by Ronan Frost
Screens on the main display showed the appearance of a small craft broadcasting Federation identification as they dropped from jumpspace. Man and machine worked in silent and faultless precision as shields and armoury hummed into life. The data received from the scout ship proved correct and already the Berana was moving towards the planet.
Flanking either side of the Berana were two similar sized battleships, the Ki and the Lanceman. All three Federation ships were the largest class in the fleet equipped with eight sets of plasma cannons, multiple smart missile launchers, swivel-mounted laser beams and ports for disposing loads of planetary offensive viral and chemical bombs. But no matter the armament and computer systems ingrained into the ship, success rested upon human shoulders - a single wrong decision could spell disaster for the multi-million dollar hardware.
McMillan's eyes narrowed. "Launch squadrons one through tae six - flank and lead oor vector. Ah want the Minnows intercepting any enemy fighter resistance."
* * *
Grabbing his flight suit up in one hand combat pilot Richael Lowry raced down the narrow corridors towards the flight deck. The hall was empty as his heavy boots ran upon the metal grating of the floor, shrugging into the jacket and sealing the air-tight fasteners with one hand.
Pulling around a corner Richael came face to face with the droid. Screeching to a halt Richael at last found time to sling the helmet over his head, and, tilting his neck, began to connect it to the metal rimmed collar of the flight suit.
"Authorisation required," spat the droid tonelessly.
Richael flipped the inside of chest pocket, displaying his code and holo-image. The droid scanned the bar code.
"Access to this area is denied, Flightman Lowry."
Richael paused in his task of pulling on his gloves. "What do you mean? I'm assigned to one of the Minnows in squadron two...here, I've authorisation-"
"That is not required, Flightman," interrupted the droid. "Squadron two has already left dock."
"You mean I missed them?" Richael pulled his helmet off slowly.
"General McMillan ordered immediate deployment of all Minnow squadrons. Your alert siren was activated but the fleet could not wait upon your presence."
Richael scowled and beat a nearby locker with his fist. Cursing and flexing a suddenly painful hand he spun desperately about on the spot. "Is there another squadron due to leave?"
The droid was silent for a moment as it processed. "Affirmative. Squadron five is still pressurised and going through pre-flight - "
But Richael was already gone. The young starpilot raced back out the way he had come, his helmet in one hand and flight suit bag in the other. The distance was not long and a minute later he came to an open door, his heart beating but his breathing steady.
Richael flipped his ID badge at the Flight Control officer, waiting and hoping there was still a craft free. He had travelled halfway across the universe and spent five years in military training for this moment and he wasn't going to miss it for the world.
The FC officer briefly inspected the badge and consulted his handheld computerised notebook. "You're lucky, son. There's a Minnow in dock five-kappa prepped. You shall be flying with squadron five - you know the drill? Hurry up, they leave in two minutes."
Hardly daring to believe his luck Richael nodded and started off at a brisk walk, once again fitting the helmet over his head. Then he walked out of the corridor, and caught his breath with the sight of squadron five's dock.
The docking area was huge - the air space large enough to hold a deep-space container. On the far side of the dock were two sliding steel doors locked closed that was the exit into space. Unlike Hartrias half-gravity docks, Federation ships had docks in full gravity and used powerful machinery in lifting and locking ships into their respective ports. Both side walls were lined in what looked like from this distance to be a complex wasps nest of steel girders and equipment. Here two hundred Minnow fighters lay in dock where they were serviced by droids conducting final pre-launch procedures.
Richael consulted the wall map hurriedly before racing off in the direction of 5-k dock. He ran through a narrow catwalk, dodging lithely aside to avoid vacuum-suited technicians. His gloves were already on and his flight suit sealed by the time Richael stumbled into the dock.
A thinly built young man looked up at Richael's approach. Straightening, he ran a hand through his black hair and offered his hand as greeting.
"Robinson. Andrew Robinson - navigator and systems."
"Richael Lowry, Flightman. Is this Minnow ready to go?"
The navigator stood back and cast a glance at the Minnow behind. She was a study little ship, her hull a little blunted and dulled but still holding the sleek lines that gave the Minnow the reputation of the fasted fighter craft in the galaxy. Stepping forward the navigator activated the droid controls that opened the cockpit.
"She's ready, sir. I didn't think anyone was going to make it here before the Squadron Commander ordered deployment."
"Well, I'm here," said Richael, proffering a gloved hand and shook with his new copilot, a sly grin across his face. "And without any time to waste, let's get into it."
Both men seated themselves in the two-seater craft. Robinson settled into the navigator's seat behind the pilot's and began flicking switches into readiness. His console faced towards the rear of the craft; a massive bank that controlled engine and laser power, navigational equipment, computer control and communications. The controls confronting Richael were considerably simpler but still daunting to the untrained eye. A joystick lay next to his right hand, small enough to operate with precision with only a couple of fingers. Before him lay the targeting displays and power status bars upon a heads up display that was triggered into contrast when the computer detected his eyes focusing on it. Lastly, he pulled the locking pin away from the base of his seat, freeing its motion. The seat was now free to move in any direction - able to pivot the strapped pilot in a full two-dimensional motion for space combat. Moving quickly, Richael pressed activate buttons and pressed the intercom switch to his ear.
"Receiving?" he asked over the growing roar of the heating engines.
"Affirmative," came Robinson's voice over the speaker in Richael's ear. "A few more seconds and we'll have all systems online."
"Have we been ordered to detach yet?"
"Negative..." Robinson paused for a moment, listening to another broadcast. Finally his voice came back on the intercom. "Orders just come through; release and hold level position. Deploy in eight seconds - mark."
Richael suppressed a rising grin. Even though he knew he was about to risk his life he couldn't help but feel a tingle of excitement as the airlock doors hissed over his head and locked.
"We're away," he muttered.
With a clank the metal jaw retracted and the Minnow bobbed, gravity pulling down before Richael deftly applied stabilising power. The craft hung suspended in air, drifting outwards from the wall sightly as retro thrusters burnt. A new voice came over the intercom.
"This is Flight Leader Schiever. There is no time for briefing, but in summary we are to clear the path for the Berana. Expect heavy enemy fighter conflict. Okay...report in."
The stern voice snapped out with a click. In the next few seconds twelve pilots acknowledged themselves when it finally came to Richael's turn. He pressed the transmit button.
"Minnow five-kappa, operational."
There was a brief silence of static. Richael was the last in the order, for the more experience a pilot had the closer he was to the Flight Leader. Thus five-alpha and beta were used in critical strikes against difficult targets.
Unperturbed by his lower rank, Richael Lowry was determined to prove himself upon the battlefield this day.
General McMillan watched the deployment of the fighters from the vantage of the control room. The stern-faced New-Scot paused for a moment as three-quarters of the ship's squadrons dispersed into the depthlessness of space, spreading from the open hanger do
ors like grains of sugar cast upon a black cloth.
"Order two an' six tae circle heading 124 and engage the Sova-1's," said McMillan. The command was relayed and the blue dots upon the radar display moving accordingly. McMillan's brows furrowed as a mass of Hartrias fighters slewed around, seeing this approach and accelerating towards it. It was an expensive manoeuvre, he knew, for his Minnow's were heavily outnumbered, but he needed a diversion to slip a couple of squadrons through the Hartrias' defences.
"Deck cannon...fire ah burst intae the nearest of the Sova-1's."
Information surged through circuitry and seconds later the foremost of the deck cannons pivoted and armed. Energy levels charged, drawing from the massive power banks deep in the ship, and a moment later a wide and almost invisible beam shot silently across the stars like a powerful flashlight.
The Sova-1's reacted as McMillan had expected; pulling away from the path of the laser before it could inflict any considerable damage. But his ploy had the desired effect for as the battle joined between the opposing fighter squadrons the enemy fighter craft were already disorganised.
"Enemy has fired retaliation shots," reported the radar officer tersely.
General McMillan placed his fists against the glass of the console, leaning forward with held breath. "Full shields fore." Barely had the words escaped his lips did the enemy fire hit the battleship. It was with brisk satisfaction that McMillan noted the shields had absorbed the blow without any damage. He knew that in these early stages of a major battle warships threw shots between one another, testing and probing their opposition's might before actually engaging.
The control room was a wave of voices, frequencies stacked atop each other like sediment. Crackles overrode the Minnow Flight Leader's voice as the starpilot met with opposition. "...Leader Five squadron...heavily outnumbered-" Another voice snapped over the top, "-crossfire sector sixteen! It's a minefield, repeat, laser minefield."
Five thousand kilometres away McMillan clenched his fists as if stubborn concentration could force Hartrias defeat. He knew from uncertain glances from aides that many thought he should withdrawn his Minnows closer to the side of the Berana but McMillan simply narrowed his eyes. Explosions flashed briefly and silently, tiny against the backdrop of stars. McMillan at last exhaled as Flight Leaders five and six reported they had slipped through the Hartrias other defences.
"Thare in," he growled, his New-Scot accent suddenly heavy. "Keep that deck cannon firing through their vector - ah dinnae want them tae meet any opposition."
"Yes sir." The officer pushed the small microphone closer to his mouth, preferring to use the voice-activated module rather than the keypad. Once done, he turned to General McMillan. "Squadron two reports heavy losses as with three and four.
"Pull them apart. Huv squadron two circle and take most of the fire."
The officer nodded curtly, knowing that his superior's orders had just sealed those of squadron two's fate. Their deaths were necessary if the battle was to be won, and he knew that the pilots would unquestionably obey even when they knew death was inevitable.
"Accelerate to point oh-oh-three," McMillan ordered without taking his eyes from the display. "Prepare tae engage Hartrias motherships."
The tech officer gaped. "Sir, if squadron six does not succeed we'll be sitting targets for their rockets."
"Do it," growled McMillan. "If we dinnae make oor move they'll take the advantage."
The FDC Berana's engines glowed with white energy, pushing the bricklike battleship closer to the awaiting Hartrias. Flanking cruisers Lanceman and Ki also accelerated accordingly, keeping formation with computerised precision.
"Cut engines," McMillan barked. "Retain velocity." Then, almost to himself, the New-Scot grumbled, "Let's hope this Skeeter cloak works as well in battle as it does in thare lab."
In several stages of winding down the steady thrumming beat gradually dropped off as the engines quietened, leaving the three ships to plummet through space at nine hundred thousand kilometres per hour.
* * *
They were silent, standing in mute awe as the light of the flickering flame etched coarse shadows upon the walls of the ancient subterranean city.
Ashian was first to break the mesmerising trace. Stumbling forward, the city clergyman ran a hand over a rough low wall, discovering to his surprise that the layer of filth simply brushed aside.
"What do you think it is?" whispered Capac, not daring to break the macabre atmosphere that had pervaded the airless cavern for countless generations.
The brown coloured growth crumbled like sandstone beneath Ashian's fingertips, revealing a smooth surface that looked almost metallic. "Something this world has never seen," he marvelled.
"This is the retreat of the Ansarii."
Both Capac and Ashian paused, startled by the conviction in Myshia's tone. The female continued to speak as if supplied words from other mind.
"When yellow and black clouds destroyed their cities the Ansarii had to burrow to shield against the evil winds that would bring rapid weakening and death. It was here they had to live for one hundred turns before they could venture upon outside soil."
Ashian straightened and advanced upon Myshia. "You remember this?"
Hesitating for a moment, Myshia bowed her head in a nod. Ashian stood between the strange ancient buildings and the eloprin, his head moving back and forth as if slotting two separate pieces of a puzzle together.
"The Ansarii have inhabited your mind."
"Hold on," interrupted Capac, almost dropping the flaming torch in his surprise. "What are you saying, Ashian? That Myshia has been invaded by these...aliens!"
"Not at all." Ashian paused, his brows furrowing as he fought to control the accelerated pumping of his heart. "Look, there's been theories floating around in the Order about the Ansarii. One particular religious leader who studied the ruins of the Ansarii buildings wrote a manuscript detailing his so-called 'communion' with them. That was near on five hundred seasons ago, when our culture was in its infancy."
"And what happened to the manuscript?" demanded Capac, not quite sure whether to be curious or cautious of this new race that had lived and died thousands of years before the first eloprin had set foot upon soil.
"The writings were regarded as the tales of a mentally unstable currach whose isolation led to delusions and ultimately insanity."
"Now I have visited this place I can feel the Ansarii's power." Myshia shook her head softly as she stepped forward, her bare feet splashing through pools of stagnant water. Her voice tremored as she lay a hand upon the vertical wall of a building. "It is like something has just birthed inside me."
"This is fascinating!" cried Ashian, running a hair through wily hair. "Incredible! A race dead for a millennium resurfaced. How did this happen? Why have you this power?"
Myshia's face was pale white. "My mother had the gift of healing, and the Elder knew of my abilities too. But he knew little of its source; the memories flooding through me now - it's as if the Ansarii have been watching us from the beginning."
"Then they are not dead," whispered Ashian.
"Then where the scroch are they?" growled Capac, holding the torch partway into the strangely slanted parallelogram-shaped door of the building. Only dusty bulges and obscure shadows met his eyes. As the torch burned the shadows changed, the shapes sliding in and out of light to give them the appearance of morphing supernatural beings. The old instincts of the hunter came to his mind as Capac instinctively crouched low, advancing slowly with his back against the strange rough wall. Stunned by what he saw he could not help but creep ever deeper into the structure not unlike those the Sunlords had built. He knew that any sort of creature could be dwelling here, taking refuge from the world above. The experience with the k'lockri was too fresh in his mind for him to relax and with every step he expected to hear the tell-tale clattering of the beast's claws upon rock. In those moments he thought of Huso, for in such a situation the stout eloprin hunter would ha
ve guarded Capac's back. In Huso's company Capac had always felt confident, knowing a strong arm was at his side. Although he held a grudging respect for Ashian's quick mind nobody could replace Huso.
Ashian saw Capac disappear deeper into the building, taking the only light with him. But Ashian was too engrossed to notice that his surrounds were becoming blacker and blacker.
"Myshia, can you tell me what happened to the Ansarii?"
"They departed this plane," she replied, still tracing her slender finger over the wall in an intricate pattern. "After reclaiming the surface they advanced themselves beyond the physical barriers. They still exist." Myshia cupped her hand. "...in the air."
"This is all beginning to make sense. The Ansarii must somehow be awakening as the Sunlords invade our home, and they are using you as their tool."
Grief clouded Myshia's face before, with visible effort, she forced away her confusion. "Why did it happen to me?" she whispered.
Taken by surprise Ashian moved before he had time to think twice. Holding Myshia in his arms as she lay her head upon his shoulder he felt her chest heaving with convulsed breath. It was only then he realised he had been blunt and cold in his revelations.
"I'm sorry Myshia, I didn't mean it like that. Just think of the Ansarii as your Forest Mother, or Abas as my people think of them." He paused. "You should be proud that such forces have been channelled through you."
Very slowly Myshia began to calm. It was with a start that Ashian realised Capac had taken the torch deep into the building, leaving them standing alone in intense darkness. Carefully pulling Myshia away from his side Ashian sought to grasp her hand.
"Looks like Capac is after something," he muttered. "We'd better go after him before he takes off altogether." He made to move but Myshia held him back a second longer. In the charcoal darkness her face was a chiselled shadow but her wide, insectile eyes sparkled faintly.