Edge of Solace (A Star Too Far)

by Casey Calouette

  The feeling of nausea changed phases as the tug rose. The Marines latched onto the derelict with weapons at ready. The ship grew larger and the damage more pronounced. Whatever hit it had gotten inside and destroyed everything it could.

  Abraham looked up at names he’d never heard. Large blocky letters spelled out ‘Coke!’ just above him. They’d be anchoring next to the bottom of the K.

  The nausea hit again as the tug matched up with the slow spin of the derelict. The Malta was disappearing just behind them. Darkness came quickly. His breath came in ragged bursts.

  A light blinked on, and another. Samir and Youssef turned on the shoulder mounted light strips. Abraham locked his eyes onto the pool of white before him and felt his heart rate slow. The hull was close and the letters huge.

  The tug nudged into the container.

  He could feel the impact in his glove but heard nothing. Of course, he thought, no sound out here.

  Samir climbed onto one side while Youssef went to the other. The pair each peeled away the side of the canister and pulled out a length of gray and white cable. They attached a blinking orange ball and tossed it against the hull.

  Abraham blinked and looked closer. The ball flattened slowly and disappeared into the hull until the rope looked to be one with the alloy.

  Samir came close and nodded. Samir told him it was done. He also said that he wanted a nap and he was sick of this bullshit but Abraham wasn’t about to transmit that.

  “They’re done, sir,” Abraham said.

  “Good job, latch on,” Huron replied.

  Abraham scrambled over to the heavy safety clip and took the slack out of his safety line. The internals seemed caught and wouldn’t retract the full length.

  Samir made a joke about it being too big but Abraham ignored it.

  “Clear, clear! Contacts!” Sergeant Gruber shouted over the comms.

  Abraham snapped his head from side to side. He couldn’t see anything around him. He told Samir and Youssef there was something out there.

  Around him lights blinked in bursts. He realized he was seeing weapons fire from the Marines. The curvature of the container was enough that whatever they were shooting at was out of his view.

  The wreck rolled further and the Malta came into view. The squat launcher locked onto the hull deployed a stream of missiles that spread out above and below Abraham.

  “Blow the line, get out Abe,” Reed said quickly.

  Abraham reached forward and slapped at the latch. It broke free and they drifted away from the wreck. His eyes locked on a ragged gouge. He could picture it, whatever it was, crawling out.

  The gouge spun past slowly. Samir’s lights shone into the opening and showed a mass of jumbled goods and wrecked equipment.

  And then it was out.

  The thing that came out was like the soldier Abraham had seen on Canaan. But it was thinner than a man could be with a wasp thin waist. The way it moved was graceful.

  The thing pushed off from the gouge and landed squarely onto Samir. In a moment it plunged one hand into the Engineer and spun backwards towards the tug drone.

  Blood sprayed out for a split second and then stopped. His body tugged and bounced on the safety line. Abraham couldn’t move away as the corpse plunged against him, knocking him askew. His line slipped and he felt himself spinning.

  The thing from the darkness landed on the drone and bashed one arm against the orange hull while the second arm tracked and fired at Youssef. A red sheet expanded from the engineer and drifted away.

  Abraham could see the blood sailing through space like a wall. The oscillations passed him through it but it fell off like snow on a cold morning. He screamed in fear. The safety line pulled him away from the thing and closer to safety.

  Vomit filled his helmet as the nausea overwhelmed him. Only the spinning kept him from breathing it back in. The face shield was covered in fluorescent yellow bile.

  “Out, out!” Abraham howled. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t feel. Only the tug of the safety line and the random impacts of the bodies let him know that he was still connected.

  Abraham pictured his father and took one quick shallow breath. His rock. His anchor. God was with him in that moment and he knew it, could feel it.

  He opened his eyes and pushed his face against the vomit. He had to see, if he couldn’t see he couldn’t stop the corpses from battering him. The sickness came again but only saliva drifted out.

  A smudged window to space opened up. He braced himself as he impacted with Samir, or was it Youssef? He gripped and missed. He tried with the next oscillation and clutched tightly to the dead man.

  Above him the thing beat on the drone until it stopped mid-swing and drifted off. A pair of Marines advanced on it, firing a stream of silent projectiles. In a moment it drifted away and was gone.

  “Abraham! Abe!” He became aware of the voices. Words wouldn’t come. His mouth was locked to keep more vomit from spilling out.

  The derelict ceased rotation and struggled forward. Names slipped past until the tail of the ship blinked to black.

  “Almost, Abe, Reed is coming out,” Huron said slowly.

  Abraham looked around and saw the Marines coming closer. He ignored the corpses and focused on keeping still. The only thing he had to hold onto was a dead man.

  *

  Archie stood in a narrow passage and watched a squad of heavily armored Marines pass. He wanted, more than anything, to be strapped into a suit with a weapon in his hands. It pained him deeply to watch Marines go where he couldn’t.

  The last of the squad passed. The smell of sweat mixed with the banana-like scent of nanite lubricants. He wrinkled his nose and continued down the passage.

  Castro stood in the doorway with one foot flat against the bulkhead with his knee out across the opening. “Major.”

  Archie glanced inside and saw a bored looking Marine standing next to the bunk. Only a rumpled blanket peaked out. “I need to speak with Captain Asa.”

  Castro slid his glance slowly and turned his head. “She’s not doing all that well, Major.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Castro shrugged. “Something is going wrong inside, I’m not sure what it is. She’s filled with a nanite cocktail that’d put a geriatric to shame.”

  Archie felt something—not sadness, but a regret. Fuck this. She was going to have someone shoot me in the head.

  “I need to talk to her, Castro. Is she awake? What are the symptoms?”

  Castro sighed through his nose and looked up at Archie. “Fever, a touch of delirium, bruising on her chest. All my scans give me gibberish. One says her adrenaline is spiked while another says her ribs are falling apart.” He shrugged and stepped into the room.

  The room smelled of antiseptic and a hint of piss.

  “I’m not going to move her. You do it here.” Castro walked to the main med station and sat with his elbows on his knees. “Major, how are you feeling?”

  “Why?” Archie asked in the midst of the room.

  “You were exposed to the same environment, no quarantine.”

  “Fine.” Archie turned to where Captain Asa lay. “Marine,” Archie said to the guard.

  He was taken back for a second. The Marine’s nose and ears were scarred and ragged. His name badge read: ‘Avinash’.

  “Sir,” Private Avinash said with dimples that spread on gray tinted cheeks. His tone was the same tone that every private had used since Alexander the Great.

  “I’m going to have a talk with the prisoner, mind taking a walk?”

  “Apologies, sir, but this is my post.”

  Archie nodded once. Couldn’t argue with that.

  He leaned down and sat on the floor. Inside of the bunk the blankets were cast aside and a single leg poked out. Blotchy bruising spread along the ankle and foot.

  The blankets rolled and turned. A face that was thinner, lighter, and missing the heavy cheeks looked back at him. Her eyes seemed pressed into her skull. Sweat bea
ded on her brow.

  “Archie,” she whispered.

  He wanted to feel bad for her, just for a moment.

  “Captain, I have a question.” He didn’t have the heart to banter.

  “Marjorie,” she said.

  He blinked.

  “My name is Marjorie.”

  Archie nodded slowly. “Where are your fleets?”

  She cracked a smile that split lines in her dry lips. “Pursuing your fleets.”

  “You left no one behind?”

  She looked at him with questioning eyes. “Where are you, Major? Running home?”

  “Somewhere that we should have found Sa’Ami starships.”

  “You’re going to see the Commandant,” she said.

  Archie was silent.

  Her eyes peered at his. A bead of sweat rolled along her brow and dropped into the corner of her eye. She raised a hand up and rubbed her face. Bruising and sickly purple blotches covered her wrists.

  “There’s nothing you can do to stop the Commandant.”

  He thought quickly. Why? “You don’t have enough ships,” Archie said. “Your fleets are buying time to get this barrier working. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  Captain Asa ran a finger along her brow and pushed away the rivulets of sweat. “It won’t matter then. All we need to do is keep you away until it is up, then you will leave us alone.”

  Her words were like a prayer, a whispered nothing that came at night.

  “Good god, you’re sacrificing them? All of them?”

  She shook her head softly. “It’s a price we are willing to pay. Now go home, there is nothing you can do here, it is already set.”

  He ran through his thoughts. The crate. “What’s in the crate?”

  She croaked out a laugh, followed by a wheeze. “I’m dying, Major, but I’m not a traitor.”

  Something seemed different about her and he couldn’t place it. She wasn’t his friend, or even someone he respected. Did she deserve some words? No. He stood and stretched his back.

  Cries and moans echoed through the hall. Castro was prepping a set of tables while the other Medics and Corpsman were scrubbing down and laying out nanite kits. He looked to Avinash.

  “Trouble outside, sir,” Avinash said quietly.

  He didn’t have time to leave before the casualties streamed in. Puncture wounds. Vacuum. The price paid to fight in space. Castro was too busy to pay him any mind.

  He walked out with Private Avinash following behind.

  “Private?” he asked.

  “Relieved sir,” Avinash said. “Pardon me, Major, I’ve got some friends to check on.”

  Archie nodded and watched the Marine sprint away. He felt a tug of humanity. He, of all people, knew how she felt. Alone, dying.

  He walked away and left the thoughts behind him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Rotation

  The Malta burned closer to the smoky blue marble that was the outermost planet of the Bosporus System. A trio of squat moons, like blistered potatoes, soared around the unnamed planet. Behind them the Sa’Ami ship blinked in and followed. The rest of the enemy fleet was light years behind, but following.

  William looked up at the display and wondered what his pursuer was thinking. Three ships moving behind the planet where there were only two before. The Sa’Ami would have no visual. He wasn’t worried about the structure closer in, they’d know if a laser painted them.

  The watch bell rang with a dull tone. The sounds of armored Marines shifting verified the change of guards.

  He looked up at the shared data link between the Malta and the Scylla. In thirty seconds they’d pass where the Sa’Ami ship couldn’t see them.

  “Prepare to launch eyes,” William said.

  “Eyes prepped,” Huron replied.

  The display shifted and the ships passed out of the view of the pursuer.

  “Drop it,” William said. “Second probe in thirty seconds.”

  The bridge was crisp, tight, taut. In under an hour the Sa’Ami would either pass by and head to the inner system, or engage. Either way, they’d get a fight soon enough.

  “Execute pulse,” Captain Martinez called.

  William slapped at the console. Icons shifted, rolled, and blurred. An audible groan shuddered through the hull.

  Midshipman Lebeau whistled. “Oh, baby.”

  The Malta spun on her axis at the same moment as the Scylla did. Both ships arced tightly around a moon that was dirty brown and pocked with craters. Velocity burned off as they pushed as much thrust as they could.

  The bridge was silent. Everyone focused on the display. The feed from the probes showed nothing but darkness.

  “How long?” William asked.

  “Eighteen minutes if it follows our side, twenty-two if it comes on the other side,” Lebeau said, her head turned towards her display.

  “Give me a diagnostics on all weapons, I don’t want any surprises.” The ship had enough repairs to make a fully equipped shop nervous, let alone the repairs they’d done on the fly.

  “Captain, there’s something happening with the binary,” Huron said.

  “Define something, Mr. Huron,” William said. He keyed up the Engineering console and scanned the readouts.

  “I, uh, well, I’m not sure, but something is happening. The gravity is varying, the orbit is starting to deviate, I’m showing a massive transfer of energy between the two stars.”

  “We’ll worry about that once we’ve sorted this. How are my weapons?”

  “Running,” Huron said as his hands flew over the console.

  Displays winked green one after the next. Every system was checked, loaded, and prepped. A flurry of orange danced on a mass driver before shifting to green.

  “What was that?” William asked.

  “Nanites priming. That one might run hot,” Huron replied. The Martian Engineer leaned closure and punched keys rapidly. “Is good I think, Captain.”

  William didn’t like the thought of being down one mass driver. He’d seen the recording of the Malta’s first engagement. Repeating that was not an option. He needed to intercept those missiles.

  The Malta shifted apart from the Scylla and both plowed around the oval moon. A dim shadow slid across the blue face of the planet as the moon orbited. The clock counted down.

  “Engaging in three,” William called over the ship’s comms. The sounds of the Marines shifting in the hall was reassuring. He pictured the entire crew snapping a bit more aware.

  His hand itched. Fingers danced on his palm and he tried to calm it, sooth it, get rid of it. The itch wouldn’t stop. He’d never felt comfortable with the augmetic, though he’d heard that even a missing limb would itch.

  “Comms request from the Scylla,” Lebeau said.

  William nodded. Captain Martinez’s face filled the screen.

  “Good luck, Captain, give them hell,” Captain Martinez said. He nodded quickly, like a matador.

  The comms dropped and a few moments later the first engagement point passed. Nothing.

  “Coming on the backside,” William said. He cued up the secondary nav program. The Malta moved closer to the icy blue planet and waited. The Scylla pushed further out.

  The mass drivers began firing before William even registered the contact. The weapons program cycled and shifted plunging one mass driver into the red. The program he’d spent so long tinkering with leaped into action.

  The Malta rolled on the center line and sprayed out mass driver slugs. Sa’Ami missiles were over the horizon and coming in tight. Green flashes followed by yellow explosions marked where the mass drivers had succeeded.

  In a flash of fury the derelict lit up and disappeared into a cloud of plasma and debris. It had served its purpose and bought them another barrage. The plan was to smash the Sa’Ami before it could bring the full weight of the missile batteries to bear.

  The Sa’Ami ship appeared in a white flash as it passed into view. The ruddy brown hull was speckled with bla
ck as missile ports were visible. More flames shattered along the edge. Another barrage was coming.

  William felt helpless as the rest of the program cycled. Railguns pumped more rounds and the ship continued to spin. Impact alarms sounded. The Sa’Ami missiles struggled closer. The rate of fire from the mass drivers dropped.

  “Override thermals!” William yelled.

  Huron shifted the panels silently and the rate increased.

  Missiles arced out and away before slamming in tight directly for the Malta. The mass drivers paused and turned to catch the barrage. Grav shields spiked and the slightest pulse of force pushed through the hull.

  The Sa’ami ship spun and bared a new side. Mass driver slugs bore into the hull as the grav shields were overwhelmed by the nickel-cobalt slugs. Then the missiles from the Scylla crashed into the leading edge. Sparks and flames gushed out as the missiles exploded upon the nose.

  William cheered and slammed his augmetic hand down on the chair. The cue for the second weapon program triggered.

  Missiles shook the entire hull of the Malta as both launchers fired. The stream pushed through the screen of the Sa’Ami ship. Half of the missiles were destroyed by the Sa’Ami defenses and most of the rest clashed against the shield.

  The nose of the Sa’Ami ship was dimpled and ragged, but the armor hadn’t been penetrated.

  “Shit,” William said.

  The next barrage drove the grav shields into the red. Armor indicators pulsed as the nanites surged out to heal the craters.

  “Scylla is moving up,” Lebeau said quickly.

  “What?” William asked. That wasn’t the plan.

  The Malta might take another blow, but she might not. The Sa’Ami had focused most of the shots on the Malta, ignoring the Scylla.

  William leaned forward and watched, it seemed like it was in slow motion. The railguns fired and penetrated through the hull of the Sa’Ami. Thermal indicators turned red on the edge of the target.

  “Ping the Scylla!” William yelled. The missile cruiser didn’t have nearly the defenses. The plan was to have the Malta be the missile magnet, not the Scylla.

  “Rejected,” Lebeau said.

  The Malta’s railguns rattled off another salvo. Rounds burned through the weakened shields with an incandescent flash of green. Nickel burned and nanites sheared.