by Will Crudge
“I feel like we should be punching a hole in the top of the hull, and I should jump right into the action,” I say with a grumbly tone of frustration. I can’t help but notice I’m trying to keep my fingers busy in lieu of twiddling my thumbs.
“You’re in command. Remember that, Kat!” He lectures me.
“I know! I know!” I say as I bury my face in my palms. Once I’m done with my conspicuous act of frustration, I notice a new contact on display… then another. Within a few seconds, we are surrounded by unknown contacts.
“Looks like we’ve driven the pirate force out of hiding,” Throat says. My eyes narrow, and I hone my focus in on the new icons.
“Any hull type data yet?” I ask.
“It should be coming up in another few seconds. Looks like they’re still far out from our location. It takes time for minute signatures to get fully analyzed when the scan data is so scant.” Throat explains. I already know this, but I was hoping he would have a better answer.
“Wait a minute… Something isn’t right.” Throat says as if he were in deep contemplation. “The contacts are so far out, that they wouldn’t have responded to the boarding action yet. The closest one to us is about two light minutes, and the first breach wasn’t until about ninety seconds ago. They have no idea we’re here, but something has spooked them!”
A thought materializes in my head. It’s like an abstract shadow of an image, but it triggers a thought pattern just the same. I decide to run with it. “Do they have the donkey in their scan range?”
“It’s plausible, but it still doesn’t make sense why they would all come out of hiding at nearly the same time,” Throat says.
“What if something else has piqued their interest?” I ask.
“Like an opportunity to capture a donkey? They wouldn’t need more than just the one ship that’s already on its tail.”
“No they wouldn’t, but check your feeds. I’ll bet you’ll be able to start tracking their vector to an intercept point any second.” I say. My gut tells me I’m right, but I need Throat to see it for himself.
“Holy shit!” Throat exclaims. “They’re all tracking for an intercept point, alright! But I would have never guessed where until now.”
“See? I’m good for something, aren’t I?” I say with a smile. Not so much that I’m proud of myself, but more so because I know I’m not going crazy.
“I never had a doubt!” He replies.
“Get me out to that gunship before this pirate flotilla is within weapons range, would you?” I ask.
“I’ve already plotted the vector. Care to grab the stick and take us in?” Throat says.
“You sure know how to treat a lady!”
INTO THE BLACK
Sometimes I forget how big space is. It’s a big damn place. We’ve been blazing a trail into the darkness for a few hours now, but we’re extremely close to the ominous gunship that’s on Marbles’ tail.
I’ve lifted the veil of radio silence since it has been rendered irrelevant. Elizabeth established a tight beam coms channel to us from the captured frigate, and the plot has thickened as a result.
It turns out that the gunship isn’t a part of the pirate fleet at all… or at least it isn’t now, anyway. When the frigate’s flight crews were captured, they didn’t bother resisting but instead asked for assistance. The entire pirate armada responded as well. The gunship has been missing for months, if their story is to be believed, and it appeared out of nowhere to chase after the donkey.
The interesting part of it is, it has no stealth capability, and would have never gotten so far into the pirate controlled space. Each vessel had interlocking scanner suits, and most areas had double or triple sensor coverage. Even if the ship had been refitted for FTL, the plume of energy it would have registered when jumping into their coverage area would have lit up their scanners.
No human tech can hide a jump like that. Not even close.
It would seem that the pirate outcasts are just as fearful of Mwargoths as any other human entity… and they’re far less equipped to handle them, for that matter.
Alien or not, the gunship has to be dealt with. Marbles is running out of distance between himself, and the source of the distress beacon. Our captured pirates can’t tell us exactly what is sending the signal. They just know it was part of their ambush tactic, and they were playing out their own piece of the pie. Turns out their scheme has been bearing fruit, and they’ve accumulated a respectable little horde of loot over the past several weeks.
But now it’s all changed. An unknown crew is piloting one of their ships that they’ve written off as lost. It appeared out of nowhere and has singled out the space donkey for some reason. I have no choice but to assume that someone or something aboard that gunship is singling out Marbles for capture.
It’s not like infantry drones can’t be purchased on the black market, or anything. Space donkeys are expensive pieces of tech, to be sure, but if that vessel had been bypassing other ambush opportunities for weeks, then why spring into action now?
I’m too close to catching up to it to devote any additional brain power towards it. Now is when I jump on that fucker and find out what’s what. I’ve got the Doom-Raptor coming up to cover my flank, and Turnbuckle is at full burn about one hundred thousand clicks off of my thruster wash.
The fighters will encapsulate the ship, take out its defenses, and then I’ll jump into whatever hole they can rip in the hull.
That’s my plan, anyway.
“Can we raise Marbles on coms, yet?” I ask Throat.
“Sure. We’re close enough for near real-time traffic. You want I should hail him?”
“Do it.”
Punch asked.
I cut the feed, and see a firing solution waiting for me on the tactical HUD. I notice some little grey squiggly lines branching off of the firing angles as I toggle the weapons type displays.
“What’s this grey line thingy?” I ask Throat.
“Oh, that? That’s the combined solution between me and Doom. We NAV’s have a fetish when it comes to sharing targeting processes.”
“That sounds disturbing… I like it.” I say.
“Coming into our optimum engagement window now. Just say the word, Kat!”
“The word, Kat,” I repeat.
“Sounds like an engagement order to me!” Doom chimes in on the audio net. I feel the deck plating vibrate as the weapons bays open up to expose the two low-drooping cradles of weapons. I only wish I could see it from the outside. It makes an LRF look like the most dangerous thing in the cosmos when they come out.
The HUD flares to life, and I can see that Doom has launched a small salvo of short-range missiles. As is there plan, Throat follows it up with a burst of plasma fire from the Gatling cannons. If they didn’t see us before, then they sure do now!
The gunship tries to evade the missiles by executing an emergency burn to alter the ship’s forward orientation. As if by clockwork, the streaks of blue plasma strike directly behind the missiles. The shielding had been disturbed by the missile strike, and the heated plasma bolts drive a hole in the stern energy shielding. The ship’s thruster array takes a full blast of plasma, and a brilliant white plume of energy overwhelms my view from the canopy.
“Nice job, guys!” I shout gleefully.
“Killing ships is what we do, dear,” Doom replies as he sends a winking icon to my main HUD.
The gunship begins to list to port, and a moment later begins to wobble into a slow flat spin. I dial back the throttle slightly. The gunship may still be traveling at relativistic speed due to inertia, so a collision is not likely, but I need a broader vantage to choose a breach point.
“Oh, look!” Throat says casually. “They’ve got a launch tube for fighters!”
I look down on the tactical display and see the alerts flickering red. Red blips began to stream out of the ship. Fighters are coming out to play, I suppose.
“We need to clear the fighters before I go in on my approach. Can you handle that for me, Doom?” I ask over the audio net.
“No need.” He replies sharply. “Turnbuckle beat me to it.”
I check my proximity display and see the blue icon of the Titans Bane. The Mark-8 fighter is already in an intercept vector, and energy signatures of beam fire are populating on the scan. I look at the enemy blips, and one fighter is already breaking apart from the barrage. I zoom in on visual and see an older Mark-4 fighter hull tumbling away into the blackness.
“Give me hull types on those fighters!” I spout.
“Two older Mark-4’s, one late model Mark-6, and two…” Throat trails off.
“What’s the problem?” I ask nervously.
“Unknown hull types. Three in all. The chemical signatures of their thruster wash are the kicker!” He replies.
“Mwargoth tech,” I say in a matter of fact way.
“I concur.” Doom chimes in over the net.
“Get me on that gunship, and then don’t let those squid fuckers escape alive!” I spout off, as I spin the pilot’s seat around to face the berthing area of the LRF. I step out, grab my sword, snatch a vintage Colt 1911 pistol, and walk to the starboard side hatch.
“They’ve just launched long-range missiles at Marbles!” Doom reported. I gasp. I feel my adrenal glands flare up. Fear floods my spine and then pulses throughout my body. I cringe for a moment, and then I steady my breathing with my eyes closed.
“Knock out those missiles, Doom!” I order with a sense of urgency. “Throat, rip a hole in that fucking ship, and get me close enough to jump!”
Both respond with “Got it,” as if they were of one voice. “I’ll take out the human fighters, guys!” Turnbuckle keys in on the audio net. “Once you get her on that ship, I’ll link up with Throat, and we’ll pummel some squids!”
“Happy hunting, boys,” I say flatly. I lean into the hatch as if I expect it to pop open any second. Now I notice my fear for Marbles has taken a new form…
Primal Rage!
RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE
Throat-Slasher’s superior inertial dampeners keep me blissfully unaware of the freakishly dangerous g-forces that it’s contending with. I can hear the vibrations of the weapon’s cradles in action. The vacuum of space doesn’t allow for sound waves, but the hard-mounted weapons can be felt as they work their sinister magic.
“Got a nice hole for you, Kat!” Throat announces.
“Just give me three seconds notice before you open the hatch… I can survive vacuum for several minutes, but I still have to breathe!” I chuckle. I mentally note that my humor is in full array. What I used to believe was a defense mechanism against stress, is now a sign that I’m empowered by forces beyond time and space. I am a killer.
I am become death… The destroyer of worlds!
“The mag-shielding will seal in the atmospherics, so that’s not necessary. I just don’t want any flak cannons to come alive before I get into position. That hatch can survive a direct hit from a missile… You can’t!” He replies.
“Pfft! Don’t bet on it!” I say. Of course it’s true, but the Rage has me feeling like an invincible demigod… Some people believe that War Masters are demigods, after all.
“Almost there! Que the hatch!” Throat sounds off. I don’t even bat an eyelash.
The hatch opens up, and I can see the invisible mag-shielding clearly. My senses are in tune with the cosmos, and I see things in dazzling arrays of mathematics and symmetry. But I have no time to gawk.
I see a hole in the top of the gunship. Somehow the interior lighting must have survived the particle beam strike, because I can clearly see the illuminated deck plating within it. Throat maneuvers the LRF to sync vector and azimuth with the slowly tumbling gunship, and from my vantage, the ship may as well be stationary.
“Good luck!” Throat shouts, but I am in the black before I can give a reply. I launched myself with a single lunge, as if I were launching myself down a luge during the Winter Olympics.
I fall feet first, and quickly close the gap between me and the gunship. The mag-shielding is keeping the ship from venting atmosphere, but the protective shielding is off-line, so there’s nothing to impede me from entering the ship like a human missile.
I slam into the deck plating in a perfect ‘Superman landing’, and rise to my feet. The corridor is lit with amber colored emergency lighting, and has an almost romantic glow about it. I take a second to get my bearings, and I decide to head in the direction of the fore section of the ship.
I hear shouts of men and women up ahead, so I slow my stride, draw my pistol, and wait for them to crest the corner of an intersection ahead. I see the barrels of some after-market multi-purpose rifles first, but by the time the human figures emerge behind them, my wrist-mounted shield is already snapped into array.
Bolts of red plasma, and bursts of ballistic slugs harmlessly impact my shield, as I press it forward with my left forearm. I see the whites of the enemies’ eyes before I slam head-long into them with my shield. They tumble back, but before they can find their footing, two .45 slugs hit them between their eyes in rapid succession.
I snap my shield out of array, so I can listen for additional threats. The humming of the shield isn’t what I would consider ‘stealthy’. I take stock in the dead attackers. One male, and one female. Both wearing after-market light body armor with lose fitting grey jumpsuits underneath. Decidedly not pirates.
At this point I’m wishing I had more experience outside of the training temple, or off of the rock I spent decades on. The disposition of these two dead people would probably trigger some kind of clue as to what’s up with this gunship. I shake off my frustration, and look around.
The adjoining corridor that the attackers came from runs port to starboard. I see a junction a few meters away, and it appears to track further forward. I also take note that the ship must have some series tech installed. Most ships lose all or part of their anti-grav systems when the thruster array takes a serious hit. This is not the case.
Pirates piece together warships from civilian vessels, and typically have to find low tech solutions to keep them flying. This hull type is certainly commercial in origin, but it appears to have been skillfully retrofitted for warfighting. That kind of wor
k is only done in an advanced ship yard with highly skilled starship architects involved.
And lots of credit to finance it.
Mwargoth fighters, well-groomed crewmembers, uniformed after-market tech… There’s a seriously ominous revelation brewing in my gut. I have no time to speculate, however. I have to keep moving to maintain my initiative. I need to close the gap between me, and the CIC before an organized defense can be formed against me.
I move through the center corridor and pass a myriad of doors as I go. I remain vigilant with my footing, and take great care not to pound my feet down on the deck plating. I’m likely being remotely tracked, given the sophisticated tech onboard, but so far there’s no sign of other crewmembers.
That just means they’re holding up around the CIC… I’m sure of it. I consider going down to try and disable their fighter launch tube, but I think better of it. This ship has finite tonnage, and the likelihood that they have any additional attack craft is slim. It’s a risk to benefit ratio, and the odds of affecting a positive outcome are better by taking control of the ship.
I come to another junction, and I stop to press myself against a nearby bulkhead. I pause, take a calm breath, and then slowly crane my neck around the corner. Good thing too!
Just around the corner, and to my left, I see a row of hardened shipping containers arranged in a general ‘u’ shape, and bulging outward from a fore-facing blast door. I wish my body could tolerate tactical nanotech, because this would be an ideal opportunity to take advantage of it.
I hear whispered voices of some defenders that are coming from the door, but just out of my vantage. I can’t decide if they just don’t have neural interfaces to silently communicate, or if they’re just morons with no notion of sound discipline in combat.
I decide my pistol will do no good in this situation. Ideally, I could make a strafing run past the front of the crates, and then duck out of the way to draw my sword and finish them off, but that won’t work. My old pistol lacks the rate of fire required to pull it off. Besides, I would need to score several rapid headshots to take them down with confidence. That after-market armor may be thin-skinned, but it will likely stop the blunt .45 slugs handily.