. “You’re stronger than I thought you’d be. SSF doesn’t usually mod their soldiers much. Did you get them from your old squeeze Maverick?”
Kylie wasn’t interested in discussing her own history with the woman and instead punched her in the side. “Tell me who sent you and this will go a lot easier on you.” She slid a hand between Liberty’s neck and the door, slowly increasing the pressure on the woman’s throat. “Was it Raynes?”