by Ronan Frost
"Do you think it's the natives again, sir?" asked Logrid. The first gas canister had killed nearly two hundred soldiers, and another unused canister had been found near the main gate.
"No," returned Ryloth. "It can't be the natives. Something has shorted command link to Avatar - either that, or Avatar herself had been destroyed."
"Impossible."
"Then how do you explain this mess?" barked Ryloth. His eyes never left the screen as he spoke to Logrid. "Have you tried to get through to the Rplore?"
"Several times." Logrid himself had been assigned to the Rplore, as had many of the footsoldiers, but nearly all the equipment was controlled by the superior computer system of the Urisa. "The Rplore isn't connected to our network here, but I managed to get a manual signal through. The Rplore is trying to re-connect and take over from Avatar."
Ryloth nodded. "How long until the Rplore takes over."
The young technician shook his head. "She's busy hooking up to the Dropzone. Computer control has been lost there, too." Logrid paused. "Sir, Force Master Loakar is ordering a retreat."
"Affirmative," Ryloth said. "Overheating has reached critical - if we don't shut down the generators everything will go."
"But sir, shutting down the generators will terminate the robot sentries, the air-scrubber, the perimeter fencing-"
"I know," interrupted Ryloth. "There isn't much choice. Shut her down."
Logrid hesitated. "On whose authority? To turn the generators off I need authorisation from Ava-"
"You've got my authorisation. Do it now!"
The warning signal had been sounded over the complex and the intense wailing assaulted their ears as soon as they emerged from the building. Ryloth dimmed the auditory monitor on his warsuit, fading the volume to a more tolerable level. Together he and Logrid raced down the stone stairs, through defunct rows of machinery, heading for the vehicle bay. Ryloth had sealed his warsuit as soon as they had stepped outside and Logrid had fitted a white, angular helmet to his padded helicasuit.
The command to shut down the robotics had quite literally frozen the Hartrias establishment where it stood. Four huge bulldozers had begun on the foundation where the Skycannon was to be situated but now the worksite was silent. Logrid was first to round the corner, and thus first to see the carnage that had ensued.
Ryloth was there a second later, his large bore rifle cocked and targeting. Sensors flashed negative as he scanned the close-packed environment.
"They're all dead," he said through the microphone inside his suit.
Logrid nodded dumbly. He too held his long barrelled pistol at the ready, wavering it uncertainly.
"What happened here?"
"Looks like the grinders lost control," Ryloth grunted. "Those poor bastards were supervising the flattening of that wall when the machines must have turned upon them."
Logrid winced. Red-green blood splattered up the walls of the enclosure, limbs laying shredded over the flagstones. Squat yellow machines lay buried in the mound of flesh, silent.
"Come on, let's move."
Logrid did not argue and immediately followed after Ryloth. They moved through darkened corridors, dead lights overhead like empty husks, and everywhere the story was the same. It seemed in that moment before Avatar had lost contact all the machines had overloaded, careening wildly and taking the lives of those nearby.
A red light flashed suddenly on the panel inside Ryloth's faceplate. He crouched to a halt.
"Something's moving up there."
"Could be a guard," tried Logrid.
Ryloth shook his head. "Moving too fast. Whatever it is it's closing."
Tension built in Logrid's chest, pulling his heart like a drumskin. He exhaled heavily with relief as the advancing shadow raced closer, revealing an angular black frame upon three widely spaced rubber wheels.
"It's a perimeter droid," he grinned. He opened his mouth to say more but all that emerged was a cough as rifle fire shattered around them. Ryloth was screaming through his earset, bawling for him to take cover, take cover! Logrid rolled, lost traction, and skidded uncontrollably. When he regained his senses Ryloth was already on his feet and moving.
"Run, you fool!" shouted the war veteran. "That droid is firing at us!"
Nothing could describe the knot of fear wrenching in Logrid's stomach. The command-link at his belt was dead - there was no calling for assistance from Avatar. He cursed as he realised he couldn't get Avatar to give him an update of the situation; why the droid had fired upon them. Without Avatar he felt at sea with nowhere to turn.
Ryloth had turned back and hauled Logrid to his feet. "That droid isn't stopping to think," he said. "We've got to pull out and head back to the Dropzone."
His slender pistol at his side, Logrid raced down the empty street, breath harsh and panting. Ryloth, however, moved quickly and effortlessly in the hydraulically assisted warsuit. His voice was calm and unstrained over the two-way. "Looks like we've found where everyone is."
Logrid paused for a moment, suddenly overwhelmed with the stunning mass of motion before them. footsoldiers and officers alike clambered into large tracked vehicles with confused and hurried motions. A Hartrias solider in full battle armour stood picket duty and raced over as soon as he saw Ryloth and his slender companion arrive. Without Avatar the intercom system was severely compromised - there was no longer any troop co-ordination or communication. The watchman's face was shadowed through the yellow tinted visor as he moved closer to examine the newcomers' badges.
The watchman saluted smartly as he noticed Ryloth's insignia. "Sir! The vehicle is ready to go."
Ryloth examined the solider and the evacuation runners in turn. "Who's in command here?"
"Sir, without the computer system we can't give any sort of orders. We've relied too heavily on Avatar, and now she's gone we're in the dark."
Ryloth nodded, for he knew the feeling. All of a sudden they were all strangers to one another. "There is a malfunctioning droid back there," he said. "Killed at least four men."
"Yessir," replied the watchman. "Every machine has either frozen or gone berserk. That's why we're pulling out - the warbots are locking onto any moving target and frying it. A scout flier has also signalled that the natives have escaped."
"The containment cell lost power?"
The watchman nodded. "The air scrubbers are down and the secondary air tanks will only hold out another six hours. If we try to attack the natives without scrubbed air..."
"We're prone to another attack with their chemical bomb," finished Ryloth coldly. "So we have to step back and let them reclaim the city."
"Until reinforcements." The watchman started to look nervous. "If you'd board the vehicle..."
Ryloth opened his mouth to speak but his voice was droned out as an earth-shattering rumble went through underfoot. He turned in time to see movement flash, a split second later a blast of yellow explosion rippling outwards. The three Sunlords fell back as storage tanks erupted in a ball of flame, catching and spreading blistering heat. Flying wedges of steel arced out, embedding into and pushing the watchman's back, forcing him face down onto the slab as if pushed by a powerful hand.
Logrid caught Ryloth's shoulder.
"Come with me!" he shouted. "I've got an Anton on standby."
"You're a rider?" Ryloth cursed beneath his breath, casting a glance up. He saw the caterpillar-like vehicles carrying the other Hartrias soldiers had already begun to pull out. There wasn't much choice.
"I'm going to hate you for this," he growled. Anton Sleds were sleek nosed three wheeled vehicles that looked like a hybrid between an fighter jet and a motorcycle. They could seat three plus driver, powered by a huge high revving engine. Anton Sleds were used primarily as scout craft but could employ the use of twin machine guns mounted either side of the fuselage to become an assault vehicle.
Logrid's snoutlike Hartrias mouth pulled up into a grin. "It'll get us away faster than that tank."
Ryloth hesitated
for a second more. Sled riders had a reputation of being foolhardy and suicidal, and Ryloth knew the high risks involved. But there seemed to be no choice.
They scrambled to their feet, down a side alley leading directly to the auxiliary vehicle bay.
* * *
To: High Command Establishment 9832 (L/Cn-41a)
Message received from Sub Commander Class 8, B. RYLOTH; ID 907543-B
Term: 1893 : 58-14
Message begins:
PATCH SIGNALS USED DUE TO THE DEACTIVATION OF LONG RANGE RADAR TRANSMISSION LINES. HAVE EVACUATED SKYCANNON 8. PROCEEDING DIRECTLY TO CENTRAL ESTABLISHMENT. STATUS OF PERSONNEL MANNING SKYCANNON 8: UNKNOWN, ESTIMATE: HIGH LOSS. MACHINERY AND EQUIPMENT ABANDONED. SITE HAS BECOME DANGEROUS REPEAT SITE IS DANGEROUS. SCOUT FLIERS RECORD CAPTURED NATIVES HAVE ESCAPED WHEN MAIN POWER SYSTEMS FAILED. NATIVES HAVE RETAKEN THE CITY. REINVADING SITE NON PROFITABLE AS AIR SCRUBBERS ARE NON OPERATIVE. ETA: 5.89 HOURS.
Message ends.
* * *
Those nearest the gate watched in silent awe as the gate clicked and swung ponderously outwards. It took a full second before comprehension finally sunk in.
"The gate's open!"
The cry quickly spread, and in seconds a few of the younger currach had mounted enough courage to step out, revelling with the feel of grass under their bare feet.
Locantar felt a hand pulling him to his feet. Still dazed from his state of meditation it took the old man a few moments to pull together his thoughts. "What's happening?"
Josian held his master close as they were swept along the rushing tide of currach heading towards the door. "Your prayers have been answered!"
A group of energetic currach banded together and set about scouting the area. By the time Locantar had stepped from the cage the scouts had already returned. Their news came in confused snippets, but after several accounts Locantar knew that Abas' power had routed the Sunlords from his city.
In the red glow of sunset Locantar walked, makeshift staff in hand, through the swarming currach running excitedly through the city streets, marvelling at the sudden stroke of good fortune. And unseen by all, Mosata the hunchback stood in the shadows deepening by the cage, shaking his head in wonder and for a moment considering that the old priest may have been right.
Locantar paused, listening and smelling. A warm gentle smile spread across the old man's face, and he knew justified faith.
* * *
"Closing in," the astronavigator mumbled. "Exit point clear...3, 2, 1…"
Captain Ryson Lockhart pivoted in the command chair, looking down from his raised vantage point over the control pit where a team of five tech officers operated. The central holographic display blurred then snapped into sharp focus and the image of a starship unfolded into three dimensions.
"Stealth systems engaged," came the dulcet, mechanically toned voice over the speaker. Sections of the holographic ship filled in blue as Lockhart watched. Nodding satisfaction, the square jawed commander spun to face the astronavigator's console two metres away.
"Now we'll see if that message was authentic," he commented gruffly.
The astronavigator was too engrossed in watching the banks of numbers upon the screen to notice Lockhart speak. Instead the comminations jockey tapped with a light pen at the touch sensitive screen before her. The comm banks lined the right edge of the wedge-shaped bridge; a massive wall of blinking consoles and displays that took many years of academy schooling to master. Lockhart knew the comm-jockey personally and had served with her for several tours of duty; Loriena was a ruggedly attractive woman who's expertise with a comm bank had saved the ship countless times. She tilted her chair about to face the commander. "Still no sign of any Hartrias ships. All bands are clear so far. I have my doubts about that message - it could be a trap to lure us here."
Lockhart's eyes were icy blue beneath thick grey eyebrows and beard. "We're on yellow alert, and we're coming out of jumpspace six hundred thousand kays from our specified destination. Any attack we should be prepared for." Lockhart spun to his right. "Engines ready?"
The technician seated before that particular bank of screens nodded. "Still deactivated due to jumpspace travel, but as soon as we're out systems will engage."
Captain Lockhart placed both hands upon the arms of the chair, his eyes fixed in space as his mind wandered for a moment. The ship he commanded, the Federation Scoutship Scoipre, was one of the fastest in the fleet. The design stemming from a medium sized attack craft, the Scoipre's shield and weaponry systems had been removed to make room for the three massive Class IV engines and bulky acceleration compensators. Also aboard the scoutship were the most advanced technical equipment and long range scanners of the time. Since the war had begun human factories had turned up production, spewing out new technology and machinery at an incredible rate. The scoutship Scoipre was a product of multi-spatial cooperation as fifty-six colonised planets worked together to form the components of the ship. The Scoipre's history was extensive; although it had only been in service for two years it had scouted a thousand star systems and had assisted in thirty battles.
The astrogator's hail commanded everyone's attention. "Exit point now!"
Lockhart gripped the metal arm. There was nothing to be done but wait as the screens showing blurred space cleared, slowly resolving into stars and galaxies as the narrow shark-like starship slowed.
"I have multiple readings from heading 143/089."
"Identification?" Captain Lockhart snapped.
"No ID signals emitted, but they are definitely Hartrias warships. Two - in orbit."
A green bar lit over the top of the holographic display. The recorded voice came over the loudspeaker. "Stealth systems engaged. Power systems charging..." Below the green bar a yellow one slowly grew from left to right.
Now Lockhart had time to see the surroundings. The star system was shown on the rightmost display, a small blue planet a speck barely larger than a star in the distance. The computer systems enlarged the image and Lockhart couldn't help but notice the planet looked a lot like Earth. He snapped alert as movement caught the corner of his eye. Again the computer zoomed to reveal an arrowhead formation of Sova-1 fighters arcing in.
"They've spotted us," he muttered, his face set as if carved from granite.
"Stealth systems have activated now, sir," said the technician. "This new Skeeter technology should keep us cloaked until we refire the boosters."
Lockhart was indecisive for a moment as he watched the computer enhanced picture of the twenty odd Sova-1 fighters close in. They must have been on patrol in this sector to be able to attack an incoming ship so quickly, he mused. Lockhart watched the red dots representing the fighters draw closer to the central crosshairs on the 3D radar, his sinewy hands gripping tighter.
"Keep the engines off," he ordered. The stealth system would only work on a non-accelerating body. He felt a tightness in his gut - it was not normal battle strategy to drift uncontrolled through space, yet that was what they had to do if they were to stay undercover. The Skeeter's system was newly implemented and barely beyond the experimental stage, accounting for a tenseness for all of those aboard the battleship.
Lockhart did not take his eyes from the radar, his voice steady and unwavering. "I trust you already have a full report and readout on that planet and starships, Tech Officer Waterly." It was not a question.
"Yes sir. Coming through now, and dispatching to Central."
The air crackled with tension as the red dots blinked closer. Lockhart knew immediately his mission target had been achieved - the message the Federation had received was authentic: this was the Critical Point. For three weeks all craft entering jumpspace had fallen into this trap, and now the Scoipre had finally located it thanks to the mysterious transmission received earlier.
"Prepare to engage engines," ordered Lockhart. "Set the co-ords for our exit point. As soon as those Sova-1 fighters have past we get out of here."
Tech Officer Waterly watched the fla
t screen with growing awe as data from the Scoipre's extensive scanning equipment worked upon the multitude of readings. Radar had detected multiple cannon bases on the planet, and together with the two Hartrias warships in orbit they formed enough firepower to challenge even the Federation's best. The Scoipre's only hope was to use her powerful engines to stay out of reach of the enemy warfleet.
Captain Lockhart tensed in the chair and his finger depressed a button on the side console. "Engine Master? If those Sova-1's get beyond the second perimeter activate primary thrusters and set course one seven three, two six five." Lockhart watched for the holo radar a moment longer. Had the Hartrias been able to locate them in those few seconds before the stealth system had activated? It seemed they had for the Sova-1 fighters seemed to be heading straight for them. The outer perimeter zone had just been breached.
"They've got us on optical!" cursed Lockhart with sudden vehemence. "Accelerate!"
Almost immediately the deck swayed beneath like an old fashioned yacht lurching on the waves. The Scoipre's three huge engines growled into sudden life, slewing the ship up to bring the shark-like prow around. The three circular thrust ports glowed bright white like small suns, but the incredible power was not enough to escape the highly manoeuvrable Sova-1 fighters.
Lockhart slammed against the side of the command chair as the Scoipre jerked and rocked as if shaken by a giant hand. The second blast came almost immediately after, jolting the ship upwards. Ruefully rubbing an almost dislocated jaw Lockhart tapped quick commands into the computer.
"Stabiliser's damaged," came a mechanised voice over the wailing sirens and warning beeps. "Port oxygen scrubber inoperative."
Captain Lockhart exhaled quickly, allowing himself a moment of consolation. The damage wasn't bad - the ship could operate without the stabiliser and the remaining scrubber would suffice. But he knew the Scoipre could not sit and take such punishment.