“Comm, open a channel to her, full visual mode.”
Novacek flashed Steven a questioning look for breaking official safety protocols.
“Aye, sir. Channel open.”
Steven was surprised to see that Ashlyn was in her armor. Ashlyn’s face appeared on the view screen. “Commander Parker, what’s your status?”
“Not so good, Admiral. I took damage from the destroyer. I’m running low on oxygen, I’m using what’s in my suit for me, giving what’s left in the Sharkfin for Briggs.
“As for fuel, problematic. I am white-hot. It is a race to catch you before the oxygen runs out versus the remaining fuel. Computations show that if you can increase Avenger’s speed to 1.98 sub-light, I have a shot at synchronizing our speeds before I run out of fuel. I have a 4 minute and 10 second ETA. My fuel will be gone in approximately 3 minutes 43 seconds. I’ll need to cut fuel at 3 minutes and 20 seconds though to save some for last minute braking and course adjustments.”
Steven crunched the numbers in his head. 50 seconds of flight time without her mains. If she were off by even a millimeter, she’d miss Avenger by a hundred kilometers. It was impossible.
“I need you to rig the launch bay for a dead-stick landing, sir.”
“They’re getting it ready as we speak. What’s your oxygen situation?”
“Briggs has 9 minutes left,” Ashlyn said.
Ashlyn reached out, seeking to talk with Steven privately, and was surprised that she couldn’t do so. “Are you all right, sir?”
Steven touched the bandage on his forehead. “It’s nothing; just get back here safely, Commander.”
“Will do! Sir, if I can make a suggestion, please turn off all of Avenger’s external lighting, leaving just the internal landing bay floods on.”
“Affirmative. We’ll align Avenger so that the landing bay is a straight shot for you. Ash…” Steven’s voice trailed away.
Though she wished she could have spoken to him within the privacy of the fugue, she was forced to make her request verbally. “Sir, if I may make one additional request? I ask that you go to the flight deck’s pilot entrance at the rear of the hanger and observe the landing in person.”
Steven hesitated only briefly. “Very well, on my way. God-speed, Ash, Godspeed!”
Novacek’s intensely narrowed eyes, questioned Ashlyn’s strange request at placing Steven’s life at such extreme risk.
“Helm, what’s our energy status?”
“At 7 percent, sir.”
“Good—increase our speed to 1.98 per the Commander Parker’s instructions. Align the bay for her.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Aligning shuttle bay. Our port correctional thrusters are almost useless for increasing our speed though.”
Unusual sternness filled his voice. “Figure it out. Just get it done.”
“Chief, how much time do we have until we need to launch the escape pods?”
“For safety, launch should begin within 22 minutes. At 29 minutes, the planet will be too far away to make landfall.”
“Very good,” said Steven. “Comm, sound the evac order for everyone to get to the pods.
“Novacek, I am going to the landing bay. You have the chair. If you don’t mind, keep an eye on Phillip for me, please.”
Novacek thought to question Steven about the danger he was putting himself and the ship in, but seeing the conviction etched in Steven’s face, he also knew that his cautionary words would be ignored.
***
“Hold on, Briggs. We’re almost home,” said Ash to her passenger’s unhearing ears.
Though Avenger was still invisible to her and Steven’s mind was inaccessible, her heart was drawn to him with a precision that no machine or instrument could duplicate.
She knew that Avenger’s gaping maw sat before her like the open mouth of Moby Dick, and not unlike Ahab in his obsessive hunt for the white whale, Ashlyn’s soul was dependent upon catching it. Her obsession though was not for Avenger, but for the man who commanded her.
“Gena, switch me over to manual control, maximum yoke sensitivity.”
“Manual override, engaged,” came the instant response. With a light hand that could hold a stick of warm butter without marring its shape, Ashlyn eased her craft a finite gradation to port. A chime sounded, signaling her divergence from the course Gena had chosen as optimal.
Pressing the tandem floor pedals, Ash reversed the port and starboard engine thrusters. Her Sharkfin trembled under the torque of heavy braking, growing stronger as she pushed the reverse thrusters to the floor. Ash heard the first of three small pops as several, already weakened rivets on the underside of her hull gave out.
With the yoke jittering in her hand, the red fuel warning light on the control panel flashed faster, questioning her expensive use of crucial fuel on empty tanks.
The extreme depth of concentration Ashlyn needed to keep her aura locked with Steven’s, forbade her from taking readings of her gauges. “Gena, verbally update my current speed every 4 seconds.”
“Current speed is, 3.53, 3.46, 3.12, 2.92,” Gena called out.
Adrenaline honed her instincts to the precision of a surgical knife. Her perceptions sped, slowing time. “You’ve got to give me more,” she said.
“2.74 …” said Gena as the engines gave a sputter.
“Dammit!” Gena’s calculations were off, and she was far from the 1.98 speed she needed to make the landing. “Gena, divert 70 percent of the fuel reserved for the attitude jets to the main braking thrusters.”
“2.56, 2.45, 2.37—”
Ash glanced out her port window and saw that she was losing fuel. Her earlier collision with the enemy fighter had caused more damage than she had realized. Within seconds, the deep guttural sound of the reverse braking thrusters again began to sputter. “Gena, route all remaining fuel to the mains!”
It only helped for a moment, her engines quickly coming to a cold, silent stop. Her tanks were empty.
“Avenger, I’ve gone rogue. Repeat, I have gone rogue. My tanks are empty. I have no fuel for course corrections.”
Though her aura told her that she was still locked onto Steven, her speed was still far too high. Knowing that, she made the only decision she could.
“Gena, initiate executive auto-destruct command, Ashlyn 34—21—32.”
“Self-destruct initiated, 10 second warning,” said Gena.
Chapter 13
Steven stood at the steel door staring through the thick glass window into the open bay. He strained, reaching out for Ashlyn. Nothing. He reached deep into his mind.
Suddenly, cold darkness enveloped him. Brilliant embers of golden-yellow light kindled to life as the fireflies wove their magical pathway through the darkness, drawing him.
His concentration sharpened, letting him hear and see Gena’s readouts from within Ashlyn’s mind. He saw himself surrounded by the familiarity of dials, tactical displays, and system status panels.
“Current speed is 3.53, 3.36, 3.12, 2.92,” Gena called out.
“You’ve got to give me more.” He heard Ashlyn say.
“2.74, 2.56, 2.45, 2.37,” said Gena. Her engines sputtered.
“Gena, route all remaining fuel to the mains!”
Steven watched, waited, and then he heard the reverse braking thrusters sputter to a stop. Within the surreal physicality, he became acutely aware of her desperate situation.
“Avenger, I’ve gone rogue. Repeat, I have gone rogue. My tanks are empty. I have no fuel for course corrections.”
“Gena, initiate executive auto-destruct command, Ashlyn 32—21—32.”
Hearing her orders, a crushing pain swept through Steven’s heart, nearly ripping it in two. With a stark realization, he saw that she was going to sacrifice her own life to save Avenger’s crew.
A massive surge of adrenaline pumped into his veins as he heard Gena say. “Self-destruct initiated. 10 second warning.”
“No, Ash! Don’t!” he screamed. He could not let her go, even
to save his crew, even to save his own son.
The surge of adrenaline intensified his perceptions, bringing time to a virtual standstill. Though Ashlyn was dozens of kilometers away, Steven’s mind envisioned her craft with unparalleled clarity. Instinctively his eyes closed, his hands flattening against the cold glass window.
A glowing, pulsating halo of greenish-yellow light formed around his hands and grew larger until it encompassed his entire body. From his pressing touch, the energy emanating from him softened and warbled the glass. The glass appeared as if it were melting under the heat of a fully stoked kiln. As it bowed outwards, retreating away from him, the rivets on the seal around the window flexed under the strain. The door itself creaked, its top hinge began to bend—and yet, he kept pressing harder.
Steven grimaced, the set of his eyes so deep that they seemed about to implode. His jaw clenched so tightly that his bared teeth bled. The bandaged cut on his forehead sent a steady stream of blood down his face, showing the physical, outward effort that was being exerted.
With his muscles bulging to the point of bursting, his heart raced past 370 beats a minute. Like a bull elephant whose head was butted against the trunk of a deeply rooted tree, he sought only to push harder.
It was for Ashlyn’s life—it was for his life—that he saw himself braced against the nose of her ship, straining to slow it. I can’t let you go, Ash. I can’t!
The reinforcement of his words enabled him to intensify his effort, his focus. His body trembled as he willed for more strength—strength that was given him under the guise of the herculean effort of his physical muscles, rather than with his mind, which was the true source.
With the subtlety of an exploding volcano, he let loose a scream driven by his fear of losing her. A massive second wave of energy exploded within him, empowering his mind to new levels. The veins in his temples rose terrifyingly, pulsing frantically in time with his heart. It raced at over 780 beats a minute and continued to increase. His own blood escaped through his pores, and yet, his pained face showed only determined composure.
Such was his focus that he never gave consideration to what he was doing or what was actually happening. He was inwardly locked—and wouldn’t have noticed if Avenger had dissolved away beneath his feet.
Though his hands never left the glass, his mind not faltering, his stomach convulsed and he coughed up blood.
I can’t let you— With one last mighty push, he released every bit of energy within him—then collapsed unconscious to the deck.
***
Hearing Steven’s internal shout, she saw that he was willing to sacrifice all to save her.
I’m sorry, my love. I can’t be responsible for the death of Avenger’s crew! Just as the time was about to expire, Gena announced, “1.983."
Though Ashlyn could not explain what had happened, it was enough to give her a fighting chance.
“Gena, abort self-destruct. Repeat, abort self-destruct.”
“Self-destruct aborted,” came Gena’s reply.
“Gena, maximum power to the shields. Cockpit coverage only. My God, stand by me now!” Ash uttered, quoting Melville’s Ahab, and like the harpoon belonging to him, her craft came spearing out of the darkness into the bright light that was the whale’s heart.
Engaging the magnetic skids, her Sharkfin was pulled to the flight deck with a gut-wrenching jolt. An ear-shattering screech filled the bay as her Sharkfin’s superheated skids left a trail of dancing orange and yellow shavings in its wake.
The first of three dampening fields did surprisingly little to slow her craft, but the jolt shattered the weaker parts attached to the fuselage, leaving them suspended midair in the field behind her.
Her fighter slid into the second, stronger field. The cannon on the nose of her fighter crumpled and tore away just as her fighter exited the field.
As her fighter encountered the third and strongest field, her landing skids ripped away. Her craft descended to the deck, where it leaned to its left, riding on its wingtip. The rotating intake blades of her left engine exploded, leaving a myriad of flaming debris in the field where it hung suspended. It was a spectacular visual effect.
The last barrier was a simple old-fashioned net. As the crumpled nose of her ship encountered the mesh, the net tightened, stretching as the hydraulic restraints extended nearly sixty meters. The growing tension ripped the net’s hardened steel alloy mounting brackets from the wall on her right side, freeing the net and sending her Sharkfin into a sweeping arc to the left.
Ashlyn’s fighter spun around, her craft heading fast toward the bulkhead. Her right wing struck the wall first, the force of the impact shearing the wing off at the fuselage. It twirled end over end into the air like a thrown knife. Touching the ceiling gently, it came crashing down atop her Sharkfin’s canopy with an ear-deafening crunch.
Ashlyn heaved a sigh, taking her first breath since entering the bay. Peering through the small breaks in the netting, Ash watched as the external bay door closed for the last time.
The pressurization warning light in the bay changed from red to green. Ash touched her locket, deactivating her armor. In an instant, it retreated into the locket, pinned to her stretch.
The damage control team rushed in through half a dozen entrances. Some ran to douse her craft in fire retardant spray while others began laser cutting away the webbing trapping her craft.
Below her, she could see the med team in their familiar white uniforms waiting anxiously for the net to be cleared so that they could gain access to the cockpit.
As the net fell away, Ash hit the button cycling her canopy. Giving a thumbs up, Ash exited, directing the med team to her passenger in the copilot’s seat beside her. It was with much anxiety that she hovered nearby, waiting until they announced Briggs was still alive.
The crew surrounded her, giving congratulations. The women hugged her, patting her back—while the men, almost religiously, slapped her butt.
Briggs, having awakened, caught sight of Ashlyn through the bodies of bustling medics. With a narrow grin and a weak thumbs up, he thanked her.
Almost simultaneously, Ashlyn’s thoughts jumped to Steven. She turned, searching for him, wondering why he wasn’t there.
Sensing he was still behind the pilot’s entry door, she broke away from the crowd around her. The weakness she felt in him scared her, and she began running as she sensed he was in trouble. Nearing the door, she gasped. In the door’s glass were two distinct handprints, each one clouded with a light layer of condensation. She reached out, touching the glass with a single finger, doing so in reverence. It was warm, its texture altered to that of pliable plastic. The condensation on its surface was like a sensual body oil.
Seeing the window’s ruptured seal and popped rivets, the door bowing towards her, Ash marveled at the power that Steven possessed to have done such a thing.
Straining to pry the door open a bit, she awkwardly squeezed through. A few feet behind the door, she found Steven’s bloodied, crumpled body on the floor, unconscious.
Dropping beside him, she grabbed his wrist and felt for his pulse. “Oh my god!” Were the only words she could utter when she saw how fast it was racing. Lifting his head, his face pale and his body covered in heavy, blood-laden sweat, she tried to rouse him. As if he were dead, his hand fell flat on the floor with a sharp smack. His open palm revealed rippling, convulsing veins. Ash noted how the air above his hand was shimmering like the heated air above a hot desert road.
She held him until his pulse slowed and he stirred. Aided by the fugue, he drew energy and strength from her touch.
Weakly, Steven’s eyes opened—little more than battle weary slits.
“Steven, we have to get you up, we’re abandoning ship.”
“Abandoning ship?” Steven fought to see through the fog clouding his mind.
“It’s all right, don’t force it. Let’s sit you up against the wall.”
“Ash, is all this blood from me?”
�
�Five-minute warning. All personnel should proceed immediately to an available escape pod,” came the warning over the public address system.
“Yes, it’s yours—but you’re fine. We really have to go.”
“Ash, we need to get to the bridge,” said Steven in rising, his balance faltering.
“Easy there, lean on my shoulder. My cabin is on the way,” said Ash. “I need a minute to grab some clothes and things.”
“I need to go by my cabin too—I want to get out of these clothes. They’d be hard to explain to Phillip.”
Inside her cabin, Ash keyed in the numerical combination to her personal safe in the wall and removed a few items, including a balalaika that held sentimental value to her.
She headed into her dressing room and quickly changed out of her black stretch. “Do you remember what happened? Do you know how you slowed my fighter down?”
“Yeah, I remember—I was afraid of losing you. When I heard you start the self-destruct sequence, I don’t know—it was instinctual. I didn’t know I was going to do it.”
“Well, I’ll thank you later,” she said as she emerged from the dressing room and headed toward the door. “Let’s get to your cabin.”
Making a quick stop by Steven’s cabin, Ashlyn helped him get cleaned up and dressed. “Wish we had more time—I‘d love to take a shower with you,” said Ash.
“That makes three of us!” said Steven, smiling as he slid into his boxers.
Stratton’s voice came over the P.A. “Last call. All personnel are presumed to be in an escape pod. Launch will commence momentarily.”
Rushing onto the bridge, though they were more than a hundred million kilometers away, the image of LV-6 filled the screen. It was a world very different from Earth. Shades of tan and brown dominated with smaller areas of orange and red where the crust was broken and lava glowed. “Stratton, tell me what we’ve learned about the planet?”
Ashlyn Chronicles 1: 2287 A.D. Page 19