by G J Ogden
Razor frowned then pointed to the three ships on the viewscreen. “Well, I monitored the ships from engineering and it’s just about the most obvious setup for an ambush that I’ve ever seen,” she said. The tone of her voice suggested she considered it so obvious that the question was unnecessary.
Sterling laughed. “Yes, I suppose it is,” he replied, glancing back at the supposedly derelict trio of ships. “Carry on Lieutenant.”
Sterling then turned to face his weapons officer. As usual, Shade had been quietly observing the crew interactions on the bridge, without getting involved.
“Target the weapons systems and engines of the destroyer only,” Sterling said, his tone becoming firmer as the time for combat drew near. “If this is another Marshall, I’d rather try to reason with him or her than destroy them. We’re going to be in the Void for some time and could do without making an enemy of every Marshall we run into.”
“Aye captain,” replied Shade, coolly. “What about the freighters?”
Sterling thought for a moment, weighing up the options, though on this occasion he felt a show of strength was merited. “If they power weapons and lock on, destroy them,” Sterling said, meeting his weapons officer’s intense, emotionless eyes. “These people need to learn not to cross us.”
“Aye Captain,” replied Shade, still with cool detachment, though also a touch more eagerness. “I have relayed an attack pattern to Ensign Keller, based on my assessment of their most-likely ambush strategy,” the weapons officer added. She did not touch her console, Sterling noticed. Clearly, like Shade, she had also already taken the action she was proposing.
“And what ambush strategy is that, exactly?” asked Sterling. His crew appeared to be in the mood for taking presumptive action. Some Captains would find this annoying, but Sterling appreciated that his crew had the experience and intelligence to apply foresight to their duties.
“The destroyer is closest and positioned between to the two freighters,” Shade replied, working at her console and sending her analysis to the viewscreen. “Once we close in, the freighters will power up and attempt to catch us in a crossfire. It’s crude, much like their vessels, but effective.”
Sterling nodded. “Then let’s make sure we spoil their plans, Lieutenant,” he replied, turning his attention to the viewscreen.
“Aye, Captain, I intend to,” Shade replied. Her tone was still level, but Sterling could now detect an undercurrent of eager anticipation in her voice. There was nothing Opal Shade enjoyed more than acts of violence.
“Then let’s spring the trap,” said Sterling, again resting forward on his console and allowing his fingers to slide into their familiar grooves. “Battle stations…”
The main lights on the bridge went out and his crew was bathed in the crimson hue of their low-level alert lighting. Sterling could feel the thrum of the Invictus’ engines and reactor building, as energy was produced and redirected to the offensive and defensive systems. It was like the ship itself had received a shot of adrenaline directly into its heart.
“Coming up on the destroyer now, Captain,” said Ensign Keller, who was primed and ready at the helm controls. “Combat maneuvers programmed in and standing by.”
Sterling nodded, but kept his eyes focused on the old gen-one destroyer in the center of the viewscreen. The Sa’Nerran weapons that had been retrofitted to its vintage hull were also older designs, like the ship itself, but at point blank range they could still do serious damage to the Invictus. He knew they had to be precise in their actions and use the Marauder’s superior capabilities to their full advantage. Banks console then chimed an alert and Sterling felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
“The freighters are powering up and locking weapons,” said Banks, working her console. “And fast too. These crew are certainly not rookies, that’s for sure.”
Sterling then saw lights flicker on across the hull of the destroyer. Its plasma weapons began to glow brightly, like the tips of cigars being smoked in a dark room.
“Execute the combat maneuver, Ensign,” said Sterling, gripping the side of his console tightly. His stomach had tightened into a knot, but he wasn’t nervous – like the rest of the crew, he was eager to get into action.
Ensign Keller worked the console with his usual proficiency and the Invictus powered away from the destroyer, rising above it like a bird of prey. The freighters both fired, but their plasma blasts crossed harmlessly in space. Sterling detected a succession of small impacts on the hull as their ambushers opened fire with mass-turrets. However, these archaic conventional weapons posed no immediate threat to a powerful ship such as the Invictus. It was like trying to break through a bank vault door by firing a pistol at it. All three enemy ships tried to re-orient themselves in order to bring their main guns to bear, but it was already too late.
“Firing…” Lieutenant Shade called out.
Two flashes of plasma lit up the viewscreen as the Invictus’ plasma turrets unloaded on the two freighters. A smile curled Sterling’s lips as he saw explosions ripple across the hulls of the enemy vessels. Shade’s precisely aimed shots had crippled their weapons systems and drilled into the command decks, opening the compartments to space. Sterling could already see the bodies of the freighter crews spiraling out into the Void. More explosions rippled across the freighters and both listed out of control, except this time they weren’t merely playing dead.
“The destroyer is adjusting course,” said Banks, peering down at her console. “It’s turning to run.”
Sterling glanced across to Shade, who had held fire, awaiting his confirmation. Another captain of another ship might have let the destroyer go. However, Sterling didn’t care that the enemy vessel was fleeing. The captain of the ship had made his bed and now he’d have to lie in it.
“Open fire, Lieutenant,” Sterling said with conviction.
The main plasma rail guns of the Invictus fired, but at the last moment the destroyer tried to evade. The blasts cut through the enemy vessel’s port side engines, destroying them completely and sending the ship into an uncontrolled spin. More flashes lit up the screen as the Invictus’ plasma turrets picked off the destroyer’s weapons, leaving it crippled and defenseless.
“We’re receiving an incoming transmission,” said Banks, cocking an eyebrow at Sterling.
“I thought we might,” replied Sterling, pushing himself away from his console and straightening his tunic in readiness to take the call. “Put them through.”
Banks tapped her console and moments later the image of a man in a leather frock coat appeared on the viewscreen. He was older than Sterling, perhaps in his sixties, he reasoned, though the weather-beaten look to his skin could have aged the man beyond his years. Wispy grey hair protruded below the line of the man’s black, pork-pie hat, creating a sharp contrasting line with the stiff brim of the old-fashioned-looking headwear.
“I see that your reputation is not unwarranted, Captain Sterling,” the man said. However, the words were uttered with contempt, rather than admiration.
“Care to explain who the hell you are, and why you attacked my ship?” Sterling replied, getting straight the point. He wasn’t interested in a prolonged conversation; he had more important matters to attend to.
“My name is Ed Masterson,” the man replied, maintaining a remarkable level of composure, considering his ship was out of control and his escorts had been obliterated. “But most people know me as Marshall Masterson, senior.”
Sterling sighed and nodded. The reason for the ambush was now clear. Revenge.
“Then I assume this is about your son, Marshall?” Sterling asked, again trying to railroad the older man into getting to the point.
“You admit that you killed him?” the Marshall replied, his eyes narrowing a fraction, which brought his silver-grey eyebrows below the rim of his hat.
“He double-crossed me then tried to kill me and kidnap a member of my crew,” Sterling said, upholding his rigid posture and level ton
e. “For a lawman, he was remarkably unconcerned with the law.”
Sterling saw the older man’s jaw tighten. The Marshall chewed the inside of his mouth, as if shuffling gum or tobacco from one corner to another before finally answering.
“The law is set by the Marshalls, Captain Sterling,” Masterson replied. “Fleet don’t make the rules out here. What you consider fair, or a double-cross, or ‘illegal’ is beside the point.” The Marshall leant in closer, making his lined face grow larger on the viewscreen. “Fact is you killed a Marshall, Captain Sterling,” he said, anger now bleeding into the man’s words. “That he was also my son don’t matter a god-damned bit. You killed a lawman and you must be judged and punished for your crime.”
Sterling shook his head. He’d hoped to be able to reason with the man, but it seemed clear that he could not. Commander Banks' console then chimed an alert and Sterling felt a neural connection form in his mind.
“The destroyer’s engines are shot, Captain, and it’s drifting rapidly toward the planet,” Banks said, through the neural link. “Unless we grapple it, the Marshall’s ship will start to fall through the atmosphere in the next few seconds.”
Sterling glanced at his first officer. “He’s not going to leave us alone, is he?” he asked through the link.
Banks shook her head. “No, he’s not.”
Sterling sighed again then tapped his neural interface to close the link before turning back to the viewscreen. He saw that the Marshall’s destroyer had already hit the upper atmosphere and was shrouded in a corona of flames.
“Your son got what he deserved, Marshall,” Sterling replied. “And now you will too.”
Sterling then cut the transmission from the ship, leaving the image of the incensed older Marshall imprinted on his retinas.
“Shall I destroy it, Captain?” asked Lieutenant Shade, with her usual cold detachment.
Sterling shook his head. “They’re already dead, Lieutenant,” he replied. “Let them burn.”
“Aye, sir,” replied Shade. The weapons officer pressed her hands to the small of her back and joined Sterling and the others in watching the destroyer descend deeper into the atmosphere.
Sterling knew that allowing Shade to finish the destroyer would have perhaps been the more merciful thing to do. However, he wasn’t feeling merciful. He was angry. The older lawman and his crew hadn’t needed to die. Only stubbornness and pride had prevented Masterson from saving his own skin. It was a pointless death. Yet, it was also necessary. Sterling was not about to allow one man’s inconsequential vendetta to risk his crucial mission.
“I’m picking up what looks like an old Fleet outpost on the surface of the planet,” said Commander Banks, this time speaking out loud. “We didn’t detect it previously because we were too far from the planet.”
“Do you think it could still contain some supplies?” Sterling asked.
Banks worked her console for a couple of seconds then shrugged. “I can’t get a reading from up here, but the storage vaults in these places were shielded and below ground.” She stopped working at her console then folded her arms and turned back to Sterling. “Assuming, no-one else has raided it, there’s a good chance it has what we need.”
Sterling considered this for a moment while continuing to watch the Marshall’s ship fall faster through the atmosphere, burning up like a meteor.
“Lieutenant Razor, how are our fuel reserves looking?” Sterling asked, glancing back to his straight-talking engineer.
“They’re looking empty, Captain,” Razor replied, bluntly. “If there’s a chance this planet has what we need, I’d recommend we take it,” she added. “I can ration enough fuel for us to reach orbit again in case it’s a bust, but after that we’ll have to land at Bastion on the main colony planet and try to barter for what we need there.”
Sterling glanced at Banks and his first officer’s expression told him that she liked that idea even less than he did.
“We’d have more luck bartering with the Sa’Nerra than with the inhabitants of Bastion,” Banks said, speaking her mind.
Sterling nodded and turned back to the viewscreen. Either option presented risk. However, if he could recover the supplies without having to visit a colony planet that was vehemently hostile to the Fleet, it was worth a shot.
“Ensign Keller, configure the ship for planetary entry,” Sterling announced, making his decision. “Then take us down to the Fleet outpost.”
Chapter 7
Clanging balls of steel
Sterling and Banks stood at the edge of the landing platform at the abandoned Fleet base and surveyed the lush forest that surrounded the former hilltop fort. The base was on the second of two habitable planets that existed inside Middle Star’s goldilocks zone. The original name of the planet, before the start of the war relegated it to the Void, was buried somewhere in the recesses of Sterling’s memory. Now it was simply known by Fleet’s formal designation of, “Colony Two: Middle Star.”
In the distance, Sterling could see the fires of primitive industry sending plumes of acrid smoke into the cool atmosphere. However, while the war had not driven humanity from the Void Worlds completely, the reality was that few human settlements remained on the planet. It was also true that many – though not all – of the towns and broken cities that had survived were now treacherous places. They were blessed with technology from the twenty-fourth century but cursed with the lawlessness and brutality of Europe’s middle ages. Even so, Sterling still preferred setting down on Colony Two to their only other option of landing at Bastion. At least on Colony Two they would be left alone. On Bastion, they would be seen as being no better than murderers.
“You wouldn’t think that the Sa’Nerra bombarded this planet only forty or so years ago,” said Banks, standing with her hands on her hips. A fresh breeze was whipping through the valley and pushing back her shoulder-length chestnut hair so that it acted like a windsock.
Sterling drank in the breeze, grateful for the opportunity to taste real air, at least for a few hours. He then glanced to his right, towards the fractured remains of a once great city. Now, it was merely a blackened wasteland of rubble and death.
“This planet was one of the most developed United Governments outer colonies in existence at the start of the war,” Sterling said, thinking back to his Fleet history lessons at the academy. Then he held out his arm and gestured to the broken city in the distance. “Now look at it.”
“I remember reading about the Battle of Middle Star,” said Banks, turning her head to look at the city. The wind lashed her hair across her face, forcing her to brush it away. “It was quite a story, though a little maudlin and over-dramatic for my liking.”
Sterling turned back to his first officer and smiled. “You old romantic, you,” he teased.
Banks folded her arms. “Don’t tell me that a cold-hearted killer like you sympathizes with what Fletcher did?” she asked, sounding astounded by Sterling’s comment.
“Not exactly,” replied Sterling, still smiling. “If we all acted as selfishly at Lieutenant Fletcher did all those years ago, we’d have lost the war already.”
“But…” pressed Banks, evidently still curious about exactly which part of Fletcher’s story he empathized with.
“But I admire his determination and, quite honestly, his solid-steel balls,” Sterling continued, drawing an even more astonished look from Banks. “In many ways, he’s not all that unlike us.”
“How exactly is a mutinous bastard like Christopher Fletcher like us?” Banks demanded. She’d now switched from being simply curious to downright offended.
“He made a hard call,” Sterling retorted, undeterred by his first officer’s ire toward his statements.
“He made the wrong damned call,” Banks hit back. Sterling could see that the muscles in her arms and legs had tensed up. She wasn’t just playing devil’s advocate – she was genuinely riled up.
“Make no mistake, Mercedes, I disagree with his reasons and moti
vations,” Sterling was quick to add, since Banks was now turning slightly red in the face. “He was selfish. He disobeyed orders and his actions cost the life of his captain.”
“But…” Banks said again, sensing that Sterling still had more to say.
“But he won, Mercedes,” Sterling said, throwing his arms out wide. “He commandeered the Bismarck then rallied twelve other ships to mutiny before surging back to Middle Star and kicking the Sa’Nerra off their planet.” Banks’ eyes narrowed. She still looked deeply skeptical, but she didn’t interrupt him. “That’s the sort of grit the Fleet will need if we’re to win this war,” Sterling sighed, peering back toward the ravaged city. “Fleet ordered all ships to withdraw from Middle Star,” Sterling went on, his tone turning wistful. “We abandoned these people to the Sa’Nerra then ran away, just like Fleet is doing now by retreating to F-sector. At least Fletcher stood his ground and fought.”
“Fat lot of good it did him,” Banks replied, seemingly unmoved by Sterling’s speech. “He mutinied so that he could go back and save his wife, the same as the others did in order to save their own families or lovers. But Fletcher’s wife was already dead by the time he got back; killed in the first wave of Sa’Nerran bombardments. So he did it for nothing.”
Sterling considered his first officer’s argument and could not fault her logic. It was true that Fletcher had made a hard call that day, but it had been for self-serving reasons. The whole point of the Omega Taskforce was to make the hard calls, but only when it served the greater good. Every life that Sterling took was in order to save more. Fletcher and the other mutineers had acted in their own self-interest and, in the case of Fletcher himself, he still lost. Yet in defeat, he didn’t crumble or run. He stayed at Middle Star and fought the Sa’Nerra so hard that eventually they gave up on the system and left. He showed that the enemy could be beaten. It was a lesson that the Fleet admirals of today – Griffin excluded – could stand to learn, Sterling thought.