by G J Ogden
“Sir, the lead cruiser is preparing to fire,” Shade called out. There was an urgency in her voice that was rarely heard from his weapons officer.
“How? It should still be out of range,” said Banks.
“They’ve pushed their engines beyond their limits to reach us, sir,” Ensign Keller called out. He too looked shaken and was sporting a fresh cut to the side of his face. “Their engines are burning out. They sacrificed their ability to return to Sa’Nerran space in order to catch us.”
“Strengthen the aft regenerative armor,” Sterling called over to Shade. “Take power from anything but engines.”
Shade acknowledged, then the ship was pounded by an initial volley of weapons fire from the lead Sa’Nerran Light Cruiser.
“Armor holding, but we can’t take many more hits like that,” Banks said.
“How long until we can surge, Ensign?” Sterling said. He could feel through the deck plating that the Invictus was tiring. It had already run a marathon and was now being asked to run a sprint. If it were any other ship, Sterling knew that it would have already faltered. However, the Invictus was no ordinary ship and she had no ordinary crew.
“Two minutes, Captain,” Keller replied. Sterling could hear the despair in his helmsman’s voice. Despite his inexperience, Keller had seen enough action to know that they wouldn’t last another sixty seconds, never mind twice that.
“Get creative with your evasive maneuvers, Ensign,” Sterling replied, maintaining the confidence in his voice. Keller and the rest of the crew had to believe there was still a chance, even if logic dictated otherwise. “We can make it. Just stay the course.”
“Aye, Captain,” Keller replied, immediately throwing the Invictus into a series of chaotic moves using their RCS thrusters.
Another blast rocked the ship, but Sterling could feel that it was only a glancing blow. Another slice of luck, though he knew that whatever good fortune had kept them alive this far was dwindling rapidly. He wracked his brain for another idea – anything that could buy them an extra sixty seconds – but he came up blank.
“Surge detected!” Banks called out.
“From where?” replied Sterling, suddenly feeling his heart thump harder in his chest.
“Thirteen ships, directly ahead. They’re coming from Thrace,” cried Banks. “And we’re right in their lane.”
“Hold your course, Ensign,” Sterling ordered, aiming a finger at his helmsman before Keller could even contemplate steering them wide. They needed to carry all the forward speed they had.
Multiple flashes popped off ahead of them and thirteen new ships entered the system. Alarms wailed as the Invictus found itself on a collision course with one of them. However, unlike the battered Marauder, the new arrivals were fresh and agile, and their weapons were already armed. Plasma turrets flashed and mass cannons erupted sending a storm-front of death toward the Sa’Nerran Light Cruiser. The enemy vessel was obliterated in an instant.
“They’re Fleet ships,” said Banks, continuing her scan. “The lead vessel is a generation one destroyer.” The Invictus’ first officer laughed and turned to him. “Well, I’ll be damned…” she said, shaking her head. “It’s the Bismarck.”
The comm system chimed and Sterling immediately put the caller through. Like Banks, he already knew who it was.
“Need any assistance, Captain Sterling?” asked Christopher Fletcher, with a wry smile.
“You certainly know how to make an entrance,” Sterling replied, suddenly feeling the muscles in his body go limp. “Thank you for responding to my distress call.”
Fletcher nodded. “Any chance to take down a few more Sa’Nerra, Captain,” the former Fleet officer replied. “The aperture is clear, so go ahead and surge to Thrace. We’ll take care of this lot then meet you on the other side.”
“Understood, Captain Fletcher,” Sterling replied. “Be careful of the heavy destroyer to the rear of the group. It’s wounded, but still dangerous.”
“I’d love a chance to take down MAUL,” Fletcher replied, “but it’s already seen the writing on the wall and bugged out.”
Sterling glanced down at his console and saw that Fletcher was correct. The alien’s most decorated warship would live to fight another day.
“And it’s just Fletcher, Captain Sterling,” the commander of the Bismarck then added. “I gave up my chance to become a captain long ago.”
“Maybe it’s not too late,” Sterling replied, standing tall. “I’ll see you at Thrace Colony.”
Fletcher nodded, then the comm channel closed and the viewscreen switched to a display of the thirteen former Fleet warships. Each one of them had first seen action before Sterling was even born, but all of them were still going strong, as were their commanders.
“Ensign Keller, take us to Thrace Colony,” Sterling said, meeting his helmsman’s eyes. “Just a regular surge will do, Ensign. Nice and steady.”
“Aye, Captain,” Keller replied, smartly.
“It seems that luck is still with us, after all,” said Banks, stepping beside Sterling and leaning on his console. For once, she looked as weary as he felt.
“That wasn’t luck, Mercedes,” replied Sterling, peering out at the warships on the viewscreen. “That was providence.”
“Well, whatever it was, I’ll take it,” replied Banks.
Sterling’s console then chimed and he saw that a message had been received. It was text only and transmitted from MAUL. Sterling opened the file and read it on his console.
“You can’t run forever, Captain”, the message began. “Whether out in the Void or inside Fleet space, I will find you, and I will personally put you down. Fleet is finished. Earth is finished. You are finished.” Sterling shook his head as Crow signed off the message with the man’s usual pomposity, employing his full title as “Emissary to the Sa’Nerra.” However, it was the final two words that pissed off Sterling the most. Two simple words that highlighted the depth of Crow’s betrayal. The message ended, “For Sa’Nerra.”
Chapter 31
A mutineer and a friend
Sterling pressed his back against the wall of the Invictus’ narrow corridors to allow a maintenance crew to move past. It had been six hours since they’d landed at Bastion, after limping through Thrace Colony and surging to Middle Star. Chris Fletcher’s squadron of veteran former Fleet warships had made mincemeat of the Sa’Nerran Light Cruisers, but Fletcher had been unable to catch MAUL. The Heavy Destroyer carrying Emissary Clinton Crow had escaped back into Sa’Nerran space using the safe, regular aperture routes. Sterling should have been disappointed and frustrated by Crow’s narrow escape, but the truth was he was glad. Crow and MAUL were his. It was personal between them and if anyone was to take them down – Fleet or otherwise – it was going to be Captain Lucas Sterling.
The maintenance crew was followed by a team of engineers from Bastion, loaned by kind permission of Fletcher himself. Then Sterling was finally able to continue on toward the medical bay. The door slid open and Sterling stepped inside to see Lieutenant Razor in one of the bays. Commander Graves and Commander Banks were standing by one side of the bed. However, it wasn’t the ship’s medical officer that was tending to Razor, but none other than James Colicos. The scientist’s robotic hand had finally been attached, but Graves had been unable to add any cosmetic enhancements with the time and resources the skilled surgeon had available. As such, the hand remained almost skeletal in appearance, with bare gunmetal-colored panels and visible mechanical joints. Nevertheless, the appendage appeared to function perfectly, responding as intuitively and naturally as a real hand.
“Nice work, Commander Graves,” said Sterling, as he approached the medical bay. “Not that this asshole deserves it,” he added, glaring at Colicos.
“Nice work?” Colicos replied, as indignant as ever. The scientist raised the hand and flexed all the joints, revealing the intricate inner workings of the device. “This is an abomination!” he screeched. “Once we are back in Fleet space
, I demand a proper replacement.”
Sterling took a step closer to Colicos, causing the man to recoil and knock into a cabinet to the side of Razor’s bed.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” Sterling said, raising a finger to his ear, as if he’d suddenly gone deaf. “But I was sure you just made a demand?”
Colicos quickly changed his tune. “Apologies, Captain Sterling, I did not mean to speak out of turn,” the scientist hastily replied.
“I suggest you work on your manners, doc,” said Sterling, managing to keep a lid on his own resentment. “Because whether I take you back to Griffin, or cast you out of an airlock, depends entirely on how useful you are over the next couple of days.” He gestured to Lieutenant Razor. “As a case in point, what have you been able to do for my chief engineer?”
With his organic hand, Colicos gestured to a medical scan of Razor’s skull on the screen above her bed.
“Truthfully, it’s actually remarkable that she’s not already a gibbering wreck,” the scientist began.
Colicos was smiling as if he expected the others to find his comment amusing. Sterling remained stony-faced, as did the others. The smile fell off Colicos’ face and he coughed apologetically before adopting a more serious tone.
“The use of a firewall to prevent the Lieutenant’s implant being infected by code from my neural translation matrix was actually quite inspired,” Colicos continued. The switch to attempts at flattery in order to ingratiate himself was as obvious as it was unsubtle, Sterling thought. “Naturally, if I had devised the firewall it would not have failed, as this one did,” Colicos added, seemingly unable to talk for ten seconds without making it about himself. “As it is, the level of corruption to Lieutenant Razor’s implant is minimal, and, thanks to a rather clever technique I just developed, it is currently contained.”
“Cut to the chase, doc, can you fix the damage or not?” Sterling cut in. He was already sick of hearing the man’s self-aggrandizing, soft-spoken voice.
Colicos’ puckered-up expression demonstrated his obvious irritation at being interrupted. However, the genius scientist was smart enough to bite his tongue, rather than verbalize his grievances.
“In short, yes,” Colicos said. “However, I will need access to a far more sophisticated medical facility than this quaint little ship offers.”
Sterling felt like knocking the scientist out cold then and there, but managed to hold back. He could see that Banks’ hands had already balled into fists and judged it best to end the conversation, before either of them murdered the man.
“I will need access to a facility on a command outpost at the very minimum,” Colicos went on, unaware of just how close he was to being tossed through the bulkhead. “Though in order to do my best work, I will require a generation-three medical cruiser or access to the Fleet medical research facility on Earth,” Colicos concluded.
“I’ll see what I can do,” said Sterling, speeding things along as best as he could. “Is there anything else you can do right now?”
Colicos peered around the Invictus’ medical bay, his nose scrunched up as if he’d just caught the scent of fresh dog crap in the air.
“Not in here, no,” Colicos replied, snootily.
Sterling gestured for the commando who was on guard to come over.
“Take our esteemed guest back to the brig,” he said to the commando, whose name and face he did not recognize. Colicos opened his mouth and looked ready to protest before Sterling quickly added, “and if he causes any trouble, shoot him in the leg.” This last part of the sentence caused the scientist to swiftly clamp his jaw shut again.
The commando acknowledged the order then roughly ushered James Colicos out of the medical bay.
“If I’m not needed here anymore, I’d like to continue repairs to the ship, Captain,” Lieutenant Razor said, sliding her legs off the bed.
“Granted, Lieutenant,” said Sterling. Colicos hadn’t magically healed his engineer, as he secretly wished the scientist was capable of doing, but the fact Razor was no longer in immediate danger was reassuring.
Lieutenant Razor made her apologies to the room and departed. As the number of crew in the medical bay began to thin out, Sterling was suddenly aware that there was a patient missing.
“Where’s the hound?” he asked, looking at Banks. He immediately felt a lump in his throat, worrying that the dog might have died on the operating table and he’d just put his foot in it.
“She’s in the bar outside with Fletcher and his crew,” said Banks. Sterling let out a silent breath of relief. “Fletcher asked to see you, once you were done in here.”
Sterling nodded. “Let’s not keep our mutinous savior waiting then,” he said.
Sterling was about to head for the exit when he noticed that Commander Graves had already returned to his work. Sterling was not good at giving praise, especially where it concerned talking to his creepy chief medical officer. However, on this occasion, as on many others, he felt the effort was warranted, if not expressly required.
“Good work, Commander Graves,” Sterling said, causing the dour-faced physician to look up from his console. “I’m going to need you to continue piecing us all back together with the same skill you’ve demonstrated over the last few days and weeks.”
Commander Graves bowed his head graciously. “No thanks are necessary, Captain,” the doctor said. “Though I appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.”
The medical officer returned to his work and Sterling took his leave without another word. However, they’d only made it a few paces along the corridor outside before Banks highlighted his rare act of appreciation toward Graves.
“I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you speak to Graves without looking worried he was about to suck out your brains with a straw,” said Banks, smiling.
Sterling laughed and returned his first officer’s smile. “He’s earned it,” he replied, honestly. “All the crew have. Graves, Keller, Razor, Shade. They’ve all proven they deserve to be on this ship.”
“Aye, sir, that they have,” Banks replied, her own voice and body language reflecting the same pride and admiration that Sterling had expressed.
Sterling was not surprised that Commander Banks hadn’t highlighted his obvious glaring omission. He’d intentionally left out his first officer from the round of praise, simply to see whether vanity would compel her to fish for a compliment. However, as expected, Mercedes Banks did not fall into his trap. The respect and admiration that existed between the two of them did not need to be expressed. Yet, oddly, it was Sterling who found himself compelled to say more.
“And I’m glad you’re with me, Mercedes,” Sterling added. “I need you by my side, now more than ever.”
He immediately regretted speaking the words, as it made him sound mawkish and sentimental. However, he had nearly been forced to kill his first officer on the alien prison station, an act that was suddenly playing on his mind. He half-expected Banks to react glibly and rib him for his sudden outpouring of emotion. However, his first officer was also unusually maudlin.
“Hey, you have me, Lucas,” she replied, stopping and turning to face Sterling. “No matter what, remember?”
The two of them continued to look at each other, suddenly lost for words until another contingent of repair engineers bustled around the corner. This forced captain and first officer to separate and press their backs to opposite walls, like the parting of the waves. It was an unexpected, but timely interruption that cut through the awkwardness and allowed them to move on, as if nothing had happened.
“I feel it’s my duty as first officer to highlight a concern, however,” Banks then said as they as they entered the cargo hold.
Sterling stopped and scowled at his first officer, unsure of whether she was serious or being facetious. “And what’s that?” he queried. He was curious, but also a little wary.
“This last mission has finally proved to me that your heart isn’t pure ice after all,” Banks s
aid, her lips now curling ever so slightly up at the corners of her mouth.
Sterling snorted. “Nonsense,” he hit back. “What makes you think that?”
Banks flashed her eyes at Sterling then continued on toward the lowered rear ramp.
“When I found Jinx injured in the corridor, you said, ‘bring her with us’, not ‘bring it’,” said Banks, her smile growing wide.
“I did not,” Sterling hit back, wafting his hand at her. Then he stopped, genuinely unsure as to whether Banks was correct or not. “Or did I?”
“You did,” replied Banks, smugly.
Sterling snorted again then stepped onto the ramp. He was suddenly hit by a blast of cool air from Bastion Colony, which made his entire body shiver. It was a late autumn evening in Bastion and the sudden drop in temperature took Sterling by surprise.
“It doesn’t matter if I said, ‘he’, ‘she’, ‘it’ or any other pronoun,” Sterling added, increasing his pace in the hope of escaping the conversation. “The fact remains that if I step in that hound’s crap while I’m on the ship, it’s still getting airlocked.”
Sterling jumped down off the rear ramp and onto the landing pad at Bastion spaceport. However, while one boot made a satisfying thwacking sound on the asphalt surface the other was cushioned by something soft and malleable. Sterling cursed then peered down at his boot. Smeared across the sole was a smooth, dark-brown substance that he knew could only be one thing.
“That doesn’t count,” Banks said, breezing past Sterling a moment later. “It wasn’t on the ship…”
Chapter 32
Blood and port wine
After a brief detour to wipe the muck off his boot, Captain Sterling and Commander Banks arrived at the door of “Unsinkable Sam”, the bar that Chris Fletcher and his twelve other former Fleet warships frequented.