Survival Strategy

by Anders Raynor

  “Listen up, flyboys and flygirls,” he said to the wing. “Here’s our chance to make ourselves useful. I’ll lead Squadron Atlas to the objective. Our job—disable the target, not destroy it. EMP missiles only, got it? We want that thing offline, not fried. Leave something for the nerds to study.”

  The countdown to launch lit in red numbers at the top of his HUD. Seatbelts strapped themselves tight around his chest. He didn’t take the G-serum shot as he didn’t expect to get into a dogfight.

  “All right, Squadron Atlas is launching, the others on standby,” Jason said. “Keep your eyes peeled. You never know what we might find. A stealthy zorus could hide in those clouds, right under our noses. Run continuous hyperspectral scans. Anything moves—you report.”

  Electromagnetic force ejected his starfighter out the launch tube. He fired the main thrusters and sailed between asteroids, flying so close to the large ones that his wings almost skimmed their rugged surface. Adrenaline spread through his body in a wave of pure pleasure.

  “Keep close to the big rocks,” he advised his squadron. “Newborn systems are filled with small asteroids that can punch through your hull at high speed. Space is cleaner around the big ones. They act like gravitational magnets and attract everything around them, pebbles and dust alike.”

  “You’re enjoying this,” Porto boomed through Jason’s direct channel, his tone almost reproachful.

  “Oh yeah,” Jason drawled in response. “I’m digging it.”

  “What?”

  “Old Earth’s slang. Means I’m loving it. Love flying this bird. Such a feeling of raw power, it’s…”

  “Exhilarating?”

  “It’s like making love to space!”

  Porto chuckled. “With all due respect, you need a girlfriend, commander.”

  “This is even better!”

  He couldn’t find the words to describe the experience. The whirring of the engine was the sweetest music to his ears. The pressure of acceleration on his chest—the most marvelous embrace. The dance of the sunbeams through the asteroids—the most enchanting spectacle.

  The relay appeared as a thin vertical line against the sun’s glow. It drifted between two large asteroids, the perfect spot to stay protected from impacts.

  “We have visual on the target,” Jason said to the battlegroup. “I recognize this model; it’s an ASF relay.”

  “Impossible,” O’Neil said. “It’s not in our databases.”

  “Let’s not speculate,” Hunt called. “Commander Blaze, permission to fire EMPs.” As the battlegroup leader, Hunt was the one to give the go-ahead.

  Jason launched one of his missiles, then reverted the polarity of his thrusters to slow down his Katana. The missile’s bright trail ended in an explosion, but the detonation happened too early.

  “Forward shield to max,” he ordered his squadron. They were out of range of the effective EMP blast radius, but he didn’t want to take chances. “The relay is shielded. Atlas two, three, and four, engage.”

  Jason’s wing mates shot one missile each. Three blue flashes flooded the dark side of the relay. Sensors indicated it was powering down.

  “Target disabled,” he reported to his superiors.

  “We’re receiving a distress call,” Mitsu said. “Civilian transport headed toward our position.”

  “Mayday!” A voice barely audible due to interference was coming through the battlegroup channel, retransmitted by Mitsu. “We’re purs…by a…gate…bably hostile.”

  “We’ve got a bogey,” Jason said to his wing.

  “Commander Blaze, launch bombers to assist the civvie,” O’Neil instructed.

  Jason ordered Squadron Castor composed of twelve TH-F24 Tomahawk fighter-bombers to set an intercept course with the unidentified ship.

  “Can you ID the civvie or the pursing ship?” he asked Mitsu.

  “The civvie is a light freighter, Chimera-Two-category,” the tex replied. “It’s not registered with any Alliance authority. The pursuer is a Taar’kuun frigate, probably Pterygotus class.”

  Intriguing. A human blockade runner that didn’t travel to Neo with the Alliance fleet? How the hell did it get here?

  “We’ll establish the identity of the civilian ship’s occupants later,” Hunt said. “Rescue takes priority.”

  “Yessir,” Jason acknowledged. “Setting intercept course.”

  The onboard nanocomputer displayed the optimal trajectory. He turned his Katana using lateral thrusters and fired the main ones to accelerate.

  “Squadron, form on me and watch for asteroids,” he said.

  “Captain O’Neil, send a tugboat to recover the disabled relay,” Hunt ordered. “It must not fall into enemy hands.”

  The Biozi frigate was gaining ground on the blockade runner. In open space, a light freighter of that build would outrun even a frigate, but its pilot had decided to take it into the asteroid field. A bold move, knowing that a light transport couldn’t withstand an impact from an asteroid at high speed. On the other hand, flying through open space would have made it an easy target.

  “Missile lock is no joy,” the leader of Squadron Castor reported. “No firing solution.”

  “We’ll go close quarters on the bandit,” Jason said. “Castor, stay away from its flak. Atlas, we’ll make good use of our EMPs. You won’t get a lock, so switch to dumb fire.”

  The blockade runner was dodging asteroids with skill. Even Jason was impressed. Yet he glimpsed flashes as smaller ones hit the hull. The ship was roughly cylindrical, about a hundred meters in length and only twenty in width. Its armor must have been relatively thin.

  “We can’t hold much longer,” the ship’s pilot shouted. “Get the bugs off our back!”

  “Working on it,” Jason replied. To his squadron, he ordered, “Weapons free.”

  He shot an EMP missile at the fugitive shape of the frigate racing through the asteroid field. The missile hit an asteroid and didn’t produce the desired effect. The other pilots imitated Jason, but didn’t manage to inflict any damage to the target. It was simply too fast and maneuverable to be hit by unguided missiles, and its energy shield protected it from EMPs. Jason needed to score a direct hit to get the missiles through the shield and disable the ship.

  The frigate unleashed its plasma autocannons at the starfighters. Jason lurched to the side to dodge a stream of ionized plasma.

  “I’ll jump on its six,” he said to his squadron. “Draw its fire.”

  The Katanas dashed around the ship, making themselves difficult targets. Jason’s bird thrust into a dust cloud to reemerge on the tail of the enemy. As it brushed the edge of the frigate’s fiery trail, an icon blinked on his HUD, warning that the temperature neared critical.

  Asteroids hurtled past him, deadly projectiles at that speed. He used the frigate as a shield, which wasn’t easy as it constantly adjusted course.

  As soon as the frigate cut its main thrusters, he fired a missile into one of them and scored a hit. He launched a second missile into another thruster and achieved the same outcome.

  His HUD flickered, and an icon indicated the nanocomputer was rebooting. Even with forward energy shield set to max, EMPs did a number on his starfighter’s electronic systems.

  Yet that was nothing compared to the effect on the frigate.

  The ship titled to the side, its entire flank ablaze. Its systems down, including thruster controls, it could no longer dodge asteroids, and it smashed into them one after another. They didn’t punch through armor, but the kinetic energy from the impacts turned into heat, and its carapace started losing integrity.

  A hail of debris pounded Jason’s bird. He pushed the control stick and stepped on the accelerator to get away from the frigate. His fighter burst from the asteroid field toward the relative safety of open space. Still dodging projectiles, he risked a glance at the hostile ship.

  The frigate hurtled straight toward an asteroid the size of a mountain. The impact turned the ship into a fireball that illuminat
ed the clouds of dust for an instant, then vanished.

  “Bandit is history,” Jason reported, his heart pounding due to excess of adrenaline.

  “You’ve got my eternal gratitude.”

  Jason tensed as he heard that familiar voice. “No way,” he breathed, forgetting that the entire battlegroup could hear that.

  “My ol’ pal Jase, I know it’s you,” the voice continued. “I recognize your crazy flying style.”

  “Varez, what the fraggin’ hell are you doing here?” Jason snapped. “On an unregistered freighter?”

  “That’s a long story, ol’ buddy. Request permission to dock. I’ll explain everything.”

  “No way in hell you’re docking your piece of garbage to one of our ships.”

  “Oh, I’m afraid you don’t have much choice. I know ASF rules too. You can’t abandon a civvie in an uninhabited system with hostiles in the midst.”

  “What hostiles? I just fried the bandit that pursued you.”

  “Look up. We’ve got company.”

  “Detecting incoming wormhole,” Mitsu alerted the battlegroup.

  A bright star pierced the dark above the accretion disk. The white hole was big, and that was bad news.

  “Hostiles jumping in,” Mitsu said, tension creeping into his voice. “The flagship is a Megalodon-class dreadnaught!”

  Three years back, a battleship of that class almost blew the Remembrance out of the sky. Two years back, the same ship had abducted Ophelia. The appearance of such a space monster a jump away from Neo was indeed cause for alarm.

  “You believe me now?” Varez asked. “Request permission to dock.”

  “Dock to the ASC Phoenix,” Captain Hunt instructed. “And don’t even think about coming on board. Your crew is on quarantine until further notice.”

  Rico, Rico, what have you done? Jason wondered.

  08

  Through the Shield

  The Taar’kuun battlegroup was closing in. Riley was on the bridge at her station, analyzing the tactical data. The Megalodon acted as the flagship, judging by its central position in the group formation. It was over a klick long, and though its size paled in comparison with the Ziggurat class, it had more firepower than any human battleship.

  And the Meg was not alone. Four support carriers accompanied it, plus as many escort destroyers and two missile cruisers, all bioships.

  “What are you waiting for?” came the voice of the civilian ship’s captain through the speakers. “My ship is docked to the Phenix, as you instructed. Get us out of here!”

  “We cannot jump back to Neo,” Hunt replied. “The hostiles could follow us and send the system’s location to their HQ.”

  “I know a shortcut through the Shield,” the civvie said.

  “Commander Blaze to Captain Hunt,” Jason called in. “I know the civilian you’re talking to—it’s Rico Varez. We cannot trust this individual.”

  “What?” Varez cried out with indignation. “I’m a loyal Alliance citizen. I just want to help. I understand you can’t return to Neo with the cockroaches on your tail, so let me guide you through the Shield.”

  “Why would I do that, Mr. Varez?” Hunt asked with suspicion.

  “My ship, the Lucky Lady, transports supplies for the survivors on Vega,” Varez said. “We’ve been resupplying them for months.”

  Riley glanced at the captain, standing before the tactical holo-screen in the middle of the bridge, hands behind his back.

  “I see,” he said pensively, examining the map of the Nean Cluster. “That’s why your ship isn’t registered—you’re running a smuggling operation.”

  “It’s not smuggling, captain,” Varez protested. “It’s a humanitarian operation. We’re helping the war effort, in our own way. Escort us to Vega and allow us to deliver the supplies, then we’ll part ways. Or you can arrest us. But please let us deliver our cargo.”

  Hunt muted all channels and called O’Neil, the second highest-ranking officer in the battlegroup. “Captain, I think we should do it. If there is a shortcut through the Shield, we need to know.”

  Riley couldn’t hear what O’Neil replied.

  “Mr. Varez, send us the gravimetric map,” Hunt said. To the battlegroup, he ordered, “Prepare for jump. Anti-ordnance weapons on standby.”

  The navigation officer of the Remembrance, Lieutenant-Commander Archer, started jump calculations. A gaunt male in his early forties, he was a seasoned navigator. He couldn’t match Jason’s exceptional piloting skills, but he was a dedicated, hardworking officer and one of the best navigators in the ASF.

  “We can’t jump from our current location,” he said to the captain. “We need to get away from the accretion disk.”

  “Battlegroup, we’ll traverse the accretion disk,” Hunt broadcast. “All personnel to battle stations. The Remembrance will go first; the others will follow in iota-four line formation.”

  The captain settled in his G-seat and turned to Riley. “Commander, clear our path of large asteroids.”

  “Roger, sir,” Riley replied, her fingers already dashing over the virtual keyboard of her station.

  “Hostile carriers are launching fighters,” Mitsu reported. “I detect eight squadrons of Arachnids.”

  “We can take them out,” Jason suggested eagerly. “Just give the word.”

  “Negative,” Hunt replied. “Recall all fighters. I recognize this tactic—the spiders will draw you closer to the escort destroyers, then disengage, leaving you exposed to flak.”

  “Captain, four out of eight squadrons are fighter-bombers,” Mitsu pointed out. “If we don’t intercept them, they can cause serious damage to our ships.”

  Hunt nodded. “I know that. We’ll deal with them in another way.”

  Contrary to the Alliance, the Taar’kuun had never developed dedicated fighter-bombers, but their Arachnid space fighters could be configured to carry beta and gamma-class missiles. The latter could punch through ASF ships’ armor and damage internal systems.

  The Remembrance plunged into a dust cloud, moving through the accretion disk and away from the approaching Taar’kuun battlegroup. Occasional small asteroids clanged against its carapace, but the armor held.

  “Commander Lance, arm twenty-four beta-class charges and eject them on my mark,” Hunt said. “Pattern sigma, large dispersion.”

  Riley acknowledged and armed the explosive charges. The swarm of red dots representing Taar’kuun fighters was quickly approaching. Large asteroids also appeared on the map, and Riley ordered the gunners of blaster turrets to take them out.

  The Remembrance and the battlegroup’s other ships cleared the accretion disk having sustained negligible damage. Revealed before them was the Shield Nebula—the heart of the Shield region—unfolded in all its breathtaking beauty, its blue petals blooming like a giant alien flower. Newborn stars were specs of gold trapped in its ethereal substance.

  “Battlegroup, full forward,” Hunt called.

  The Remembrance fired its main thrusters and rocketed away from the accretion disk. Despite the ship’s inertial dampers, Riley felt several gees weighing on her chest. The Taar’kuun fighter-bombers were already in range to launch missiles, but they were still inside the disk and couldn’t get a lock due to asteroids and clouds of dust.

  “Detonate charges,” Hunt ordered.

  Riley punched the corresponding button. The clouds lit up as the charges exploded. No Taar’kuun fighter managed to reach the other side of the accretion disk. Only blazing fragments of biosynthetic hull emerged from the clouds.

  Hunt ordered Archer to engage the black hole drive. There was a flash from the quantum laser. The darkness of the created black hole funnel eclipsed the nebula. With a second flash the ship emerged from the other end of the wormhole.

  The constellations had changed. The system where the ship reappeared contained nothing but a naked red dwarf. No planets, no dust clouds, no asteroid fields to speak of.

  Riley knew the hostile ships would follow them, and th
eir chances of surviving a battle with a vastly superior battlegroup in open space were almost nonexistent.

  “The Phenix stands ready to open the next wormhole,” O’Neil said.

  “We’re not jumping,” Hunt replied. “Not yet. The music isn’t right.”

  “Captain, we need to cut our tail ASAP,” O’Neil insisted.

  “The Biozi know about this shortcut—that’s the only explanation why they managed to get so close to Neo,” Hunt said darkly. “One of their stealthy probes must have followed a smuggler ship all the way to the system where we found the relay.”

  “Why not to Neo?”

  “Because smugglers know better than to bring unregistered ships to Neo. They must have a base in one of the neighboring systems. But the Biozi aren’t interested in some smuggler’s outpost. They want the map to Neo.” He pondered for a second, then added, “Captain O’Neil, I want your tex to analyze the recovered relay.”

  “I’ve got a preliminary report already,” O’Neil said. “The relay was used to communicate with someone on Neo. It relayed transmissions to and from the Biozi frigate we destroyed. I can also confirm this relay is one of ours. I don’t understand why it’s not in our databanks. The ASF couldn’t have simply lost one of its relays.”

  “I see only one logical explanation—someone erased all records of it from our databanks,” Hunt concluded.

  Red dots lit on the map—the hostile battlegroup had jumped in. Fortunately, they were relatively far, out of the effective range of heavy ordnance.

  “Captain, the hostile battlegroup set an intercept course,” Mitsu warned.

  “We’ll outrun them,” Hunt said. “Support carriers slow down their battlegroup. Archer, set course toward the sun.”

  “Captain, may I remind you that jumping in proximity to a star—” Archer started, but Hunt raised his hand to cut him.

  “Is difficult, I know. But the Biozi will bring reinforcements and we don’t want them to jump right in front of us and cut our route. We need to buy ourselves a few minutes. Before making any plans, I want to talk to Commander Blaze and Mr. Varez.”