Sunlord

by Ronan Frost

  "Subman Mitchell - why aren't we in jumpspace?"

  "I'm having some trouble sir." The officer did not pause from his task, traces of fear and panic rising through his features. "There's something wrong. There are thousands of jumptunnels - too many - and they are all blocked. Something's stopping us from getting into them!"

  "Mitchell!" Captain Lockhart waited until the sweating thin boned officer turned his gaze away from the monitor. Looking his straight in the eye, Lockhart growled;

  "Don't lose your head. Keep trying to get us into them. Meanwhile keep us moving on a course at one seven three."

  The astronav blinked, retinal implants in his eyes whirling as they focused on Lockhart. "But sir, that vector will put us right into them..." Mitchell's mind was quick, and he realised Lockhart's intent immediately. "Slingshot effect?"

  "Do it. That's the only way we're going to get enough velocity to pull away. Once we've reached optimal speed we engage stealth systems and drift free."

  "The Hartrias may be able to track us down," put in the astronav.

  "All the more reason to take us lower and faster to the planet to boost the slingshot effect." Lockhart's heart was beating loud in his ears, but his breathing was controlled as he keyed in the Engine Master's intercom again and ordered full power. He then ordered an SOS sent to the Federation fleet, along with the full readout the Scoipre had obtained. Captain Lockhart knew that the odds were against his small scout ship surviving, but he was determined the information they had come here for would not be lost with them. Even though the Hartrias had managed to block their path into jumpspace hopefully a small message pod would go undetected.

  The Scoipre swung around into a one-eighty degree turn and the swarm of attacking Hartrias fighters lost their quarry for a moment. The hammerhead scoutship shot forward, drawing upon the full might of its engines. Surplus computer equipment shut down, as did most of the radar equipment, in an effort to reroute all available power.

  The manoeuvre confused the Hartrias for the precious few seconds the Scoipre needed. Before the Sova-1's had managed to turn and reform their combat formation the Federation ship had built considerable speed, and was pulling away. Looking into the radar display scope Lockhart saw the Hartrias fighter ships had dispersed and slowed like a falling net. He knew the Hartrias command must be confused by the Scoipre's sudden vector alteration as the ship they were pursuing sudden turned back into them. Now the Sova-1's formed a blanket behind them, ensuring the Federation ship could not escape as they were forced closer to the Hartrias warships' guns.

  "Sir - request to divert some power to forward shields. A head on attac-"

  "Negative!" bawled Lockhart, silencing the tech officer immediately. "I want all power to engines." Lockhart also knew the Scoipre's shields would be next to useless against a warcannon; their only hope was evasion. It was a gamble he had to take.

  "Slingshot vector is set," said Mitchell a trifle uncertainly. The alarm sirens had been muted, leaving the sounds of clinking metal on metal, the rapid tattoo of fingers tapping at keyboards and the steady rumbling of the engines through the deck. The astronav pulled the padded earphones away from his head for a moment. "I've put us as low as possible without hitting atmosphere."

  "And the ground based cannons?"

  Mitchell brought up another display on his flat screen. "The computer has given us the optimal route based on the data we picked up earlier."

  Lockhart nodded. He watched as the image of the planet appeared in the holographic display constructed of see-through 'wires' like lines of latitude and longitude. What was the name of this planet anyway? Had it every been given a name? It seemed strange how this backwater end of the universe had suddenly become the centre of attention - entire empires focused about a nameless planet.

  "Sir," said Subman Mitchell "The concentration of jumptunnels is increasing exponentially. At this rate they'll be solid by the time we reach the planet." He drew a gloved hand over a sweating brow. "I've never seen anything like it..."

  "Keep your mind on the task," growled Lockhart, suddenly regretting he had recruited such an inexperienced officer on his team. A fully qualified jumpspace technician was one thing, but in the heat of battle it all came down to experience and the ability to keep a cool head. "Keep trying to plot us a jumptunnel. The Hartrias must have some sort of blocking device, and I want you to find a chink in their armour. Got it?"

  Wide eyed and fully aware he was rapidly falling out of favour Mitchell nodded and turned back to his console.

  Flashing like a silver fish through shallow water, the Scoipre darted closer to the planet that now loomed huge against the backdrop of stars. Lockhart watched the holo-map, brows furrowing.

  "Those Hartrias warships aren't moving in to attack," he commented.

  "Perhaps they are confident the land-based cannons will be able to take us out," replied Loriena. She paused, hand raised to the small speaker in her ear. "Wait...I've picked up two squadrons of fighters."

  Lockhart nodded; he recognised the attack formation immediately. "They are Daml bombers and I-T fighters." The I-T fighter was a larger version of the Sova-1, a crew of three and increased firepower making it a more formidable foe. But Lockhart's attention was still focused elsewhere. "I can't get those warships out of my mind - something's wrong. Astronav - give me a plot for their position when we reach our perihelion."

  Mitchell took only a few moments to plot the trajectory. "Both Hartrias ships will be on the opposite side of the planet, sir. They are sticking close together."

  Lockhart shook his head. "I don't like it - why don't they split up and cut off our vector?"

  His question was left unanswered. The Scoipre suddenly hit the wall of I-T crossfire, electricity running the length of her hull as the craft bucked wildly. Computer screens blanked out momentarily and overhead lights dimmed suddenly before the emergency power circuits kicked in.

  Lockhart's square jaw clenched, muscles bungling beneath his austere flight suit. He had been in many battles before, but a scout craft was never meant to fight solo. Calling upon years of experience Lockhart fought down the urge of panic and forced his mind to focus; he would need all the skill he could muster if they were to survive.

  The massive battleship Rplore hung in orbit around the planet, multiple retro engines flashing yellow wedges of fire. Great steel claws linked the Rplore with the smaller ship, the Urisa. Final adjustments were made to keep the Rplore close as two more docking mechanisms were linked.

  Aboard the cylindrical two-kilometre long warship Force Master Loakar oversaw the progress via a panel of monitors and computer readout screens. An exterior camera recorded the slow and awkward extension of the docking claws as they pulled the crippled Urisa closer. A second later atmospheric sensors in the aft docking bay dropped to zero as the doors opened to space.

  Loakar spoke into the voice activated comm-link. "Weaponsmaster Treah - is docking complete?"

  The central screen blanked and filled with static for a second before turning black as a distorted voice came over the speaker system.

  "The tugs have pushed the Urisa into position," Treah reported. "Repair crews are already working on Avatar, but without parts the best they can hope for is a temporary fix. Meanwhile we'll have to keep that Federation ship off our back."

  Loakar growled low in his throat and clenched his fists at his side in a Hartrias gesture of frustration. He knew that without Avatar the Urisa could not accelerate away or activate her cannons. Nobody knew what had caused the chain reaction which had destroyed Avatar's massive databanks and had come close to putting the Urisa out of orbit. It was only the efforts of the Rplore that had saved the Urisa from falling planetward like a meteorite. Now that Admiral Karthorn had been killed responsibility for both the Rplore and the Urisa fell upon the Force Master's shoulders until makeshift repairs were made.

  "The Rplore will dispose of the Federation cruiser," Loakar growled. "We've blocked access to the jumptunnels to pre
vent them escaping and the legion of Sova-1's should be more than sufficient to finish them."

  Weaponsmaster Treah's voice was hurried and abrupt as a clanging sound reverberated around him. "I'll patch an update to you at 0980, sir." Without another word the comm link snapped silent.

  Loakar was straightening when the midshipman came bolting down the stairwell into the closed confines of the communications room. The officer stood to brisk attention, saluting sharply with a fist across his chest.

  "Sir, the Federation ship has changed course and is heading directly for us."

  Loakar's brows furrowed. "What? Why haven't the Sova-1's finished them off?" Loakar was already starting for the stairs, the midshipman hurrying to keep up as they headed for the control bridge.

  "We've obtained a positive ID signal, sir," said the radar operator as soon as they stepped into the openness of the bridge. Three huge VDUs were before them showing the vast blackness of space.

  "It's a scout craft." Loakar placed himself in control chair and flicking switches to bring the board up from status.

  The radar operator was stunned for a moment. "Yes sir - class four Federation scout. How did you know?"

  "The speed at which they've moved far surpasses even the Sova-1's engines, and the only craft able to outrun our fighters are scouts. Now my suspicions are confirmed; the Federation know we are here."

  "Logical deduction," came a cool voice in Loakar's ear. The speaker stepped around, revealing himself to be a dark robed, towering figure. Cold icy blue eyes glinted from the sunken folds of his reptilian Hartrias face, a wry grin across his face.

  "De'olorn," breathed Loakar, a little annoyed that the Adviser had managed to startle him. "Do you think the Federation know the Urisa is crippled?"

  De'olorn grinned an empty smile devoid of mirth. As an Adviser he had served twenty years on the bridge and his opinion was highly valued. "It is a scout equipped with sensors, after all. But no, I don't think their purpose is to attack - not with an armament of that size."

  Loakar was not convinced. He punched the intercom and started speaking even before the line had cleared.

  "Weasponsmaster Treah? Report immediately."

  This time Treah's holographic image appeared on the nearby console, his brows raised in evident surprise before managed a curt salute. "Captain! The docking procedure is not yet comp-"

  "Forget that!" cut off Loakar. "Put the droids on hold. I want you to close what hatches and links you can and draw the Urisa as close as possible." Seeing Treah's incomprehension, the Force Master continued. "The Federation ship is circling around and coming for us. They may be no weaponry aboard but I don't want to take any chances; arm the cannons and deflector shields. The Urisa is to be defended at all costs."

  Treah responded affirmative and closed the link. Loakar turned back to the radar operator.

  "Have you a heading and vector?"

  "Uncertain still."

  "Keep at it." Loakar turned to the class three droid at his side. "Notify the Kingdom that the Federation has discovered the critical point. The time for stealth is past - order the entire fleet to our aid. Until the Royal Fleet arrives we shall hold L/Cn-41a."

  "Keep it loose," breathed Lockhart almost to himself. "Keep the course drifting a few degrees to shake off their fire." The Scoipre started to vibrate and the floor beneath shook and lurched as they skimmed atmosphere.

  "Missile detected sector four!" shouted the tech officer.

  Lockhart leant forward in the chair. "Evasive action. Drop us lower!"

  The agile craft responded immediately. Captain Lockhart felt his stomach lurch as they plummeted downwards like a rollercoaster, the walls around him clinking metal on metal. There was a sudden slamming force from port side as the missile shot past, missing the worn hull of the Scoipre by mere centimetres. The Scoipre pulled up, recovering her initial course and pulling out of the steep descent. The planet was close now, hanging upside down on the viewports ahead of them as the scout craft executed the final leg of its manoeuvre. In approximately three minutes they would be back into space, their speed increased threefold due to the slingshot effect.

  Lockhart spoke firm and authoritatively. "Engage stealth systems as soon as acceleration drops below minimum level. I want all engines and non-essential equipment closed down for silent running."

  His command was accepted and relayed into the computer system. As Lockhart sat in the chair he felt an increase in temperature. Thinking it first to be due to his own adrenalin rush, it took him a few minutes before he finally became conscious of the fact that his cheeks were burning. It was at that precise instant that a warning trill sounded over the comm systems. Tech Officer Waterly gasped and tore the headphones from his ears.

  "Engine leak! Engine one has overheated and is verging on meltdown!"

  Captain Lockhart bowed his head, cursing inwardly to the god that had twisted this horrible mess about them. It was with sudden anger and determination that Lockhart snapped his head up.

  "Seal off engine one," he commanded. "Fire control systems activated."

  Watching the seconds tick past Lockhart held his breath as numbers on the digital pad climbed. Then Scoipre was free - blasting through the emptiness of space on two of its three engines as the planet fell behind. The sleek craft rocked as if it were an aircraft through turbulence as invisible bolts of laser fire cut through their path. More than once the Scoipre's superior computer system proved its worth as it detected incoming beams and moved to avoid them, but it could not avoid everything and systems were going down all over the ship.

  Captain Lockhart watched the rear display monitors as the two Hartrias motherships dwindled into the distance. "They didn't attack," he breathed. "We were lucky." They still had a tail of Sova-1's and I-T fighters that sped closer.

  It would be a battle to see which craft could accelerate quickest. Lockhart's bearish fingers clenched about cold steel for he knew it would take only a few more minutes before their larger ship had enough inertia to shake off her pursuers.

  A few minutes which they simply did not have.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A Clash of Blades.

  Our life was but a battle and a march

  And like the wind's blast, never-resting, homeless,

  We stormed across the war-convulsed heath.

  - Friedrich Von Schiller.

  Shaun regained consciousness slowly, picking up the rags of his thoughts as a flood of pain blotted his mind. His first instinctive reaction was to try to move, and after long moments of wrenching found that his legs were trapped. He tried to move his toes experimentally, panic rising in his chest. Numb below the waist, he pushed his hands against wreckage, lifting and twisting in an effort to free himself. As his vision cleared he saw the interior of the escape pod was a chaos of broken machines and buckled steel; braces and sheets jutting all angles like the debris of a collapsed skyscraper. The roof of the pod had been cloven clean open as if it were the gut of a fish, and through this jagged opening Shaun saw a green and purple canopy of trees and soft rays of sunlight.

  "Shaun? Are you in there?"

  Startled, Shaun looked around, but could see nothing in the cramped confines of the wreckage. He drew in a breath and called as loud as he was able.

  "I'm here. Damn it - I'm stuck!"

  There was silence for a few more minutes. Shaun could do nothing but wait as sounds of someone clearing away debris came closer. He felt his head start to swim as the noxious fumes of the spatial-fuel began to affect him. There must be a leak in the tanks, he thought. It would only take a single spark for the whole thing to go up in a ball of flame. Steadily the level of fuel grew deeper as the tanks emptied themselves into the cabin. Trapped and immobile, Shaun watched and waited as pools of the murky liquid grew, a fine bead of sweat breaking out on his forehead.

  "Ashian! Hurry up for God's sake!"

  There was no reply. Shaun tried again to prise his legs free but he could not get an inch of leew
ay. If only he could move his arms around, but the wreckage seemed to have collapsed about him like a coffin. Only that narrow gash in the roof kept him calm for he was able to stare out and watch the gentle swaying of the tops of the trees, keeping a lid on his claustrophobia. It seemed a generation before the tinkling and scrapping of the rescue party finally broke through. Four small fingers edged into view and pulled back a panel of steel, freeing the way for a small insectile to peer through.

  "Ashian," breathed Shaun with relief. "What's kept you?"

  The native looked weary and beaten. A cobweb of fresh bright red blood stained his cheek and his hands were bruised and cut in a thousand places. Despite his ailments Ashian did not wince as he shuffled his feet through the twisted remains of the pod's floor and started to free Shaun.

  A painful jab of pins and needles coursed through the veins of Shaun's legs as the wreckage was lifted. Shaun could not help but curse and clench his fists as the strangely excruciating sensation continued with limitless magnitude. It felt as if both legs were being jabbed with countless tiny knives that wrenched at his flesh. Were pins and needles a good sign? Shaun didn't know.

  Gradually the pain began to subside and he was able to move. With Ashian's assistance he was able to slide forward on his belly to finally free himself. They wasted no time in clambering back out of the ruined pod, and although Shaun found movement pushed pain levels sky high he forced himself onward, thinking only of getting out.

  He was surprised and relieved when they finally half-fell, half-rolled down the fire-blackened side of the pod and splashed into a shallow swamp. The thick mat of growth cushioned his fall and Shaun regained his footing soon after, the muddy water only knee deep. Coughing and spluttering he wiped away the tendrils of knotted wet hair that had fallen forward over his eyes and blinked hard a few times. The smells and sounds of the forest hit him at once, overpowering him. Strange birds flew overhead, twittering alien tunes. The air was cool, fresh and somehow refreshing after the choked confines of the escape pod.