by GARY DARBY
“Exactly,” Dason replied. “But since the other Zephyr can hear us and we can hear them, I’m betting we see the same vessel and we’re fairly close to each other.”
“If it is the same Mongan craft,” Alena replied, “with those values, the other Zephyr has to be behind us. We must have overshot them on the way in.”
Dason gestured toward the console. “Right, run it through the compu, see what it tells us.”
“Don’t have to,” Alena quickly responded. “I make them between sixteen and eighteen kilometers aft and about one kilometer above us.”
She gave him a shrug. “I added in a little fudge factor given that our readings are so bad and that’s assuming that we’re about on the same plane, and on the same approximate heading. If those assumptions hold true, then I don’t think I’m that far off.”
“You did that in your head?” Dason asked.
“Uh huh,” Alena answered. “I may be lousy with people, but I get along with numbers pretty well.”
“I’m impressed,” Dason replied. “I can barely do simple fractions, and even then I have to use fingers and toes.”
They stared at each other, both knowing what action they had to take, but also the possible consequences of their action. Alena slowly said, “You know we’re going to have to use thrusters. It’s the only way we can backtrack and hope we beat the Mongans.”
“I know,” Dason let out in a long breath. “But in doing so, we may give both of us away.”
Dason held his fingers over the microphone, hesitating, and then tapped, Know your approximate location. Will use minimum thrusters to come to you. If we alert the Mongans we’ll lead them away before returning. Watch your sensor for locate data.
Back came the answer. Roger.
“Okay,” Dason muttered, “here we go.” He tapped out, ignition, now, and touched his flight controls to first flip his ship so that they were pointing in the direction from which they came and then ignited his aft thrusters. He counted off five seconds and shut them down.
He turned to Alena. “The Mongans?”
She hunched over the scope, an intent expression on her face as she adjusted the search parameters. “Steady as she goes,” she breathed out. “I don’t think they caught our ignition.”
“Let’s hope it stays that way,” Dason replied. “Hop on back, let everyone know what we’re doing. We can use every set of eyeballs we have to try and spot the other Zephyr since our sensors are so erratic.”
“Got it,” Alena replied and hustled aft.
Moments later, she was back. “Eyeballs are peeled,” she reported.
The two of them sat in silence, watching their sensors to see if the Mongans had spotted them and watching the chronometer as the minutes ticked by.
“Why is it,” Dason muttered after several minutes, “that sometimes the seconds just fly by, and sometimes it feels as though time’s not moving at all?”
“I don’t know,” Alena replied, “But I—”
She stopped, leaned over her scope and sucked in a breath. “They’re above us! Sliding by!”
Dason kicked in his forward thrusters to bring the Zephyr to a complete stop. Alena’s expression was intense, focused on nothing but her sensor scope. Moments later she glanced over at him. “They’re about a hundred meters above us and to port.”
She reached out and patted Dason’s arm. “That’s great shooting, scout, even if you can’t do square roots in your head, I’m impressed.”
Dason smiled in return and reached over to tap out, We’re underneath you, coming up.
Roger. Standing by.
Dason asked Alena, “The Mongans?”
“Still coming on, same speed, same course.”
“Somebody must be asleep at the wheel,” Dason grunted. “But I’ll take whatever breaks come our way.”
He gave one quick rap to his belly thruster control. Slow and easy, the Zephyr rose through the undulating gas. Dason and Alena both craned their necks to the left, trying to spot the other ship.
“There!” Alena yelped.
Dason let his ship rise a few more meters and then brought the craft to a complete standstill and just meters away from the other Zephyr. He grinned wide when he saw his Uncle Jadar wave and smile at him from the other ship.
He tapped out, Your team transfer over?
Can’t, his uncle replied, airlock damaged, no way in or out.
“Well, dang, of all the luck,” Alena groaned. “What do we do now? Those Mongan ships are coming right at us; they’re gonna spot us any minute now.”
After peering at the other ship for several seconds, Dason whipped his head around to Alena. “We need to give them a shove.”
“What?” she replied. “You want us to go out there in our P-suits and push? Not enough juice in those peewee thrusters to move our friends over there fast enough to get away from the Mongans.”
“No,” Dason replied, “we use this ship.”
“Hold on, Dason,” Alena responded in haste. “These ships weren’t built for those kind of hull pressures and you’re not going to have the phasic shield to disperse the immense stress on the bulkheads, you know.”
“It doesn’t have to be for long,” Dason explained. “Plus, I have another idea, too, that just might lure the Mongans away long enough for us to get away.”
He tapped out, Torpedoes work?
Yes. But no good against Mongans.
Understood. I have an idea.
He tapped out his notion and waited for his uncle’s response. Chancy, came the reply, but better than anything we’ve got. Let’s do it.
Alena stared at him with wide eyes. “You’re crazy, you know that? You both are, for that matter.”
“Trademark of the Marrel family,” Dason answered. “Now power up the weapons panel and stand by for launch.”
With quick, deft strokes, Alena brought the four Mark IV torpedoes to ready mode. “We’re up,” she stated, “Ready for launch command.”
Dason tapped out, Ready here. On your command.
Roger, his uncle replied. Alena peered at the other Zephyr where Jadar held up three fingers and mouthed, “Three," then “Two,” then “One,” and “Fire!”
Alena stabbed at the fire control button. Both Zephyrs bucked from the launch of their respective four torpedoes. In a flash of light, the eight missiles, packed tight together, sped away into the cloud.
Dason held his breath, waited for several seconds and then asked, “Well?”
“As Sami would say, your half-baked Alaska idea worked,” Alena replied. “Two are breaking off and chasing those torps. The other two are still heading this way.”
Shaking his head at her comment, Dason replied, “And as Sami would say, a half-baked loaf is better than none.”
Dason glanced over at the other Zephyr and made a little circle in the air with his finger. Jadar gave a thumbs-up and spun his ship on its axis until it angled itself away from the speeding projectiles.
Using his thrusters with care, Dason brought his Zephyr’s nose to align with the other ship’s stern. Once in place, he nudged his ship against the other Zephyr and applied power.
Dason glanced over at Alena as the sounds of snapping, popping, and metal crunching on metal came through the Zephyr’s plas-titanium skin. Alena’s nervous laugh had little mirth to it as she remarked, “If it wasn’t broke before, it’s broken now.”
Dason applied more power, pushing the damaged Zephyr faster through the twisting and swirling clouds. “Are they chasing us?” he asked through tight lips.
“No,” Alena replied crisply. “Same previous course, but they’ve picked up speed. I think they’re making for the launch point.”
“Keep your eye on them,” Dason answered as he moved his fingers over the flight controls. “Let me know the second they change course toward us.”
A minute passed by with the sound of metal scraping and creaking getting louder and louder in the pilot’s pod. “That doesn’t sound good or right
,” Alena grimaced. “How’s she handling?
“You’d think I was trying to push a slimy beach ball up a steep hill,” Dason ground out. “The nose keeps trying to slip off to one side or the other.”
“I’m just hoping we don’t pop a seam,” Alena winced as another loud squeal was accompanied by the ship shuddering. “This thing wasn’t meant to be a bulldozer you know.”
The little ship started to vibrate and jolt violently. Dason reached out to his control board and shut off his engines. “That’s it for now and hope we don’t have to do this again.”
Alena blew out a breath. “And we’re still in one piece. If we get out of this, this is one they’ll have to write up in the training manual. Call it the Thorne Maneuver.”
Dason glanced down at his board and grimaced. “Well, the Thorne Maneuver got us only about ten kilometers per second in net velocity. That puts us at least several hours until we’re out of the nebula.”
He turned to Alena and asked, “What about the Mongans?”
“Two sniffing around our launch site,” she responded. “The other two are off the scope. I have no idea where they went.”
“Cross your fingers, maybe we’ve lost them,” Dason replied.
“Need my fingers to work my board,” Alena answered. “I’ll cross my toes.”
The two Zephyrs broke into a clear space that resembled a gigantic donut hole in the nebula. After scanning the area, Dason glanced up to find Shanon standing in the pod doorway.
She met his look with a wide-eyed expression. “Everyone okay back there?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered with a wan smile, “but I never knew you were into bumper cars.”
“Only when necessary,” he smiled back. He started to make another comment when Alena reached out and pulled him around.
“Trouble,” she ground out. “Those two Mongan ships just changed course; they’ve accelerated, heading straight for us.”
“Must have picked up the emissions from our nucleonic engine,” Dason muttered. “Time to intercept?”
“Ten minutes, give or take,” she answered.
She shook her head, causing her coal-black hair to bounce. “We can’t outfight them, and our cripple can’t outrun them; they’ll pick it off with one shot.”
Dason’s mind was racing, trying to find a way out of what seemed to be an impossible situation. He couldn’t leave the other ship to the Mongans’ mercy because it was evident that there would be none from the heartless and cruel aliens.
However, did he have the right to endanger his own team, when it was obvious that they could outrace the Mongans out of the nebula to where he could engage the Zephyr’s hyperdrive and escape?
His eyes cast about, trying to find anything that might present a solution. Though the Zephyr in front somewhat blocked his view, he caught sight of a peculiar-looking gas cloud that caused him to jerk forward with a little smile.
He hit the communicator key. “Thorne to Marrel.”
“Go ahead, Dason,” his uncle replied.
“Mongans headed straight for us,” Dason stated.
“We see,” Jadar replied. In a firm, gruff voice he ordered, “Get out of here. You’ve done what you can.”
“With all due respect, no sir,” Dason answered in the same way. “Stand by for another push.”
“Dason—” his uncle began, but Dason cut him off.
He lined his craft up again and applied power, pushing the Zephyr’s blunt nose into the other ship’s damaged stern. He added more thrust only to have his ship once again begin to shake and shudder violently from the external pressure.
“You want to tell me what we’re doing?” Alena questioned. “There’s no way we can outrun those warships. Not only that, but if you keep pushing we’re going to blow a structural seam. Explosive decompression is not a pretty way to die.”
“I’m taking a page from a hard-learned lesson,” he replied.
Peering ahead, he nodded in satisfaction. “Going to be close, but it just might work.”
“What might just work?” Alena asked in consternation.
“Just listen,” Dason answered and opened his communicator. “Thorne to Marrel.”
“Dason!” his uncle snapped, “I told you—”
“Sir! Please listen, we don’t have much time, and I think I have a way out of this.”
After a pause, Jadar replied, “Go ahead; I’m listening.”
“Just ahead, see that yellow-looking cloud? I don’t know what it’s made of, but the last time we sent an ion cannon burst into one, we set off a massive explosion.
“Big enough to put some nasty holes in a Mongan cruiser. I think we can do the same, but it’s going to take a little coordination.”
With hasty words, Dason outlined his idea. After he had finished, Jadar said, “Dason, the shock wave might—”
“Get one or both of us, I know that, but this is the only option we have because we’re not leaving. Scouts don’t leave scouts behind. Not when they can help it, they don’t.”
Dason could feel the pride in Jadar’s voice when he answered, “All right, Dason, let’s do this, and we’ll see you and your team on the other side. Scouts Out.”
“Scouts Out, sir.”
With light touches to his navigation board, Dason upped the two crafts’ velocity. The vibration and shuddering in his ship became more violent and more pronounced with each passing second.
A red light started blinking on the control board. “Approaching outer skin stress overload,” the computer’s disembodied voice stated.
It started to repeat the message when Alena reached out and slapped at the key that turned the audio off. “Thanks,” Dason replied.
“A bit redundant, and on the apparent side, don’t you think?” Alena returned.
The shaking became more intense causing Dason and Alena to bounce about in their pilot’s chairs. “C’mon, hold together,” Dason pleaded aloud. “All we need is just a few more seconds.”
He peered ahead, watching the yellowish cloud that formed the far sidewall of the open space zoom toward them. He poised a finger over the main engine control murmuring, “Almost there . . . almost there.”
He held his breath before exploding with, “And now!”
Like a striking snake, his hand struck the engine cutoff. He engaged his forward thrusters to slow the craft and watched the other Zephyr race away.
Seconds later, the huge yellowish cloud engulfed the little ship and it disappeared from view. “How far behind are the Mongans?” Dason called out.
“Closing!” Alena exclaimed. “Better get us out of here, they’ll be in weapons range any second.”
Dason skidded the craft around and revved up his engines to full emergency power. Like a shooting star, the little ship shot away. Dason pushed the Zephyr’s engine into redline status, trying to milk every bit of velocity he could from the thundering engines.
“Are they following us?” he asked Alena tensely.
“And, gaining,” she answered.
Dason threw the ship into a series of S-turns that brought a high-pitched whine from the overworked engines. A tremor shook the ship from stem to stern, followed by a second even more pronounced shaking.
“The engines must be out of balance,” Alena called out. “Look at the energy flows, too much on one side, too little on the other.”
Dason scowled as his fingers raced over the controls. “I know, and I can’t seem to feather it out, either. But we only have to do this for a few minutes, just enough to let the other Zephyr get through the cloud.”
“I’m not sure we’ve got a few minutes left,” Alena replied tightly as the ship shuddered again, sending Dason and Alena rocking in their chairs.
Dason barrel-rolled the Zephyr straight up and then pushed the nose down hard into a screaming dive that left the Mongans flat-footed. “Good thing those brutes aren’t real nimble, that’s the only thing that’s saving us,” he noted.
He pulled the Zeph
yr into a high g-turn to starboard, straightened and was about to throw the craft to the opposite side when the ship stopped accelerating. “We’ve lost the port engine!” Alena exclaimed.
“That tears it,” Dason yelped. “This waltz has definitely come to an end.”
He heeled the craft over and headed right at the dark yellow wall cloud.
“Thorne to Marrel,” he called over the communicator.
“Go ahead,” Jadar replied.
“Are you in the clear, yet?”
“Just breaking out,” came the instant reply. “Your status?”
“Heading into the cloud,” Dason answered. “We’ve lost one engine and we’re losing power in the other. I’m not sure we can stay ahead of the Mongans.”
“Give us as much of a heads-up as you can,” Jadar returned. “We can still make this work.”
“Roger that,” Dason answered and signed off.
“How far behind are they?” he asked.
Alena shook her head in response. “That last little maneuver of yours threw them; they forgot to zig when we zagged and nearly ran into each other. They’re just now coming about, but they’re coming hard.”
Dason adjusted his flight controls; his eyes never leaving the starboard engine’s readings.
“If we lose that last engine . . .” Alena whispered in a low, anxious tone.
“I know, I know,” Dason replied. “If we lose power, we’ll either get fried by what’s following us or blown apart by what’s ahead of us. Heck of a choice, isn’t it?”
Dason nursed his damaged engine along, using every bit of piloting skill he had to stay ahead of the Mongans. “They still coming?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Alena replied. “We’ll beat’em to the cloud, but not by much.”
A minute later, the ship plowed into the cream-colored vapors. A dark, buttery light filtered into the pilot’s pod.
Alena glanced outside at the swirls that marked the ship’s passage and muttered, “What is this stuff? Doesn’t seem to be of the same composition as the rest of the nebula.”
“I don’t know,” Dason replied. “Let’s just hope the Mongans don’t shoot at us while we’re in here. It would make for one very bad day. Are they following us in?”