Fallen Fleet (Berserker One Book 1)

by Adrien Walker

  Berserker One

  Fallen Fleet

  by Adrien Walker

  Copyright July 23, 2017

  All rights reserved.

  Thank you for reading. Stay tuned for new releases in the Berserker One Series as well as other fiction from Adrien Walker at

  www.adrienwalker.com

  One.

  The Obstruction

  ____________________________

  From the observation deck towards the nose of Berserker One, standing on its reflective black tiles, stood a hunched man. Staring into space through the thick glass that wrapped the room, the mind of Captain Gil Graves was occupied by a single, simple thought. His icy blue eyes, set in a face of weathered skin that dipped in the valleys beneath his cheekbones, stared into the space that surrounded his ship. His long, spindly fingers raised to scratch against his grey stubble, then ran through his thin, salt and pepper hair, laid flat atop his scalp. His hand returned to join the other, held behind his back, which struggled to retain posture against a pain that radiated up from his crippled left leg. Though, in this moment, he didn’t mind the pain that so often distracted. All he could think was what beauty, beheld around him, floating within the rocks near and the stars far, he now nestled within. It wasn’t the rocks and the stars themselves, though. They, like himself, were mere paint strokes across a massive canvas, differing only in color and texture. The beauty was in the orchestration.

  He pulled a long, slow breath in through the nostrils of his pointed nose, his broad chest rising as his lungs inflated. A gentle purring crept into his ears as he felt the soft body of a thin, golden cat press against the inside of his left leg. He released his breath as he addressed his companion, “Alexander,” though keeping his eyes focused through the window.

  It was the way in which all things converged, drifted, and separated. It was how the universe, without design, appeared as intricately populated and set in motion as his own ship. The difference, of course, was the purpose. The universe had none. Captain Gil Graves, on the other hand…

  “Captain,” came a voice through the observation deck’s entrance. It was soft and gentle, yet begrudgingly patient. Captain Graves finally turned from the stunning visage of space as it presented itself through the glass, towards the more clean cut, well-kempt appearance of Lieutenant Sheri McBride. She appeared in the doorway, her black pony-tale pulled tightly, her stare unwittingly cold set in the perfect olive complexion of her face. Captain Graves knew her to be sweet, only after having breached the stony outer wall of her character. She was Berserker One’s lieutenant of arms, and as such, operated with a calculative mind. Presently, she was subtracting the amount of time the captain would take to return to the bridge from the remaining time they had before pirates were within striking distance.

  “Yes, Lt. McBride?”

  She took a deep breath, and mindfully paused her gritting teeth. “We have eighty three seconds before the pirate ships are within engagement radius.”

  Captain Graves nodded calmly. “I suppose we’d better head towards the bridge then, hm?”

  Without another word, Sheri stepped to the side and bowed her head, awaiting her captain’s lead. He took his first step onto his left leg, forcing the pain through its center, feeling the soreness radiate into his muscles. It was always easier to get it out of the way first. Once he was moving, it wasn’t so bad. “Let’s dispatch with these pirates quickly, shall we?”

  As he stepped into the hallway that led from the observation deck down to the bridge, he felt Alexander speed past him again, his yellow body bounding along as if on the hunt. Little did the companion know, they were the hunted.

  As he reached the entrance to the bridge, Captain Graves’s stride slowed, the pain reached back into his leg, and he hid a wince by dropping his head while he stepped into the room. The transparent floor showed the glowing engine, an intricate, albeit outdated solar fuelled piece of machinery. Captain Graves watched while the core of the rectangular powerhouse multiplied the retrieved energy from the panelled shell of Berserker One. The Interplanetary United Republic Fleet had abandoned solar engines for more than a century, in favor of the more efficient substance, xergoyan. But not every ship in the IURF had a Lt. Cameron Mills, whom Captain Graves patted on the shoulder as he passed him. Lt. Mills was the mastermind behind the one of a kind multiplier within Berserker One’s engine. Gil had always marvelled as its simple genius, the use of dark to increase the power of light. Gil had pretended to understand when Cameron explained the use of dark matter’s gravity to exponentially multiply light’s speed and thus its energy output. The man, who was only twenty seven and a full thirty years younger than Gil, was the first to join his crew as Lieutenant of Defense. Lt. Mills turned a grin up towards Captain Graves as he walked past.

  Captain Graves stepped past the consoles to the front of the bridge, where his chair resided. It was unconventional, the placement of the captain’s chair at the head of the bridge instead of behind his crew. Then again, most things were unconventional about Berserker One, and by its captain’s design.

  He eased himself into the red seat, which responded by swiveling and rising, facing the four lieutenant stations. While his perpetually squinted eyes crossed between his four lieutenants, their eyes lifted from their stations to watch the silver, triangular frames of two pirate ships lower into view. Alexander scurried around the curvature of the glass behind the captain’s chair, swishing his tail along its surface just beneath where the closer of the two pirate ships appeared.

  “Lucas,” spoke Captain Graves, in his usual low, rasp-tinged voice. He peered towards the short, blonde lieutenant seated right of center, mirroring Cameron’s seat from the left side. “What’s the status on the warphole?”

  “Well,” Lt. Lucas began, twisting his thinning hair in his fingers, unconsciously trying to fill it out. He compensated for his height by often sitting on one of his legs curled beneath him. Ian Lucas had been a self-described explorer with his own small vessel. The problem was most others considered him more as a trespasser. When he was caught by the IURF attempting to ride the pull of a black hole into enemy territory, “for the photo op” he claimed, he was given an ultimatum: serve a prison sentence or serve in the fleet. After hearing of Captain Graves’s new project, he opted for the latter. He looked around to the other three from behind his console. “There’s a curious thing. The only susceptible space pocket ahead of us is obstructed.”

  Captain Graves shifted in his seat, planting his elbow against its arm rest and planting his stubbly chin against his fingers. “By what?”

  Lt. Lucas shrugged. “An obstruction.”

  “We can’t identify it,” Cameron Mills piped in. He corrected his wire-rim glasses as they sat on his lengthy nose. Despite the ability to have his vision laser corrected with ease, he appreciated, as he put it, the “classic hardware” of his eyes. When word was out one of the notoriously cavalier ex-captains of the IURF was recommissioning an old junker, Gil didn’t have to find a designer. Cameron Mills was front and center for the job. Never one for the strict and masculine atmosphere aboard typical IURF ships, it was the perfect opportunity. He straightened his long, thin body in his chair for a moment, then settled back into a hunch. He brushed his brown hair from his eyes as he explained, “It’s unlike any signature we’ve seen. It’s not a ship, it’s not a warphole, it’s--”

  “A big fuckin space hole,” Ian interjected.

  “It’s really incredible,” added Lieutenant of Diplomacy Olivia McCarthy, seated to the right of Ian and nearest the wall. Her full, red lips lifted in an emphatic grin, placing dimples in her freckled cheeks. Olivia, having once played the pageant circui
t with her stunning features, opted for adventure, and conversations that transcended her appearance. Captain Graves discovered her debating the tenets of the faith known as Stellarism in a bikini backstage and decided in a moment she was needed aboard Berserker One. Just another misfit for his small, mercenary crew. They were all from the fringe, which was why they were chosen. Captain Graves commissioned the renovation of Berserker One for unconventional IURF missions. Dangerous, legally murky objectives.

  Like stealing a cache of xergoyan fuel cells from a collection of pirates known as the Belt Buccaneers, so named for camping in a risky asteroid belt. As Berserker One floated through space now, its cargo hold was loaded with completed xergoyan fuel cells, stolen direct from pirate encampments on stable asteroids.

  “Captain,” came Lt. McBride’s voice, ever calm, yet conveying urgency. She was a mystery, like the captain, but no less a misfit. Gil needed an aggressive lieutenant of arms, which was promised in McBride, who came discharged from her original IURF ship. She opted to join under the agreement that the circumstances of her initial discharge were never asked for or discussed. Captain Graves agreed begrudgingly, seeing in her some of the same that made him exceptional. She continued, “we have two pirate ships before us and another blocking rear exit. The nearest in front has locked plasma cannon. We have shields at full capacity, but--”

  “I’m aware the odds seem against us, McBride,” replied Graves. “As they so often do. But we, as Berserker One,” he swiveled his captain’s chair towards the window, “always carry loaded dice.” He rubbed his chin staring at the near pirate ship, it’s triangular shape facing directly so its nose appeared like a spearhead. He watched while the silver, cylindrical cannon barrels extended his direction. He added then, to himself, “Now where did I put those dice?”

  Two.

  Pirates

  ____________________________

  Berserker One floated stationary in space, its flank thrusters adjusting itself to retain position. The asteroids near the edge of the belt were less compacted, the pockets of space between them were large enough to permit four ships to hover in a standoff.

  As Captain Gil Graves stared through the glass into the first of the three pirate ships to take aim, he wondered what lucky break would save his neck, and the necks of the four talented lieutenants seated in the bridge behind him.

  Without turning his captain’s chair, he spoke, “Cameron, how many shots can our shield withstand?”

  Cameron Mills groaned before responding, “It’s sort of a matter of choice.”

  “Oh?” replied Captain Graves. “We have choices?”

  “Whether we’d like to die by pirate hands, or starve because we’re out of energy.”

  “Seconded,” added Ian Lucas. “The multiplier's working overtime, but she won’t put out enough to survive the battle and generate the warphole.”

  “One or the other,” Captain Graves commented, mulling over the unfavorable options. “Olivia, I don’t suppose you’re aware of a diplomatic solution that works with Belt Buccaneers?”

  “Uhh,” she began, unaiding to the room’s unease, “unless ‘indentured servant’ sounds like a fine career move to you, they don’t really settle for less than that.”

  “I rather prefer being a captain,” Gil replied. “Well, that settles it, then. Sheri, what do we have for firepower?”

  “Berserker One’s two front cannons and single rear gun are all operational and ready to engage.”

  “Engage is such a sweet word,” said Captain Graves, “except whenever it’s used by us.”

  He turned around, finally facing his crew. He took a deep breath and settled into his chair. The hum of the air systems filled the silence of the room, its five occupants deep in the consideration of their own mortality. But for Captain Graves, the consideration was an all too common one to elicit fear. Instead, he felt invigoration.

  “I don’t think they’re going to communicate, captain,” spoke Olivia solemnly.

  “Sure they are,” replied Captain Graves. “In the oldest language known to man. Cameron, raise shields and siphon what you need from the engine, we have to weather their warning shot and come out strong.”

  Cameron set to work on his console, working on its touch screen beneath him, reviewing his entries on the sudden appearance of its hologram screen before his face. Captain Graves could see, as displayed in a three dimensional model of Berserker One, the redistribution of energy as a red bar from battle, sustenance, and navigation systems to shield. They all lowered themselves to half while the red bar for shield rose to one hundred percent.

  Captain Graves swiveled back around to watch the cannon. Its tip glowed, and with a bit of hard squinting, he could watch while the glowing red sparks set off into space from its plasma payload. Its light grew in intensity, a fiery red tip that gathered from the pirate ship’s fuel source, no doubt xergoyan like the IURF ships back home. It was abundantly available in the asteroid belt they camped within. Which was was brought Berserker One to this corner of the galaxy. To essentially rob the Belt Buccaneers. It was a move justified by the IURF on the basis that the pirate organization existing in the asteroid belt was responsible for innumerable raids on IURF colonies near the belt. Staring into the glowing plasma cannon, Captain Graves didn’t need better reason to consider the Belt Buccaneers his enemy.

  The shot fired, launching its spherical, glowing red missile tailing fainter red for a stretch of space behind it. It was beautiful for a length of one and a half seconds prior to its impending collision with his ship. “Hold on!” he called out.

  The plasma burst into a bright explosion against Berserker One’s shield, the red spreading out against it like wildfire, then dissipating as it sizzled at its edges, spark floating into the blackness of space. For the moment it broke apart against the ship’s defense, the shield was visible as a blue wall encasing them, but the force of the blast radiated a seismic wave through the body of Berserker One, causing its crew to brace against it, clinging to their seats.

  “First shots never cease to catch me off guard,” Captain Graves muttered. He peered up into the second ship, just behind and to the right of the first, whose cannon was also close to firing. “Lovely.” He called back over his shoulder, “Lt. Mills, redistribute energy from defense shields back into battle cannons. Lt. McBride, take aim on the leading pirate ship with the cannons, then pull up the rear gun on your console.”

  “Sorry, captain?” she replied.

  Gil cleared his throat. It itched when he had to repeat himself. “You heard me, lieutenant.”

  “Yes, captain,” she dutifully replied.

  “Lt. Lucas,” Gil called back again, rubbing the stubble beneath his chin, watching the second pirate ship’s cannon as it prepared itself for the onslaught. “Pull half the defense energy for boosters. On my say, launch us forward.”

  “Oh, Lords of the Seven Suns,” Olivia muttered, shrinking into her seat, lifting her shoulders and grimacing.

  “Yes,” Gil replied. “Seven lords ought to do it.” The red tip of the cannon reached its peak luminosity. “Go!”

  Lt. Lucas slammed his fist excitedly down on his console and the ship shot into motion just as the second enemy ship launched its cannon. The plasma sphere soared past the defenseless Berserker One, dissipating into space behind them. Their ship glided beneath the three triangular agitators, Lt. Lucas driving the old beast as best he could at their speed, maneuvering between a pair of asteroids and beneath the menacing forms of the pirate ships. The captain and crew watched as their enemy zoomed towards them, then went overhead, and though they could not see them, their eyes continued to stare upward into the ceiling of the bridge. Gil nodded. “Fire, Lt. McBride.”

  Sheri had loaded the interface for the rear gunner before her, an image of its sights appearing as a hologram hovering over her console. With careful consideration of her targets, she stared intently into their image, then fired. While Lt. Mills kept focus on the thrusters and the fo
rward momentum of Berserker One, Lt. McCarthy and Lt. Mills turned their heads to the display before Lt. McBride as she showered the enemy’s rear gunners with a hail of fire. One by one, they were barraged. Then, each in succession burst into balls of fire, long fingers of red licking out into space, then dissipating, followed by a collection of junk and a pair of bodies sucked into the vacuum before the pirates scrambled to shut off the gunners from the rest of the ship. Pirates always split their energy between assault and defense for only the front of their ships. They had little mind for tact. While Gil knew this and could take advantage, it was still only the beginning of the fight.

  “Alright, now bank!”

  Lt. Lucas twisted his hands in the hologram presented before him to hard turn the ship back towards their enemy, catching their rear. Their bodies were thrown to the left sides of their chairs as the ship made its pivot, each bracing themselves to keep from being thrown against the wall. “Up, Ian, up,” Gil quietly coached, and Ian, sweating from the strain of holding his position in his seat, pulled back on the hologram controls and the ship slowly rose, the nose lifting. The enemy ships once again came into view, though now their rears. Gil could see, soaring at some indeterminate distance, the round they had brazenly dodged, and its lengthy tail reaching back to the cannon of the second ship.

  Gil turned his head over his shoulder. “Sheri, I believe you know what to do now.”

  Lt. McBride nodded and engaged the enemy with Berserker One’s pair of front cannons, both focused on the back of the center ship. It would separate their tight formation, which was a good shot at defeating the traditionally-minded pirates, who would confuse easily off script.

  The plasma rounds launched into space, splitting the dark with their red tails, two twin lines racing side by side, glittering in their wake. Then they reached their destination, the back right side of the middle pirate ship, the first to fire on Berserker One. Without defense shields, the rounds buried deep into the body of the triangular ship, then exploded outward, jettisoning the inner materials into the expanse. Pirate bodies, and pieces of pirate bodies, floated lifeless amidst a cloud of metal pieces that emerged from the initial fireball.