Project Starfighter
A Novel
06.14
Copyright 2014, Stephen J Sweeney
All Rights Reserved
The right of Stephen J Sweeney to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.
All characters in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
ISBN 13: 9780955856112
ISBN 10: 0955856116
www.stephenjsweeney.com
Books by Stephen J Sweeney
THE BATTLE FOR THE SOLAR SYSTEM TRILOGY
The Honour of the Knights (First Edition)
The Honour of the Knights (Second Edition)
The Third Side
The Attribute of the Strong
H1NZ Series
H1NZ-0 (Abby and Phil’s Stories)
H1NZ
FIRMWARE Series
Firmware
Malware
STANDALONE NOVELS
The Red Road
Author’s Note
This novel is based on the 2001 video game Project: Starfighter by Parallel Realities. Many of the characters and key events from the game have been retained, though the universe and overall plot has been greatly expanded upon.
Contents
Copyright
Books by Stephen J Sweeney
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
About the Author
Chapter 1
Chris Bainfield watched as the fragments continued to fall from the sky, leaving fiery trails behind them as they did so, hurtling down and splashing soundlessly into the ocean; wreckage from the battleships that had been blasted to smithereens by their opponents and tumbled from the orbits they had once maintained. The Eye of the Storm, the Goliath-class battlecruiser, had come down a few hours earlier. Or what was left of it, at any rate.
“That’s it,” the voice of the man sitting behind Chris said. “We’re all completely screwed, now.” There was a pause, the sound of swigging from a bottle as the man drank. “WEAPCO’ll come down here in the next couple of hours and bomb us to oblivion.” The sound of more drinking, before the man swore and tossed the bottle away. Chris watched it sail past him, over the cliff edge and down into the surging waters below.
“We can’t give up that easily,” Chris started, turning to face the man. Chris wasn’t sure of his name. Jacob, he thought he’d heard someone call him. He had been part of the shattered rebellion fleet, the Resistance, for certain. Now, like Chris himself, he was a survivor of that short-lived conflict. Some might use a different word, calling them cowards for not standing and fighting to the death.
“Oh yeah?” Jacob said, getting to his feet. “So what exactly are we meant to do? They completely buried us in just a few hours. Nearly four decades it took us to build that bloody fleet, and their AIs tore us a new one before we even jumped out of the system.”
“If we give up now, we’ll never beat the Corporation and the galaxy will remain slaves to them forever,” Chris said. “We can’t let a little setback like this—”
“A little setback?” Jacob said, incredulously. “Do you live in a dream world or something, kid? Ah well, of course you do. You’re only twenty or whatever. You still think life is easy, that you can do anything.” He dismissed Chris with a flick of his wrist.
“We can try again,” Chris said. He turned back to the ocean as a loud noise filled his ears and saw a significantly large piece of flaming wreckage spiralling down from the sky. It struck the water hard, creating a wave so large it seemed the two men risked being swept from the edge of the cliff. It did not, however, rise as high as Chris feared, crashing several metres below the outcrop on which they stood.
“We just have to get everyone together to try again,” Chris continued, looking back at Jacob. “It doesn’t matter how long it takes. Years, decades, centuries. We have to continue the fight. We couldn’t expect to be victorious on our very first attempt.”
Jacob muttered something and waved him away again.
“And we haven’t lost it all,” Chris persisted. “I know where we can get arms. There’s still a starfighter left – a Firefly.”
At that, Jacob began to roar with laughter. “No kidding? One whole starfighter? Well, if that’s all it takes, why did we bother building all those damn battleships?” He thrust a finger towards the sky, from which the rain of metals and wreckage continued to fall. “Face it, kid, it’s over; there’s no one left to fight.”
“My name’s not ‘kid’.”
“Well then, Brainbench, Bains—”
“Bainfield,” Chris told him.
“Whatever. There’s no one left to join this cause. Like I said, we’re screwed. We’ll be lucky if WEAPCO don’t total the entire sodding planet, just to teach the rest of the galaxy some respect.”
“There are still people who are willing to fight,” Chris tried again.
“Really?” Jacob laughed, looking past Chris to the grotesque black shards, the falling debris of dozens of warships, that continued to slide across the sky against the setting sun. “Those people?” The man gestured dismissively before walking away, back to the beach diner where a handful of others were sitting around despondently.
“I am still willing to fight,” Chris said.
Jacob stopped and turned around, his face split into a sarcastic grin. “What, you going to do it all yourself?” he jeered. “You going to take on the military might of WEAPCO, their AI navy, and their superior technology using one whole Firefly?” He circled a finger around his temple. “Good luck, kid. You ask me, you’re crazy. Crazier than me for joining this ridiculous cause in the first place.” He cursed and kicked at some stones. “Might as well go and join Mal’s lot; the Immortal League or whatever those cultists call themselves.”
Chris followed Jacob without further comment. He was halfway to the diner when he saw a commotion starting. Several people began roving hurriedly, jumping up from their seats and retreating from the tables, backing away from a small area. Chris soon discovered the source of the panic – a WEAPCO drone was descending from the sky, pieces of its drop shell casing bouncing on the ground as it detached.
About half the size of a grown man and bearing a resemblance to a spark plug, the thing hovered several feet off the ground, turning this way and that. From somewhere nearby, there came the sound of gunfire. A small area around the drone lit up, giving off a soft blue glow, but the machine itself did not otherwise react. As two further shotgun blasts followed, the same blue glows as before came streaking across the drone. Someone was trying to destroy it, Chris realised. He couldn’t see the shooter, but it mattered little. They were having no luck getting past the drone’s defences.
“See?” Jacob said to Chris. “They’re sending thei
r death bots already.”
Chris ignored him, moving as close as he dared to the drone. Most of the others were doing the opposite, but Chris felt, somehow, that the drone wasn’t actually hostile. Not yet, anyway. Presently, the drone sounded a chirp and a holographic screen materialised from a projector on its head, displaying the cog-like emblem of WEAPCO.
“Greetings, citizens of Ceradse,” a placid female voice began. “I am here as a representative of the Wade-Ellen Asset Protection Corporation, otherwise known as WEAPCO. I have come to inform you of the Corporation’s latest advice, desires, goals, and steps, following the recent terrorist attack within Spirit.” The drone’s words appeared on the holographic projection as it spoke, scrolling horizontally in the three most common languages of the Spirit system.
“Smug little bitch, isn’t it?” Jacob snarled.
“After considering recent events, the Corporation is offering asylum to all who were part of the uprising. As long as they surrender now, they will not be subject to reprisals. They will be transported to new locations and given new identities, both for the safety of everyone involved, and also to allow the Corporation to continue to operate competitively and fairly.”
“Asylum?” someone asked. “Really?”
“Don’t trust it,” Chris said.
“Sounds fair to me,” Jacob said, half-glaring at Chris. “Isn’t it obvious that they knew we never had a hope in hell? If they’re going to let us off the hook then fine, I’m in. Sod the crusade.”
“Continue to operate competitively and fairly? Ha!” exclaimed an angry man, moving up close to the drone. “Who exactly are your competitors? You scumbags stamped out everyone that you didn’t want to compete with! Billions suffer while you and your blasted AI machines grow fat and rich.”
“The Wade-Ellen Asset Protection Corporation offers more than just defence armaments,” the drone said, as placid as before. “It also offers agricultural equipment, building materials, textiles, minerals, starships, jumpgates, and starports. Additionally, the Corporation is working towards a post-scarcity society, to allow people the opportunity to focus on their own personal development and culture without interference from the distraction of work, labour and—”
The angry man produced a gun at that point, attempting to shoot the drone at close range. The ripple of blue surrounded the body of the drone as the shot struck, and the bullet slid harmless down to the ground, blocked and slowed by the drone’s defences. The angry man fired twice more, each shot as ineffective as the last.
“Please, Mr Sanderson,” the drone addressed the man, “I am not here to fight or harm you; I am here to offer you safety, and a chance to start your life over, without consequences. Any and all transgressions will be forgotten, if you abide by the terms laid out by the Corporation.”
“Terms? What terms?” Chris demanded. “And at what price?”
The drone turned to face him, a series of red and yellow lights flickering across its top half. It was scanning him, determining his identify. It always unnerved Chris the way they were able to do that. That was why some people – particularly members of the Immortal League – took to wearing masks, to hide their faces. It didn’t always work, and sometimes they would simply attract more AIs, who were keen to discover the identity of the person beneath the mask and find out what they were hiding. The drone’s own identification was written along the top in bold white type. XS-0017811.
“The terms, Mr Bainfield,” the drone said, completing its scan, “are the surrenders of Tyrone Vin, Jasmine Wooding, Keto Nu, Sid Wilson, Farley Ross, and Wesley London. Otherwise known as Scarface, Tigger, Morning Star, The Doc, Marsha-J, and Catalina.” The drone spoke the words phonetically, but displayed the individuals’ aliases as they were known to the underground movement – Sc4r=Face, Tiggggger, M0rning-~*, DA D0C, {Marsha-J}, C4t4l1n4.
“And what will happen to them?” a woman asked.
The drone scanned her. “Hello, Nicola Beechwood. All six will be put on trial before a neutral court. If found innocent, they will go free. Otherwise, they will face time in prison.”
“Bull!” Chris started. “You intend to kill them, regardless.” He looked at the men and women clustered nearby. “Don’t listen to it, anyone. It’s just trying to get you onside and make you think that WEAPCO isn’t all that bad. It’s a tactic they’ve used for years.”
“What about the rest of us? What do we get from this?” Beechwood enquired of the drone, ignoring Chris.
“As already outlined, your compensation will come in the form of having all charges for your participation in the uprising dropped,” the drone said.
“You can’t prove that we were implicated in this,” Chris said, making an effort to keep his voice calm and steady. Even so, he was sure that his body language was betraying him. The drone would likely pick up on that, as well as the subtle traces of nerves in his voice as he spoke.
The drone turned briefly to all those who stood close to it, as if eyeing them. “Each one of you is known to have participated in recent events and been a part of ‘The Resistance’. Your escape pods and shuttles were tracked as they returned to the surface.”
The holographic display the drone projected above its head changed, showing various scenes of shuttles descending from orbit, journeying quickly to the ground, escaping the fleet that was being torn to ribbons by the AI-driven warships and fighters WEAPCO had sent to the system. The men and women swore as their names were displayed alongside the images, it being all too clear that it was them in the footage.
Chris saw his own cigar-shaped pod hurtling down; he recognised part of the serial number on the side. A parachute was deployed, slowing the pod, yet it still struck the ground heavily. Chris remembered that severe jolt, convinced at the time that he would be smashed to pieces, that he was going to die in the impact. Others had landed near him, but had scattered immediately, fearful of being hunted down by WEAPCO drones such as this one.
“However,” the drone went on, “as an additional incentive to bringing this incident to a speedy conclusion, the Corporation is willing to offer significant financial reward for each of the six most wanted that is handed over.”
“No!” Chris cried. He couldn’t believe the thing was offering them a bribe.
“How much?” Beechwood asked, clearly interested.
“The reward would be two hundred and fifty thousand, per head,” the drone said. “The wanted individuals must be handed in alive. No financial compensation will be awarded for a dead individual. However, the original terms of the contract will still stand.”
“Sounds good to me,” Jacob said, moving over to the others, who were already nodding in agreement. “So, all we have to do is turn in those six you’re after, collect the reward money, and the rest of us can go free? New identities and all?”
“Those are the terms laid out by the Corporation,” the drone replied.
Chris moved forward, grabbing hold of Jacob’s arm. “What are you doing?” he asked the older man. Jacob shrugged him off, the look in his eye suggesting that he no longer cared about fighting back.
“We can give you Wooding, now,” Sanderson said, holstering the pistol with which he had formerly attacked the drone. “She’s in there, being patched up on a table.” He hooked a thumb towards the diner.
“Is Jasmine Wooding’s life at risk?” the drone asked.
“No, she’s just suffering from some burns,” Beechwood said. “If you come with me, I will lead you to her.”
“Thank you,” the drone said, following after the woman.
Chris was horrified. Not twenty-four hours earlier, these people had stood shoulder to shoulder with him, fully resolved to tackle a menace to the galaxy, fight for freedom, and find a way to end the suffering of millions. Now, they seemed quite willing to push that all aside to save their own skins. Chris had not joined the Resistance for this, nor could he ever have expected such capitulation from the others, even after such a crushing defeat. He couldn’t let
it end here.
“No, no way,” Chris said, starting after Beechwood and the drone.
At that very moment Jacob lunged for him, tackling him to the ground, winding him. Chris fought to free himself, but Jacob only applied his weight harder, grabbing hold of his arms and pressing his knee into Chris’ back.
“Get off me!” Chris yelled furiously.
“Shut the hell up,” Jacob hissed, forcing Chris’ face down into the dirt.
“We have to stop that thing from getting Jasmine!” Chris tried.
“Listen to me, kid,” Jacob said, watching Beechwood and the drone disappear through the doors into the diner. “There’s no point in trying to fight them, we’ve found that out already. They’ll easily kill anyone who attempts to stand against them. Right now, they’re giving us a chance to stand down and walk away, and we’d be fools not to take it. All they want are six people and the rest of us can go free.”
“You really believe that’s all they want?!” Chris asked. “The moment they have what they’re after, they’ll slaughter the rest of us. Have you ever heard of WEAPCO offering a reward or compensation for anything, ever? It’s all just a pack of lies!”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Jacob said, continuing to press down on Chris, to prevent him from rising. “And hell, I could do with the money. Enough to disappear and start over elsewhere. The share would be more than I could make in four years.”
“You’re making a big mistake,” Chris said. He struggled, but Jacob was strong, his anger and determination to get what he was after helping him to keep Chris pinned down.
Chris could just see Jasmine Wooding being led out of the diner by Beechwood, the drone floating behind. There was no sign of the doctor who had been attending to Wooding’s burns. Chris struggled a little more against Jacob, but the man did not relax his hold for even a second.
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